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DELAMEKE;
OR-
Corinne the Sphynx!
BY PAUL C. LE BUEUJi.
CHAPTER VIIL
The light of day had dully faded from the
chill, grey sky, and the sombre twilight settled
gloomily down upon the village when Mr. Glen-
ville, buttoning more closely around him his
heavy overcoat, made his way leisurely toward
his room in the Irving House.
He wore upon his face the look of one whose
plans are of a successful nature—of one down
upon whom prosperity is bearing with full sails.
Supper having been announced a few minutes
after his arrival, he proceeded to the dining
room and took his seat at a table. This was
not the one at whioh he usually sat,—it was in
a different part of the hall. He had scarcely
seated himself and was looking aoross the room,
when, as the adverse or propitious fates would
have it, his eyes encountered those of a no less
distinguished personage than Colonel Fenton,
who was about to seat himself. Seeing Mr.
Glenville, however, he came over and joined
him. This was not agreeable to Mr. Glenville.
In fact he had ohanged tables that night for
the especial purpose of avoiding this man. He
had a way of looking at him occasionally whioh
he did not relish. It puzzled and annoyed him.
Mr. Glenville belonged to that unreasonable
class of people who do not like to be puzzled
and annoyed. But whether in the parlor or the
billiard room, he never glanced toward Colonel
Fenton without finding a pair of keen, black
eyes fixed piercingly upon him, sometimes with
a kind of half smile of assuming superiority,and
sometimes with a gaze of sinister speculation;
always with a look of annoying and unexpected
intensity. This had been ail the more intoler
able to him from his conscious inability to re
sent or resist it. Of late, however, Colonel Fen
ton’s oondnot toward him been less pointed and
extraordinary and partook of the genial sim
plicity of an obliging new acquaintance. But
he was afraid to trust him, or look for any con
tinuance of good behavior from him.
He had not known him long. Until lately
they had not lived under the same roof. Yet
this proximity had brought about between them
a degree of acquaintance which, however, neith
er of them seemed desirous of extensively culti
vating, and which evidently was not likely to
ripen into the intimaoy of ardent friendship.
Still, as ohance or providenoe threw them to
gether they talked and chatted amicably upon
the fashions and politics of the day, and parted
with mutual, unmeaningly uttered,good wishes.
As the Colonel's eccentric stare had worn grad
ually off into a look whioh he might have be
stowed upon an ordinary mortal, his manner
approached more nearly that of a disinterested
friend; but still, on this particular oecasien,
Mr. Glenville was surprised to receive from him
a challenge for a game of billiards. Mr. Glen
ville was a very strict and consistent church
member. He did not like to be seen playing
billiards. His oonsoienee would not allow him
to be seen playing such a game. Reports might
get afloat. Young pillars of the ohuroh shonld
not have anything afloat about them lest the
whole structure totter and fall. Still, to refuse
so simple a request made in so simple a man
ner, would be rude and altogether foreign to
Mr. Glenville's clever and obliging disposition.
Moreover, this man who seemed to have a fac
ulty for seeing thiDgs which were intended not
to be seen, had seen him at this very game not
long since, at a time in whioh he did not look
for spectators. To decline now upon conscien
tious scruples wo&fWibe inconsistent,whiigh >was
also foreign to his nature. Tnererore eould
not but agree to the unwelcome proposal.
Accordingly, the meal over with, they pro
ceeded to the billiard room. They found it de-
seited, for it was early yet. The crowd of idlers
and loungers had not yet arrived. This was
some consolation if Mr. Glenville needed any.
There would not be many spectators. Ball and
cue lay where the last piayers had left them, in
the flaring gaslight on the table. The bar-keep
er lounged in as they entered, passed a few
words, but seeing them taoiturn from inclina
tion, or silent from absorption in their game,
went back again to his counter to attend to the
wants of whatever late customer might ohance
within.
Colonel Fenton seemed to have something np-
on his mind that night—seemed more man
usually silent and preoccupied. He played
bnt indifferently well and was no match for his
more collected opponent. Mr. Glenville was
enjoying the game highly, and felioitating him
self upon his skilful strokes and lengthy ‘runs,’
when his companion, with that keen, watchful
gaze which had grown so annoying to him,
asked suddenly and without any previous or in
troductory remarks.
•You have a brother I believe, Glenville, some
where, haven’t yon ?’
The gaze, and the question with its startling
abruptness so disconoerted him, that the ball
which he was striking went spinning off at an
angle to the course which he intended for it,
eliciting from him an emphatio undertone.
•No;’ he answered in a vexed and slightly
peevish tone, ‘my brother died soma time ago.’
•Ah?' said Colonel Fenton. And he seemed
to be endeavoring to read Mr. Glenville’s in
most soul with that old, familiar, sinister gaze.
A saroastio retort struggled to the latter's lips,
bnt by strong effort he repressed it while the
former continued:
‘All his property then became yours?’
‘Yts.’returned Mr. Glenville with ourtness and
impatienoe.
•Pretty good sum too, I imagine,’ proceeded
the other in a tone whioh his antagonist hardly
knew whether to consider as an interrogation
or an assertion. Accordingly he was silent, and
Colonel Fenton, as if the burden had been lift
ed from his soul, suddenly relapsed into an
easy and more friendly manner, and seemed to
enter with more zest into the sport.
Whether he played better,or whether his con
versation had diverted his opponent’s attention
and interest in the game, he soon had the sat
isfaction, if satisfaction it was. of seeing him fall
rapidly behind. In short, Mr. Glenville was
beaten in that and the two foflowing games.and
finally throwing down his cue, and forcing a
laugh, he said:
‘I can’t play tc-night; my mind is wander
ing.
•Perhaps you would like to have your revenge
in a game of cards,’suggested his companion,
who for some reason, did not seem desirous of
soon parting company. Mr. Glenville, taking
the friendly proffer for the triumphant banter
of a victor, readily assented.
‘Let's go to my room then, said Colonel Fen
ton, ‘I will give you an opportunity.’
Mr Glenville looked at his watch.
‘Thank you for your courtesy,’ be returned
hastily, ‘but I have an engagement, untfconght
ot till this moment, which I am obliged to at
tend to.’
En^agemeirtJnot aooept y0 *r ehallenge to
night.’ ..... O'
•To-morrow night then f
•Well if you insist upon it, be it to-morrow
right,’ replied Mr. Glenville; ‘shall I bring a
come alone,’ wa3 the answer. Mr. Glen
ville looked at him in surprise, but, without re
sponding, quickly turned and hf- the room.
theCoL regarded him lor a moment with a look
as of baffled expectation, and sauntered oat inte
the street Not finding it very diverting here,
after a muttered imprecation upon ‘this cursed
little town’ for its lack of amusements, he pro
ceeded, in a thoughtful mood to his room whioh
was not very far removed from Mr. Glenvillo’s.
Arrived here, he lit a oigar. put his feet upon
the center table and leaned backward for cogita
tion; In thiB pleasant attitude and occupation
he had not long been engaged before a knook
resounded at the door. So preoccupied was he
that he hardly notieed it, but oalled out careless
ly as to a servant: 'Come in,’—without turn
ing. The door was opened, and some one step
ped lightly into the room. Still he did not
heed the intruder until a hand was laid npon
his shoulder. Then glancing upward and see
ing the form of a man behind him, he leaped
suddenly to his feet, and, thrnsting his band
into his bosom, drew thenoe a short, dangerous-
looking pistol, and turned upon the intruder,
‘By heaven 1 Bandal,’ he exclaimed as the
well-known features of that gentleman met his
gaze; ‘yon startled me,' and then thrust the
weapon back into its hiding place,
‘So I see,' said Mr. Bandal as he marked the
action with triumphant satisfaction.
There was something of similarity between
these two men. They both seemed calm, cool
and calonlatiDg—seemed to weigh everything
they uttered. But this was al). The likeness
extended no further. Colonel Fenton, even to
the most casual observer, was the master spirit.
The calm, half cynical remark of his guest irri
tated him, but suppressing whatever momentary
resentment he might have felt, he salmly asked:
‘Anything unusual lately, Bandal? 1
‘Not exactly—no.’
‘I am simply honored by yon then, with a
friendly visit? 1
The question contained some sarcasm.
‘Yes,’ was the monoeyllabic response.
Colonel Fenton turned in bioebai?, and re
garded his visitor with a contemptuous, silent
stare.
‘Pray make the beet of it then,’ he said.
He had aot offered Mir. Randal a chair,, but
the latter now seated himself uninvited!, and
with a feeling of being altogether at home.
•I suppose we will have to smokuover it,’ cod
tinned Colonel Fenton,
Mr. Sandal thrust out a long, bony band,
took the proffered oigar, fumbled uneasily over
it aud betrayed otherwise by a ftdgetty meaner
that be bad something to- say.
‘What is it, Randal?’ asked the other impa
tiently. ‘Curse it, why don’t you speak out at
once, if you have any thing.' worth talkangabeot,’
‘Maybe when I have said 1 lit you won’t relish
it ’
In the name of heaven, let’s hear it, man. Ie
the world coming to an end^?’
Maybe, so far as you are ooneerned,’ replied'
Mr. Randal sullenly.
Colonel Fenton now regarded him with inter'
est, and rising from bis seat, went to the door,
looked out a» if to be sure there were no eaves'
droppers, and then eat dowmagain drawing hie
chair a trifle Moser to that ef bis companion.
So yon really have something worth saying,
have you ?'
Yes, and yen will do weikto heed it’
If I never hear it I oertainiy shall not have am
opportunity of doing it.’
In plain weeds then,’ said Mr. Randal im
pressively, ‘people have begun to suspsot one-
Arthur Fulmer,, alias Colonel Fenton, alia*'Ar
thur Glenville.’
Pooh ! you are lying now, Raadal. I talked
to my own brother this-very night, and he no
more dreams of my existence than you. do of
getting to heaven.’
But I have the best possible information that-
detectives are even now, or will scon be cn> your
track.’
A look of swift' surprise swept for an instant
across the cheek of Colonei Fenton, bui be re
sponded unmoved::
I have been knowing that far the iaot two-
year s .’
Mr. Randal was crestfallen.
‘Well, you at least see that 1 know more off
your affairs than.yon thought I did,’ he said.
And what does it signify?*
Much; aud if.you don’t leave the game yo®
are now playing, you will find it to your son-
row, for I tell you they ars on your trash,.’
What if they are; they oan do nothing wheat
they find me.'
They can put a hempsd- collar around- you®
neck.’
Really, Randal, you gaow poetic—you. inter
est me.'
Don’t play off any of your fine airs en ms, ‘
said Mr. Randal in a tone of irritation which
the other enjpyed even to laughter:, ‘they are
thrown away. I don't appreciate them. And
don't imagine I know nothing abeut you, Ar
thur Glenville. 1 know what you are, and who
you are and what you have done. ‘
For instanoe, ‘ particularized Colonel Featon
tauntingly. ‘You know that I have been carry
ing on a nice little game of counterfeiting with
a select crowd of jiolly fellows, among whom, was
the honest, sober Mr. Randal, alias—‘
Never mind about that now,' interrupted Mr.
Randal. ‘Of oourse I know that. But I am speak
ing of other things—about that Staoy affifcir
It would be healthier for you if you let that
subject drop and never mention it again,' said
Colonel Fenton, while his face grew dark with
sudden anger. ‘It was an affair of self-defense
and I stand justified in the eyes of God and
man—and devils too, I would say if I did not
know that those of yonr stripe still blame me. ‘
‘Talk on as much as you please, 1 said the vis
itor doggedly, ‘but you would leave tomorrow if
you would take the advise of a prudent man. 1
‘Curse you and your advice together, I weuld-
n‘t be the coward you are, Randal, far a thous
and lives, for I would be miserable through
every one of them. You are frightened at every
shadow. But make yourself easy. I am not go
ing to tarn state's evidenoe and inform on you
if I am taken. That's what yon fear and that's
what brought you here. ‘
Mr. Randal looked oonfused.
‘So yea see I know something about your af
fairs, ‘ continued Colonel Fenton. 'But as for
my leaving here, that's out the question. I‘m
going to marry and retrieve my fortunes, and
be a big, hulking Christian like my most godly
brother. Oh, I tell you I am going to be a most
model man. I am going to sing psalms, and
write treatises on moral philosophy, and ‘
‘I don't see anything to laugh at,‘ said Mr.
Randal peevishly interrupting him. ‘Since you
will have your own headstrong way about it,
stay. I wash my hands of you and all your do
ings. ‘
‘I am obliged to yo*, Randal, ‘ replied Colo
nel Fenton sardonically. ‘When I need your
protecting assistance I shall cull on you. But
since you will be prying into my actions, I‘11
tell you this much. I‘ve got about enough
moDey to last me two months at the rate I am
going on, and it is my cool, deliberate inten
tion to marry before :hese two months are
gone. 1
‘I have heard of a man's being as mad as a
March bare, 1 said Mr. Randal, with an attempt
at sarcasm, ‘but I never saw it before. Pray, tell
me what is the lady's name.'
•You have heard, I suppose,of a certain young
heiress of late about here ?‘
‘Old Ethmer‘s daughter?'
‘Yes, ‘
Mr. Randal looked at his companion in silent
amazement. ,
‘You kLow I always succeed in affairs of this
kind,' said Colonel Fenton.
‘No, I don't know any such thing. "Why man,
■he's as fur above you as the stars of heaven are. ‘
‘It is not such a terrible thing to gain a wo
man's love.'
‘It may not be snob a terrible thing to gain the
lore of such women a) you haTe been accustomed
to, but this ene—pshaw, man, you are playing
off a joke on me. ‘
‘You must have a cursed pcor opinion of me, 1
said Colonel Fenton angrily.
‘No, not at all,' replied Mr.Randall. ‘I hope
you will make me a bridal present when you
get married.'
The other did not relish this ridionle, but
proceeded:
‘1 am going to see my pious, long-faced broth
er soon, tomorrow night, perhaps. I shall dis
close myself and my projects to him.'
‘You will do well not to do any saeh thing.*
‘Why? 1
•Well, he's just about fool enough to be hon
es', and will not further you or your plans.*
‘Oh, the ties of bleod are strong, you know;
and besides, I hava some private sentiments
about Geoffrey that the world doesn't entertain.'
After some farther explanations, the two
parted. After getting rid of so agreeable a com
panion, Colenel "Featon betook himself first to
reading and then to bed.
CHAPTER IX.
Gta the night succeeding that is whioh hap
pened- the events of the last chapter, Mr. Glen
ville and Colonel, Fenton, according to agree
ment, sat alone in the room of the latter. The
apartment was Urge, and was fitted up with
considerable regard to taete and comfort. But
this Mr;- Glenville scarcely noticed, How this
man lived in private was to him a matter of
complete indifference. His feelings en this oc
casion, however, were decidedly odd, for, to say
bothing of) the .^consistency of a man ef- his
standing and respectability meeting with anoth
er in private, for the especial purpose of enioy-
ing a social game, there, vuin the manner of
his host, a suggestion of constraint and of pre
paration as-for some denouement, which- did not
contribute materially to his ease. He was not
a bashful man, a timid man, or a man easily de
terred from a settled purposopbut he did not
feel at home. However, that whioh tended in
some degree to promote cheerfulness of feeling
was the sight of two bottles of fine old Bordeaux
which stood invitingly npon a centre table one
on eaoh side of the lamp. Before producing the
cards Colonel Fenton began in a oaieless tone:
‘You said last night I believe* Glenville, that
your brother was dead? 1
‘Yes,’ returned Mr. Glenville wonderingly.
‘Drowned, I believe?’ oentinued the other.
•Yes.’
Colonel Fenton played in sconce for some
moments with hi» watch-ohain. Finally he ask
ed with sudden energy;
‘What proofihave you that thin-is true?’
‘Sufficient to convince,' re-ponded Mr. Glen-
ville with increasing wonder. *5Hnoe you ap
pear to be so much interested in his fate I sup
pose you have heard of the manner of his death?’
T am eery much interested is his fate,’ an
swered Colonel Kenton with a significance which
the ether failed wholly to interpret. ‘I have
heard some story to tho effect that be was drown
ed while trying to make his escape from—from
a sheriff s posse or some snob enterprising gen
tleman. ’
‘You have heard aright,’ said Mr. Glenville
with a gentle sigh, at whioh, for some peculiar
reason, his eempanion soaroely forebore smiling;
‘the account is correct.’
‘Have you any proof beyond the mere asser
tion of these men?* persieted Fenton.
At so unexpected a question Mr. Glenville
gazed at the speaker in absolute amazement,
and there arose in his mind some doubts as to
his perfect,sanity. These doubts were not a
little increased wjben he remembered the strange,
intense geze he bad observed of late in the eyes
of bis companion. That same look was there
now and rested on him as steadily as the nox
ious gaze of a Basilisk, and, with eyes drawn
irresistibly toward it as if under some seoret
spell or fascination, he replied;:
‘Yes, there ia further proof. My brother was
fond of rings, and always wore upon his finger
a peculiar kind of one with a very large stone
setting which was given him by a crazy Italian
harper. He thought so much, of this ring that
he had his name engraved in it. A few weeks
after his death, a short distance below the place
where he was drowned a skeleton was found in
the river, which still were upon its fiDge? a ring
precisely the same size of my brother’s and sim
ilar in other respects, except that the stone was
gone, having been probably rusted oti of its
place by the action of the water.’
•Was the name in it? asked Colonel Fenton
eagerly.
‘No; that had been also rusted out. ‘
‘Was it a ring like this?’ asked Colonel Fen
ton. He drew from his vest pooket a little bun
dle of brown, paper from whioh he toc-k a large
ring with an, amethyst setting of unnsual sine
and held it out to Mr. Gl»nville. Upon the in
side was inscribed the name of ‘Arthur Glen
ville’ in unmistakable characters! With tremb
ling hands. Mr. GlenviLe examined the familiar
piece of jewelry and read the well-known name.
•Where did you get this in heaven’s name?' he
asked rising fearfully from his st*t, while his
eyes dilated iu astonisment.
‘From your brother himself.’
‘Not dead?'
■Never in better health.’
‘Where is he?’ asked Mr. Glenville in a voioe
hoarse and painful with emotion.
‘You see him before you,’ answered Colonel
Fention likewise rising, and folding his arms
oalmJy aoross his breast. Mr. Glenville grasp
ed the mantle for support and gazed with hor
ror npon his companion as upon one who had
risen from the dead to confront and confound
him.
Recovering himself and resolved neither to
believe nor to admit so terrible and so unwel
come a faot he said sternly:
‘You are an impostor, sir.’
As an answer to this oharge Colonel Fenton
deliberately, and without a word, pulled oft his
beard, and pointed to the hideous looking scar,
which, a short time previous had so terribly
frightened Corinne. Mr. Glenville dropped in
to his ehair and eovered his face despairingly
with his hand.
Thus after years of plottinr, planning, and
struggling, a disgraced brother had arisen from
the grave to dash to earth the sweet cup of joy
which fate was holding, yet untasted, to his
lips.
To Colonel Fenton or Arthur Glsnville, har
dened and ursorupulous as he had grown in
years of wandering through a dissolute, desolate
life, there wss something so utterly selfish, sad
and joyless in this aotion of a brother who gave
him no kindly word of recognition, or of greet
ing, after his return to life, it almost might be
said, that he smiled in bitterness and anger.
This brother npon whom, heretofore, he had
looked, at least, with indifference—nay, had
sometimes looked with a species af pride as be
ing an arch-villian in all respects equal to him
self, be determined should henceforth be an
object of aversion and oontempt. Perhaps the
most desolate feeling that ever eomes over the
heart of man is when he looks around him
through the teeming ranks of life and finds no
soul that looks with sympathy on his lot—
when from out the crowding millions around
him be can single out no friendly bosom in
which to confide in the dark hour of gloom.
‘Yes,’ Geoffrey,’ said Colonel Fenton calmly
and coldly and with an undertone of irritation
and disappointment, ‘I am Arthur Glenville,
however unpleeasaut the fact may be to you. If
you still doubt me, I can tell you all the secret
history of the family and a great mauy of yonr
own private little escapades which, it were bet
ter for you, the world should never know. But
I see yon are satisfied as to my identity. Of
course you know well how to be silent on this
subject to ethers. My present name, by whioh
you will still continue to eall me, has been as
sumed, as you oan readily suppoee, for pur
poses of my own oonvenienoe.*
‘What do yon want, and why have you come
back to thwart me after so long a time ?‘ aeked
Mr. Glenville sullenly
His words apoeared to have the effect of di
verting Colonel Fenton’s mind from a oertain
gloomy channel in which it seemed inclined to
run, for he answered immediately more in his
usual tone of levity and taunt:
‘That sounds more like business, my worthy
brother, You have struck a ke -note—a respon
sive chord in my breast. I want various things.
Such is the lot of life. I want some assistance.
Such is the lot of sinners. Among other things
I would like to have a thousand or two dollars
to carry out some little projects of mine.’
‘It is of no nse to begin with such a high
hand,’ returned Mr. Glenviile in the same dog
ged tone. T have no money, and you know it
is out of my power to raise so large a sum.'
‘Before I took to traveling uiider assumed
names,’ said Colonel Fenton refleotively. ‘if I
correctly remember, my little portion of patri
mony amounted to about five thousand dollars.
This has fallen into your bands. I know not
what you have done with it. But I kuo-w it is
honestly mine. Give me down on3 thousand
cash, and I will’ make you a deed to the other
four, and interest thereon for the last three
years.’
‘1 conld not raise that amount either by fair
means or foul,* objected Mr. Glenville.
‘I am inclined to think differently,’ was the
response of Colonel Fenton. ‘In fact it is my
belief that you could immediately if you weal'd.
Bat say nine hundred ?’
‘What do you hope to make by such insinua
tions, Arthur ?’
‘A little money if possible,’ replied Colonel
Kenton. 'But as I see you are bent upon driving
a 1 ard bargain with me, I will put it eight hun
dred.’
‘I must have time to-think the matter over.’
‘Now or never,’ urged Golonel Fenton. ‘Have
yen ever heard of such a thing, as honesty or
generosity V
•You forget,’ said Gltnville darkly and with a>
significant sneer, ‘that & word from me to cer
tain authorities would entirely relieve ms both
of yonr claims and you? company.’
‘You dare not,Geoffrey Glenvilie,’ vehemently
broke forth Colonel Fenton with sodden, stern
and passionate defiance, and with clenched
teethand eyes that glanoed with eager, fierce
suspicion at his brother as if to see how muoh
of his words were intended as idle threat and
how Btuoh as indicative of'intention—‘You dare
not, for, by Heaven, the day you. do it is yonr
last on earth !'
Mr. Glenville quailed before the fiery energy
of the outburst he had unexpectedly elicited,
but said with forced oalmness:
•Of coarse I was jesting,. Arthur, about the j
matter—it is eyen to my own interest to keep
silent.'
‘Jesting on some subjects is dangerous some
time*,.' retained the other. ‘Bat I know well
that it is only motives of interest that will re
strain, you. You imagine, and correctly too, I
presume, that you oould never get into your
clutches the property of that pale, hypochon
driacal young fool at Dslamere, if her parents
knew I was alive. In fact I< can’t see by What
species of jugglery you hare induced them to
favor your suit anyway. ‘
‘I will tell you then,' explained Mr. Glenville
with a confiding, conciliating air. ‘The yonng
1 h. H harftalf in ‘unilinor* t.ha.fi. ia. A.I1 I nPA.i
lady herself is ‘willing 1 and. that i» all 1 need
care for. The old folks were ’ terribly opposed
to it at first, and old Delamere insulted me in
various ways, but it was of no use. I knew too
well for what I was playing to give op the game
without a hard struggle; and. the young lady,
you know, has a little spice of the is-vil in her,
herself. ‘
Bo I imagine,' said Colonel Fenton. ‘I saw
her a day or two ago and accidentally discovered
myself to her. ‘
‘The devil yon did!' exclaimed Mr. Glenville,
betrayed into involuntary profanity by his
dismay. ‘And what did she do?•
‘Screamed, or fainted, or did a little of both.
But I do not know even yet whether she recog
nized rae, or wnether she was simply frightened
at seeiag my beard dangling in the air. I don't
.think, however, we have anything to fear from
her. ‘
‘What hold have vou on her to keep her silent?
asked Mr. Glenviile.
‘I told hex I was a desperate man, and plainly
intimated that I would make mischief ou the
biggest kind of soale if she ever breathed a syl
lable about what she had sees, ‘ and, at this jeu
d esprit Colonel Fenton vented his feelings in a
burst of laughter. Then, growing more grave,
he oontinnei: ‘But ray offer—what are you go
ing to do with it ?‘
Mr. Glenville deliberated a moment, and then
replied:
‘It's impossible, as. I told you at first, Arthur,
i’or me to raise so large a sum as you mention at
present, but if you ean wait until after my mar
riage, I will accommodate you with the last
mentioned amount.'
‘There are too many slips ‘twixt cup and lips. 1
answered Colonel Fenton. ‘Of oourse when old
Delamere's property becomes yours you ean
oonsider yourself a made maD, but old Dela
mere does not seem, from all I have heard, to
be over anxious to put you in possession.*
‘It is tne best l oan do, ‘ said Mr. Glenville
decisively. ‘As I told you a day or two ago, my
lady-love is to take a little trip out to the moun
tains soon, and I shall be on hand to surprise
her, and to harry up affairs with her.*
‘Ah, well,* replied Colonel Fenton gloomily,
and as if tired of the subjeot; ‘take my birth
right for whatever you please; but I swear to
you, Geoffrey, I am wearv of this life I am lead
ing. I feel cut off from all that is pure and
honorable and worth living for in life. If my
oharacter now stood as clear from anything crim
inal before the world as it stands even before
my own conscience, I could be a happy and an
honorable man. You think I am growing senti
mental or hypocritical, but I teil you these feel-
rags have come upon ms within the last two or
three days. There are many grand things to
strive for in this world, but with my character
seared and blackened, they are out of my rea"h.
I have half a notion to begin life over again iu
some new land where the faoes acid memories of
the past oan be forgotten. Let's have some
wine. It will chase these foolish fanoies out of
my head.'
(TO BE COXTIXUID.)
Boston now has 202 schools, 1,260 teachers
and 56 967 pupils. School officers are paid
$1,117,027. There are in Boston 6-1,766 chil
dren between the age3 of five and fifteen, so that
the percentage of non-attendants is light. It is
admitted by the members of the Board of Edu
cation that there have keen too many evening
schools and that the special school exhibitions
are of little value.
The traditions among the North American
Indians, af the early settlement of this country,
threw no possible light upon their real origin.
They themselves said that they originally sprung
from the ground!
AT TKff (’0SFESSI05AI»
BY MARIA LOU EVB.
Young Gabriel at the altar knelt—
A priest in holy vestments olad;
His face was such as women love.
But troubled now and very sad.
The wooden crucifix he kissed,
And "Christ forgive me” humbly prayed.
"The love that should be His alone,
Bestowed upon a sinful maid.
His face was something more serene,
Yet still it wore a troubled look,
As In the dim confessional,
His wonted place, he humbly took.
“All, how can I, a sinful man,
Bid others for their faults atone,
Or penace for their sins impose,
Which are aslnothing to my own?”
Matilda fair, by morning light,
To Mary’s chapel, trembling hies:—
“Ah, Gabriel, thou holy priest.
How would thy sinless soul despise
The maiden who would dare to love
A minister of heavenly grace,”
She murmured, as she closer drew
The vail about her lovely face.
She enters now the chapel aisle.
And for a moment kneeling there.
Before the blessed virgin’s shrine,
“Ave Maria," all hey prayer,
"Ah, Mary, mother, help me now
My sinful passion to confess,
And my poor efforts to renounce
My erring love, in pity bless.”
How, in the dim confessional,
She seeks her beating heart to stay,
And to confess her secret sin,
At length her trembling lips essay:—^
Nor dreams what form is bej^i^ Jouble-
Divided by that wall ai; an d thog6 at
Nor that hie heart is sfi. Point laea in
With human weak.se and pearl jewel-
“Oh.Holy Father,;i l* eB in the bwr -
Iu flattering accents stP j.
“The priest who showed me ltfAw, gjj^
As if he were a sinful man.”
The “holy father" answered not.
The calmness he had won by prayer,
Now lost amid a tumult wild
Of eestacy and of despair.
That sweet confession from her lips!
The waxen candles burn more dim,
And Gabriel almost lorgot
That human love was not for him.
And then he struggled with himself,
And bowed his head, in silent prayer
For strength, his sacred vow to keep;
For strength, his heavy cross to bear.
"What counsel can I give thee now,
Sweet penitent and lovely maid?
For I am but a sinful man.”
In tones of thrilling sadness said.
"The heart that once was pledged to Heaven,
Has wandered to the earth gain.
And when my wings would upward soar,
It binds them with its silken chain.
Matilda. Ah, what Stoic's heart
Would not thy loveliness disarm;
What talisman, so beauty-proof.
What sacred armlet or charm?
Sweet maid, forgive, nor only blame
The priest, unfaithful to his trust;
I oould but speak, as thou hadst done,
Before we part, as part we must.
Matilda dear, on both our hearts
The same hard sentence, I impose;
Yet, would that Gabriel might bear
His own and his Matilda’s woes:—
„ Cur eyes must not behold again
Each other, till your.earthf stains gone,
We lay these weary crosses down.
And put our crowns of glory on.”
Before the crucifix they knelt,
And bowed their heads in silent prayer.
Then, clasping hands, each looked and looked
In other's eyes, in mute despair. j j
“I cannot guess what love may be,”
The priest said, very sadly, now,
“Where it ts not a deadly sin,
The breaking of a sacred vow.”
"Without my Gabriel, I may live,
But i would see him when I die:
O, say, sweet priest that thou will come,
When on my dying bed I lie,
My last confession to receive,
And for my parting spirit pray.”
"Is Gabriel’s heart so stern?” he said,
Command sweet maid and I obey.”
They parted by the crucifix,
Aud though he wore a look of pain,
And though his step was something slower,
The lover was the first priest again.
But sweet Matilda, from that day,
Was not Matilda, now, of old,
The color faded from her cheek,
And all her ways grew sad and cold.
And still she drooped, until at last,
The hour, long wished-for, had arrived,
And Gabriel beside her knelt—
Before her parting soul, he shrived,
“Wait for me love,” he whispered low,
’Tis easier now for me to bear,
And thou wilt be my spirit bride,
For love Is not a weakness there.”
While Gabriel prayed, Matilda died.
he looked upon her face, once more,
Then to the old life, sadly went—
More, peaceful now, the look he wore —
Until at length, the fretting sword,
Tho fragile sheath had worn away;
And Gabriel went to meet his bride,
Just at the closing of the day.
Philadelphia ‘Sunday Press :' All around us
we hear the busy note of preparation.—Within
a fortnight the profession will be on the road,
both figuratively and literally, for sinc9 only
about half a dozen theatres will maintain regu
lar companies, it is obvious that the great ma
jority of tbe knights of the sock and buskin will
be turned into strolling players. In some places
the dawn of the new season has already broken,
and artists are at their work, which they will
not abandon until the summer comes again.
These are fortunate ones. The great mass does
not get to business much before the middle of
September, and many combinations do not go
out until October. But numerous as thesestroll-
ing companies are every actor has not succeed
ed in getting a berth in one of them. Far from
it; plenty of good, useful actors, not distin
guished, to be sure, nor marvelously talented,
but reliable and satisfactory, are still without
regular engagements, and many of them will
remain so the winter through, picking up a
precarious living by doing odd jobs at this
house and that. And when the total idleness
whioh hot weather always brings comes again,
there will be nothing at all to rest upon, and
only a resort to the same old make shifts will
keep the roof in its place.
May Davenport will appear at
Theatre on the 25 th.
Miss Mary Anderson is said to be
blondine type of beauty.
The number of unemployed actors in
delphia at present is said to be legion.
instinct print