Crawfordsville Weekly Journal, Crawfordsville, Montgomery County, 22 March 1895 — Page 7

THE FAC^ OF ROSENFEL

By OHABLEB HOWARD MONTAGUE

iOnilight, lm, by AinertaM VrMi knnrtm tias.1

[CONTTNUSlvJ

"Dye, you must watch tho house, tho houso in the quiet street. You must tell the Jew all who go iu and out. Oh, yes, you will do this for tho good, kind Jew, the sweet, amiable Roseufel! Yes, hut you must do more. She is getting well. You must come up with him the long flights of stairs to keep watch while he goes in. Do you remember that, Dye? Do you remember his devilish cunning and his plausible airs? Do you remember the soft knock that is not answered, the creaking door, the cautious voice, whispering, Watch here that no one comes upon the stairs while I go in?' What will you do, Dye? You have whisky in your pocket. What will you do? Drink! Drink for courage! Why not call for help? The Jew is trapped. He is there. Drink more and deeper. You must have courage. Sh! What is he doing? Did you hear that gasp? Step in a little way and look. There! The paper jflashes up—the paper in the grate, and there he is at the fire looking at her! The second time is better than the first. She is black in the face from his choking hands. 'She is dead now, Dye.' See! He is dragging her back upon the bed. Quick! He calls to you, 'Alight!' What is he doing? A match to guide him while Tie arranges her dead hands! Devilish, devilish cunning! What a monster is this Jew I A stop on the stair! Run quickly, Dye, and lock the door! Escape Where? How? By the window, to the roof, and so out of tho reach of all pursuit. There is pounding and calling at the door! They will break it in! Quick, quick, now! Who will go first? The Jew! Oh, yes, the Jew, the great and important Jew! "What is your life worth, you cur, beside his? He moves in society. Where are you? The window is open. He stands upon the sill. He is climbing. He will escape. No! No! At last, Dye, the whisky has done its work. You are no longer a crouching sycophant. Strike Bow! Now or never! See him struggle to keep his hold! See him losing strength, bit by bit, against those fearful odds! He cannot long hold out. Dye, you have a giant's strength, if you are old and worn out, through him, before your time. Go, cursed Jew! You have torn his desperate fingers from their hold, and there, in the darkness he is going down, over and over, to the end. The Jew is dead! The Jew is deadl"

Mr. Dye rose utx His eyes, which had more and more, as ho wont on, assumed a steady look ahead, fixed on tho vacant wall in front of him.

Both Maxey and tho physician accompanied him simultaneously, each with a strong grasp on an arm. They did not know what in his delirious state he might be impelled to do. He only spoke out mockingly: "Jew, Jew, Felix Roseufel, the Jew, rise up out of your place in the cold water and dare to say that I have lied!"

He was silent a minute. His body became rigid and then convulsive. Their combined strength was barely sufficient to hold him. His whole frame became contorted, and crying out in a terrible voice: "There he comes! There he comes! He is there on the carpet, wet and dripping!" he fell back, frothing at the month.

CHAPTER XX. MAN AND MISTRESS.

Maxey and Dr. Lamar exchanged looks of alarm. "What is this?" the artist whispered.

Lamar answered: ,, "Death!" "So suddenly? Is it possible?" "I do not mean that he is dead, but that he has not long to live. I would not give a pinch of snuff for his chances.'' "What are we to do?" "Better take him to the hospital at once. It will not harm him to move him. He cannot remain here. He will not be long in that swoon, and then he may be violent. Let me call the janitor and have a carriage brought.''

Lamar stepped to the entrance, which communicated directly with the outer corridor. In a twinkling he had turned the key and opened the door.

A man who had been standing suspiciously near the threshold drew back in consternation.

This man was respectably dressed. His coat was buttoned up about his neck and his hat drawn down over his eyes. Ho locked like a well to do coachman.

The instant he saw Lamar he put up his hand as if to shield his face and turned to run.

The physician was too quick for him. In two strides he had come up with him

The physician was too quick for him, and laid a grip of iron upon his shoulder. "It is of no use, John," said the doctor, "I know you." "Oh, for God's sake!" the fellow pleaded, in a voice of terror. 'Let me out of this! I shall be killed!" "Indeed! Who will kill you?"

The man at once became mute, but he trembled.

"Now, John," said the physician in a quiet tone, 'you are going to tell me the truth, or you will lose your situation tomorrow. You know this man Dye?" "I, sir?" the man exclaimed, with an air of astonishment. 'It is useless for you to affect surprise. You are caught, you see. What were you doing here?" "Only looking around, sir. That is all, sir, as I hope to live. "Hum. Well, now, John, it is of no use. I will tell you plainly that it lias long been known to us that somebody in Mrs. Forsythe's household was in correspondence with this Loander Dye. We have only been waiting to lay our hands on tho right man. We have found him at last, and unless he is very, very careful he goes at once to the police. Do you understand me?" "Yes, sir." "wiat ilo vou say?"

Tho man shut his lips tightly together, and then answered: "Nothing, sir."

There was something of a grim resolution in his face which made Lamar uneasy. Nevertheless he persisted: "Very well, then, you will come in here with me, and I will lock you up until we can get an officer.''

The man began to expostulate in genuine alarm. Lamar cut him short: "Enough of that! Will you tell me what I ask, or must I do as I threatened?"

Tho man scemrd be greatly distressed. He looked ai Luniar, and he looked at the wall. He appeared at a loss for words. Suddenly he uttered a despairing cry:

'Weli, doctor, you let me drive my team home, and I will cQme back and stay as lour? as you like." "Your team, eh? Perhaps you will point out this team to me?'' "Oh, no, 110! That was a mistake, sir. Let anybody go with me and see that I come back safe. I haven't got any team.''

Lamar at once turned back into the room, dragging the unfortunate coachman by the collar. "Maxey," he asked, "do you feel competent to deal with this man?"

The artist smiled grimly. "Very well, keep him here till I come back. I shall be gone but a moment.''

The door was closed and locked. Lamar ran down into the street. A single glance to the left and the right along the lighted way showed him that the place was wholly deserted. The cold niglit wind from the river smote him in the face. He hurried down the steps and up to the main avenue.

A number of vehicles were passing in either direction, but there was no carriage standing by the curb as far as he could see.

Still he did not feel quite satisfied. He went along to the next street, extending to the river, parallel with Ballavoine place. When he reached the corner, his pulse gave a great leap.

A close carriage was drawn up by the sidewalk, a little way down toward the river. The horses were covered with blankets, and the driver's seat was vacant. A dozen rapid steps and Lamar's hand was on the door of the carriage. The handle turned, and he was peering in.

A street lamp on the other side of the way shown through the opposite windows and dimly illuminated the interior.

Lamar saw a woman closely veiled. She was reclining in a corner, but when the door opened she started forward and ejaculated in a tremulous voice: "John!"

Dr. Lamar knew that voice A shiver went through him. There was a dull feeling at his heart. He did not utter a word. He did not move a muscle. There was a dead silence.

The veiled figure shrank back with an instinctive fear, and the light from the street lamp fell upon his face. A piercing scream came from behind the veil.

The figure sat quite motionless upon the seat. "Fostelle!" said Lamar in a low tone.

Hr):

Maxey answered the knock at the door instantly. The doctor was very pale, but he was perfectly calm.

Where have you been so long?'' cried the artist. "Bidding goodby to an old friend," was the solemn response. 'Maxey, let this man go. There is nothing at all against him."

Dr. Lamar turned to the coachman and added in a low voice, "Go, John, and drive your mistress home."

When an officious personage, who would not tell the servant his business, called at Mrs. Forsythe's house the next morning, he foimd the place in confusion. After some persistence he was shown into the presence of the housekeeper, of whom he desired to learn when he should call again. "Not at all," returned the housekeeper coldly. 'Madam has gone away on a long visit. She sat up all night making arrangements for the settlement of her affairs here. The furniture is to be stored, and all the servants have been given a month's pay. The house will positively be closed."

There was another person in the city who went quietly to bed overnight, but who in the morning could not be found.

It was the pretty Miss Stevenson.

CHAPTER XXI THE POWER'S WORK.

One afternoon Maxey sought a private audience with his wife. "Annette, dear, I want you to tell me something.'' "Is it something about this mysterious affair that everybody has been so absorbed in of late? The house for the last few days has been full of 'hush,' 'don't question me,' 'all in good time,' and other such exasperating answers, until I am quite resigned never to be curious again. Is it about this?" "Perhaps, little one. Who can tell? It is about that fancy portrait that you

sketched. 1 want" you to tell me an about the origin and development of that idea."

At the mention of the portrait Mrs. Maxey became visibly distressed. "Has Dr. Lamar influenced you to ask me that, Julian?"

Maxey averted his glance. "Why, 110, dear only it was a very strange picture for a young girl, for you know you arc only a girl yet, Annette. I want to bo sure that it is not something you once saw and forgot." "Saw? In tho flesh do you mean?"

Maxey started and looked at his young wife with a troubled glance. 'That is a strange question, Annette.''

Nevertheless she was very grave and earnest in what she said. She continued in a tremulous voice: "My husband, do you believe in apparitions?" "Annette!" "Do you want your wife to believe in them?" "Of course I don't. "Then do not question me." "This introduction is highly calculated to allay a man's curiosity. I11 tho name of goodness, Annette, what do you mean? How is the mere fact of my questioning you going to causo you to believe in anything?" "Because it will cause me to think of a dangerous subject. Oh, dear, I wish J. had never touched that picture. It was so foolish of me! I might have known it would have led to this. But the idea fascinated mo so after it occurred to me that I was almost forced to it. Julian, do you desire it very, very much?"

She looked at him wistfully, as if she fondly dared to hope that he would take

pity on her manifest distress and say no. But he was immovable. "I not only desiro it very much, but I consider it of extreme importance to the happiness of us both that you answer mo fujly and freely." 'And when I have done so you will never refer to it again!" "I promise you, Annette, never."

He sealed his promise with a kiss. The young wife clasped her arms about her husband's neck and said to him: '"Then, Julian, dear, 1 will open my whole heart to you. For you to understand my thoughts and feelings on the subject I must talk about you ought to know a little episode in my childhood. My mother, Mrs. Dye, was an intelligent and thinking woman, little given to superstitions of any sort, and she was very particular that I should not grow up with any silly notions about such subjects in my head. But one time, when I was about 15 years old, she be-

Maxey averted her glance.

came interested in a book on spiritualism, which she picked up in a secondhand book store. She did not tell me all that she thought and felt in the matter, I am very sure, but I could plainly observe a gradual alteration in her ways and looks, and one day she nearly frightened me to death by going into what I afterward found was called the trance state. First she became rigid and then spasmodic, and at last she began to talk in unnatural voices. I was utterly unable to recognize my mother, and I was so terrified that Iran out form, doctor. Fortunately the physician was a land, sympathetic man. Instead of laughing at my alarm, he not oily quieted n.y fears for the time and somewhat explained the matter to me, but he gave me words of caution and advice for the future which I have never forgotten: 'If you don't wish your mother to frighten you this way again, see that she reads no more of the sort of literature she has indulged in lately and that she goes to no more sittings. I have questioned her, and from what she tolls hie, together with her evident temperament and present health, I find that this sensitive, if not dangerous, condition into which she has brought herself is owing entirely to an unhealthy brooding on one subject.' 'Surely you can give her some medicine, then,' I said to him, 'that will cure her.' 'No, my cjear girl,' he replied, 'this matter is beyond medicine. She thinks the world of you. You can restore her to health better than any one else. Try to interest her in other things. Once get her mind out of its present unhealthy rut of thought, and you will have no more trouble. These things are entirely nervous in their origin. The only way to cure them is by allaying the excitement.' In the end I found the physician had told the truth. As long as my mother continued to be excited about and interested in 'Spiritualistic Manifestation' she was liable to the trances. But when, by my aid and her own determined efforts, she had accustomed herself to think of other things the trances left her and never returned. Julian, dear, I suppose you will say it is silly and girlish, but I have an uncontrollable horror and dread of these things. They frighten me. I could conceive of no worse fate than to replace the Bunshine of my life with the darkness and gloom of a mind tortured by such specters, and my fear is greater because I fancy I am predisposed to such things.'' "That is a morbid fancy, little wife, growing, I fear, out of your unfortunately solitary and lonely childhood. A few years of bird songs and blue sky

will cure you. Dometiung 11ns occurred to you of late, dear, to remind you of all this. Go on. Don't bo afraid to tell me." "Yes, Julian, something did happen to me. I vlou't know why it was. Perhaps my head was weak from my sickness. But in the first days of my recovery, as I lay there listlessly on the bed, I frequently fell into tranceliko states. I have found out since that by resisting the feeling when it first approaches I can break the spell, but I was too weak and lacking in determination then. This grew upon me, and I became frightened. I remembered what tho doctor had told me about my mother, and by forcing my mind to think of other things I have succeeded in freeing myself from the shadow. That is why I have told 110 one, not even you. That is why I do not like to bring it back again." "But I don't see what all this has to do with tho portrait," Maxey said wonderingly. "I will tell you, Julian. It was in 0110 of thoso waking nightmares that I saw that face. Don't make me tell it, Julian! Don't make me tell it!" "God know? I would do nothing to cause my little wife a moment's uneasiness but, darling, it so important to our welfare—for yours and mine—that you should speak. Let it be recalled once and then forgotten for all time. In ono of those dreams you stuv that face?"

She answered him in a low voice: "Yes, Julian. I was lying 011 tho bed there, in the alcove room. Something, I don't know what to call it, came over me. It was more like a waking dream than anything I could name. My eyes were wide open all the time. I saw the room and the things in it, just as now.''

Sho clung closer to her husband and went 011: "I was lying there in the alcovo room looking iwward the fireplace out there. It was just after I had been brought back here, before I had told you my story. I was watching the red coals in the grate. Presently I felt a sinking, dreamy sensation coming over mo. I did not understand it. I was too weak to make any resistance to it. It was in the middle of the day, and the room was full of light. But though the knowledge of that fact never left nje I felt that it had suddenly become very dark. All tho light seemed to arise from something bursting up into a great flame in the grate, and then between me and the fire, with the strong glare upon it, I saw Wiat face iust as I have tried to draw it 1 could see the man's arms and shoulders. He seemed to be holding something to the light of the fire and staring at it. But that was dark. All this was dim, but real—real as you or the room itself—and yet all tho time, if you can understand such a thing, I never got the real fire mixed with the fire that was in my mind alone. The grate was still there behind the face and shoulders. It was an apparition, and I knew it. That was what terrified me—not then, for I never thought of fear, but afterward, when somebody came in and disturbed me and I had time to think of it. When that disturbance came, the phantom vanished like a flash. Afterward it came to me in tho dead of night and suddenly sprang up out of the darkness. Do you wonder that I was afraid such things might get a hold upon me and tried to banish it?" "Then, in the name of all that is intelligible, why did you sketch it?" "Because, Julian, I wanted to make it real. Then if I must think of it at all I could think of it as a picture drawn upon canvas and persuade myself that it was no hobgoblin that was haunting me. Perhaps you cannot understand this feeling, but I tell you truly, after I had materialized that face, it no longer had the same terror for me. Perhaps I ought to have concealed iny work, but I never thought of your questioning me. Dr. Lamar frightened me so. How could he ever guess what was in my mind?'' "If you had confided in Lamar, you would have done better," said Maxey excitedly. "He would not only havo driven away the ghost, but he would have explained him to your entire satisfaction. Why, Annette, if you should hear Lamar talk, you would be astonished to discover what an entirely simple and scientific affair a ghost is. Let me tell you something to relievo your mind of some of its half supcrstititions dread. That face you saw was the face of a real man. He was your evil genius, Annette lie it was who tool-: away your name lie who made your life so solitary and miserable he who pushed you from the sea road and unwittingly gave you to me he who followed you even here, while you lay in tho alcovo room helpless and sick, ietermined you should die. He came here into this room, and not being familiar with the place mistook in the dark Ellen, who wa* resting herself 011 my bed, for you. II" choked her to prevent her crying out bv pulling the ends of tin silk handkerchief which she wore about her nek. Not quite sure oven then that it was you, he dragged her to the fireplace and threw in a newspaper to give liini light. "The noise he made had startled you. Sick as you were, you understood in a vague way perhaps that there was danger near you, for we found you sitting up iu bed. One moment you were looking into darkness. The next tho paper flashed up, and you saw his face, glaring in the first moments of his surprise and alarm at the unfamiliar features of my sister. You photographed that scene on your mind, Annette. You know what a power you have of visualization. You remember how the doctor once questioned you about it, and you found out what a phenomenon you were in that direction. Is it so very strange to you now that that picture should have come up into your mind again when you were weak and nervous?"

The young wife looked at her husband, bewildered and wondering. "I only dimly understand you, Julian. Had I an evil genius? Who was he? What had I done that he should wish me dead? Julian, you have learned at last the secret of my life. What is it?" "Tomorrow, darling! Wait till to­

morrow." "Is it best, dear?" "I think so. Little wife, do you remember the time when you were loath to yield yourself to your love for me, because you felt that in making a union with a nameless girl I us running a terrible risk?" "Hush, Julian! My heart is in my mouth. That fear has never died. I11 the midst of all my happiness I have never been strong enough to lift that weight. Oh, I thought some day wo may bo sitting here blindly happy iu our ignorance and the truth will come! If it is as I fear it may be, will Julian feel still that his courso was wise? Will he lovo 1110 quite as much, quito as dearly as before? Will there bo 110 shadow of regret in his heart? Oh, my husband, if I could believe there would be, I should bo so miserable!" .nuian gauiereu 1101 10 nis nearu ana kissed lier with reckless freedom. "Tomorrow, little wife, tomorrow, you shall know what a fool I liavomado of myself!" ius* "Lamar, I beliovo you are a wizard "Why?" "How do you arrive at your conclusions? It is almost too strange for belief. What possessed you to question my wife so closely tho other day about the origin of that portrait?" "Can't you guess? Had yon forgotten?" "I don't understand you." "No? Do you recollect the description given by tho janitor of tho mysterious lazy man whose anxiety for your welfare after Annette was brought hero was sufficient to get him to tho door, but was never by any possibility strong

enough to fcnduco him to mount tho stairs? Don't you remoinbor tho janitor's description—middlo aged, smooth faco, small eyes near together, bushy eyobrows, hooked nose and tho rest? Maxey, I had been keeping my eye open for such a looking individual over since. Is there anything very remarkable about that?" "Well, I should nover havo thought of it. You are the most modest man. I suppose you will also claim that there was nothing remarkable about your analysis of the ghost?'' "Oh, yes, I shall. That is different that is scientific. In that matter I am apt to De vain. Maxey, if you will carry your memory back to a conversation we had in your sitting room some months ago, you will flatter 1110 by recollecting that I almost predicted the result of your wife's power of visualization. After tho experiment of Dr. Bently and myself with tho cat—or rather tho accident wo witnessed, for it was 110 plan of ours— and I became convinced that sho really had a remarkable unconscious power of retaining in her mind tho imago of anything that impressed hor, I thought a good deal about it, and I distinctly recollect telling you, when you were expressing some very callow views regarding the possibility of lier remembering events occurring during her illness, if sho recovered her mind—I distinctly recollect telling yon then that if sho ever got well sho would havo absolutely 110 memory of that time, but that it would be perfectly possible for her to carry a scene into tho future that, for instance, I should not bo overwhelmed with surprise if, though sho could remember neither of us, sho should pairtt your picture or mine as an idea of her own. No there is nothing at all mysterious in this affair. It is presumable, and it actually happened. By induction and deduction both we havo demonstrated it, and even in science that is a raro thing, my boy!" "What a great thing is your science!" cried Maxey. "It dissects a ghost as it does a monkey's body and makes of a grim and ghastly apparition tho most natural event in tho world."

Dr. Lamar smiled. "I am glad to hear you talking sense. Time was when you were a little skeptical. Perhaps if your wife keeps 011 tho way she has begun, affording illustrations of the benefits of science, wo shall even make of you an evolutionist one of these days.''

Maxey looked serious. "I shall hardly go as far as that, Eustace, but I am ready to acknowledge that you do many wonderful things." "And still we aro in our infancy. One of these days, my boy, one of these days!"

Truly this man was strangely hopeful and exuberant for one w-ho had just bidden a long farewell to a sweetheart.

CHAPTER XXII. THE RIVER CI.ISTI'.NS.

Tho soft breath of a summer wind from tho distant hills rustled the curtains in the artist's chamber.

The river glistened in the sun. Miss Maxcw, radiant and excited, Mrs. Maxey, tremulous and apprehensive, rose up when the artist opened the door leading into the parlor and ushered in his guest. "My wife and my sister, Miss Maxey my lawyer, Mr. Bornstein." Tho old gentleman in the black coat glanced at the two young ladies with his little twinkling eyes and bowed. "Happy to meet you, Mrs. Maxey, most happy, and you, Miss Maxey, most happy."

And so they met, tho lawyer and tho artist's sister, as everybody believed them to be, as perfect strangers. "Be seated, Mr. Bornstein," said Maxey. The lawyer accepted the proffered chair by the table. The rest followed his example. "Havo you prepared your resume of the Forsythe case, as you intended?" asked Maxey. Somehow his hair had risen to an alarming attitude, and his necktie was completely disorganized— two infallible symptoms of a state of extreme nervous tension. "I have got down a few notes, entirely free from technicalities, Mr. Maxey, which I trust you will find cover the principal points. I meant to havo had my clerk make a fair copy of it, but I did not have the time. You may find my writing a trifle backward at first sight. PerhaD.s I had better read off the

4--

headings myself?" 'Nothing would suit me better,'' said Maxey.

Ho had chosen for himself a comfortable chair by tho window. Tho two ladies sat together on the sofa. Miss Maxey held tho young wife's hand.

Tho lawyer drew from his pocket a neatly folded package of manuscript. As ho smoothed it out in his lap ho cast his twinkling glance around upon his auditors. If it rested longer and more significantly upou tho face of tho artist's sister than anywhere else, she alone know why. "I may say to you, Mr. Maxey, before I begin, that there may be some matters in this document which you now hear for tho first timo. You may be at a loss to know how I obtained this information but, unfortunately, I shall not bo ablo to satisfy you on that point, for tho reason that I havo given my promise not to betray the name of my informant. I have also added a few unnecessary sentonccs for tho purposo of bringing tho document to a finished closo. That is all I desire to say by way or preraee. Mhaii 1 negin at oncer very well. The document is headed 'The Forsythe Case,' and thus it reads: "Twenty years ago Ansel I'^rsytho was a wealthy merchant,who persisted, in spito of the ravages of a tomblo discaso, in carrying oil a great and profitablo business. Tho rheumatism had twisted one of his legs out of sliapo and made liini a helpless wreck at 42. He was suffering besides from a nameless malady, which wasted him away bit by bit and brought him each year fearfully, nearer to tho grave. Personally ho was| cuiablo to have an active superintendence of his affairs, and tho work was done by a keen and ambitious young man who had formerly been his private secrotary, a man unscrupulous and without any religious convictions whatever, but who, for tho resison that ho came of Jewish ancestry, was nevertheless called' tho Jew. 'The Jew was undoubtedly a man of great talents, for I10 managed the merchant's affairs to such advantage that they prospered beyond his expectations. For that reason the Jew is said to have considered the property which grew up under his care as morally his own. 1 'Tlio merchant had remained a bachelor until well along in years, when ho married a fragilo boauty, who died in giving birth to a fomale child. This ohild was called Ethel and was her father's idol. I11 tho will, mado immediately after her mother's death, he settled all his property upon hor. This was decidedly not to tho Jew's liking, but lie was too circumspect a man to permit his real feelings to bo seen. Ho played a very deep game. "When tho child was not moro than a year old, lie persuaded tho merchant that ho ought to marry again. Tho poor deformed man would have boon little likely to havo followed his advice, but groat pressure was brought to boar upon him. Medical men were found who did not scruple to tell him that marriage would undoubtedly prolong his lifo. He then consented to tho sacrifice. "All this whilo prospective matrimony had been to liini a sort of abstract idea, but this decision narrowed it down to a reality. And it now occurred to him that to marry one needed a worn-) an. Hero ho was, an unsightly, twisted creature, morbidly sensitive to his own defects. Who would many him? Nothing simpler, said the Jew, than to find a desirable lady. 'Ho proved this by presenting to him the next day his own sister. "Miss Roseufel was very young—almost a child in years—fascinating, and. they told him, as puro as the driven snow. At any rate, sho soon showed that sho had 110 objections to making a sacrifice of herself 011 tho altar of Hymen.

Sho bocamo Mrs. Fori ythe. "Tho next month appeared anew codicil in the merchant's will. A third of his vast property, in tho event of his death, was to bo left to his widow. Envious people say that tho Jew mado a bargain with his sister whereby plie was to receive this third and leave him free to gain if lie could tho other two. How far sho actually assisted him may never be known. "It was evident that tho merchant could ix)t livo long. After hisseccud marriage I10 failed rapidly. One day a shocking thing occurred. Littlo Ethel, the merchant's idol, then 18 months old, was stolen mo.-.i mysteriously in tho dead of night almost from her nurse's arms. The house had been broken into and many articles of value had been taken. So tho object of tho kidnapers appeared to bo self evident. They had stolen tho 'hild hoping to extort vast sums from the merchant as a ransom. Tho dying man was wild with grief. Ho commanded tho Jew, tho medium through whom I10 transacted all his business, to uso tho most effective measures for tho immediate rescue of his darling. But, though much money was expended and a vast amount of work performed, every claim of a diseovery of the missing ono proved, when hunted up, to be an imposturo. The Jew had an infallible tost of which the world knew nothing. An accident had necessitated the amputation of one of the toes of the child's left foot.

(TO BE CONTINUL D.)

"An III Wind," Ktc.

Sioux FAIXS. S. D., March 20.—Postmaster Tinsley has been located as one of the heirs to a fortune of #200,000 left by a cousin who died in Kentucky some time ago. The discovery was the result of the publicity given the postmaster by the bitter fight which has been waged against his confirmation by Senator Pettigrew.

Jaiuped from a Hoof.

NEW YORK, March 20.—Henry F. Taylor, 59 years old, of Brooklyn, who was an organ manufacturer at No. 229 Park Row, committed suicide Tuesday afternoon by jumping off the roof of No. 86 New Chambers street. He fell into the street and was instantly killed.