Democratic Sentinel, Volume 16, Number 25, Rensselaer, Jasper County, 8 July 1892 — -ORTHE HEIRESS of MAPLE LEAF FARM [ARTICLE+ILLUSTRATION]

-OR—THE HEIRESS of MAPLE LEAF FARM

CHAPTER XVll—Continued. “Shall we go to the hotel?” queried Prescott. “What for?” demanded his companion, eharply. “To divide the money, of coarse.” “Eh?" frowned the other. “Oh, yes; ■certainly. We divide, as agreed. No, I am not going to venture near the hotel. lam afraid ” “Of a woman!” sneered Prescott. “With the money gained, never fear the rest. ” “You don’t know her!" gasped the impostor, with a timid glance all about him, as if fearful that some wraith would suddenly block his path. “Anyway, we will shake the dust of the viliae from Our feet, sure and fast. I wwnt to meet my friend, Paul Daltpn’s jailer, at a cabin in the woods. Come ■on. Soon as we roach a retired spot I’ll divide the money.” Ralph Prescott’s heart beat high with hope and avarice. He had failed in hsost of his plans, but the very material fact'of money, at least, was tangibly in eight at least. Just beyond the village, near a little grove, the imposter halted. “It’s moonlight,” he said, “and we can see to count the money. You demand half, eh?” “We agreed on half.” “All right.” The impostor peered sharply about •them. He made a feint as if to taW-the wallet from his pocket. “Hene you are,” he said, between his •teeth, his breath quickening. Balph Prescott put forth his hands, as if to receive the money he had so coveted. The next minute they went to his Bead, he uttered a wild cry and staggered back. For, with the swiftness of lightning, the man he had made an accomplice had drawn some blunt instrument from his pocket. A heavy blow on the temple .repeated stretched Prescott senseless at his feet. “Lie there!” he hissed malevolently. “Half! ha! ha! I have plotted too deeply for the fortune to give it away. No, mine, all mine! Such sneaks as you deserve a traitor’s reward!” He knelt and drew Prescott’s watch from his pocket—even his purse he took. Betrayed, robbed, deserted, Ralph Prescott would awake to find that orime had Brought him its own true recompense. Then the shallow-hearted villain •darted through the thicket, carrying with him the results of evil scheming, making off with the booty, to obtain Which he had ruthlessly trampled on .human lives and human hearts. CHAPTER XVIII. AT LAST. Lawyer Drew filed away his papers, • closed Up his desk and lit his pipe, ready lor a comfortable smoke, after his two visitors, Balph Prescott and the impostor, had left him. He felt very complacent, for the assured .heir ,of the Forsythe legacy had paid him an extra large foe to expedite, matters. A ring at the door-bell, followed by the hurried parley of some new visitor with the servant, interrupted the lawyer’s pleasant reveries, however, a moment later, and almost immediately tramping footsteps down the hall preeeded a rude intrusion into the room.

There stood a man, pale, unkempt, Wild-eyed—6o closely the prototype of the man who had just left that room with a royal fortune surrendered to his charge that the lawyer stared in amazement. “Why, Mr. Dalton!” he ejaculated, rising abrvyptly and staring wonderingly at his visitor. “You have returned? something has happened?” “Returned? No!” exclaimed the intruder, excitedly. “ I have not been here before to-night.” “What! Did I not just pay you ” “Too late!” gasp.d the new comer. “Ho has been here. I feared It. Ain. Drew, do you not know, me?" “Why! yes, I—stammered the lawyer. “lam Paul Dalton; not the Paul Dalton who has taken my place and represented my identity for the past week, but the Paul Dalton you knew of old—the superintendent of Maple Leaf Farm." , “Then the other?” “Was an impostor.” Lawyer Drew’s jaws fell. The awful truth suddenly dawned upon his astounded mind, and it paralyzed his faculties completely. “Yes,” went on Paul Dalton, rapidly, “you have been made the viotim of a deep plot, a scheme to wrongfully secure the Forsythe fortune, while I have been a drugged, bound prisoner. To-night I overpowered and bound my jailer and burned here, but too late to prevent the •onsummation of an iniquitous project between Balph Prescott and the man who r< sembles me. ” “Remarkably. He must be a brother, a close relative?” “It matters not. I cannot expose him here now. Quick! how much of a start has he got of me! He must be overtaken, he must disgorge his ill-gotten booty, he must tell me what he has done with my wife—my darling, precious Buth!” “I ean answer that question!” A clear, confident voice uttered the words. Just about to advance toward the door, Paul Dalton recoiled as a dark-eyed, sad-faced woman crossed its threshold. The lawyer, too, regarded ber in open-mouthed wonder, “Isabel!” exclaimed the startled and bewildered Paul Dalton, “Isabel!” “Yes, Paul, the wronged, persecuted wife of your enemy, the woman who, at last realizing all the noble sacrifice of your life, has determined, be the cost what it may, that you shall wreck your happiness no further, to enrich and shield a consummate scoundrel, my husband though he be!” “What does thief mean?" gasped the overwhelmed lawyer. “I will tell you,” rang out the woman’s voloe. “Isabel, I forbid you!” interrupted Paul Dalton, sternly. “No, I shall disobey you,” returned the woman, firmly. “Too long you have

BY GENEVIEVE ULMER.

suffered in silence. It means this, sir,” to the interested and curious lawyer, “there are two Paul Daltons—this one, and my husband, the man who has just swindled you out of a fortune. The one good, the other bad, remarkably alike in looks, but in soul—ah! this man’s noble sacrifices and life of sadness shall shine bright in the judgment day before the blaok-hearted cruelty and sin of that other Paul Dalton—my husband.” “They are brothers?”

“No, cousins—the children of sisters who, fondly hoping to win the favor of rich old Paul Dalton, the banker, each named a child after him. ’ They grew up. My husband was the favorite. He was the acoepted heir of his uncle, but he broke his mother’s heart with his evil ways. On her death-bed she made this noble-hearted man here promise to shield his cousin from harm. Hoping he would reform, this Paul Dalton did all he could to help him retain his uncle’s favor. But, why Continue the story? Its end tells all. My Paul Dalton was convicted of forgery when this Paul Dalton was out West. He served his term, but, returning home, reversed the real position of affairs —charged this Paul Dalton with being the oonvict and he the man out West. He wedded me to a life of misery, and for my sako after old Paul Dalton had died, and my husband had squandered his fortune, this noble man mutely -accepted the stain of a convict reputation, gave up all his ambitions and disappeared. That is the story. My husband was the forger—this man’,s soul is white as snow.” The old lawyer sat overcome at the strange revelation. “When Paul Dalton left Eidgeton ten days ago,” continued the woman, “to find my husband, and demand that he explain, at least to Buth Elliott, the truth which he was sworn not to divulge, my husband learned of the fortune left to him. He made a prisoner of this Paul Dalton, and—the rest you know. I hurried on his track, determined that no further injury should como to this man. I warned him; he refused to heed me. Now he shall suffer the consequences of his crime. Paul Dalton, I rescued your wife to-day—there she is!” Ruth Dalton appeared at the library door. There was a mutual cry of joy, and husband and wife were reunited in one another’s arms. “Wait here!” ordered Isabel. “I know where my husband has gone. I will find him—l will right the great wrong of the pa3t—if I follow him half the world over! ”

CHAPTER XIX. IX THE WHITE MOONLIGHT. • Ralph Prescott lay where he had been left robbed and insensible in the white moonlight, while his assailant sped away from the spot with the fleetness of a deer, and the guilty bearing of a criminal escaping from the hands of justice. The false Paul Dalton’s breath came quick, and his manner showed that he was not yet altogether sanguine of leaving the country without some trouble. He feared Prescott, revived and hot on his trail with all the vengeful persistency of a baffled accomplice; he dreaded the anger of his deserted wife, whose written warning and subsequent silence were more impressive than spoken words. But he had arranged for dll that. The bearded man, Newcombe, whom he had employed to act as jailer to Paul Dalton, was an old-time confederate in crime, and he had arranged to meet him at a dilapidated cabin a mile distant, that night. “I’ll see Newcombe and we’ll t fly the country together,” he as he hurried over the moonlit landscape. “He is too old a friend to desert, but as to that fellow Prescott, he handled edged tools and got cut —he got all he deserved. ” The impostor threaded a forest maze, and at last came to a dismantled hut. He paused in the bushes to whistle several times. There was no response to this evidently agreed-on signal, and he entered the doorless structure and proceeded to light a lantern, which, with a lot of other traps, lay on the floor in one comer of the gloomy place. From among' these he selected a suit of clothes, a false beard, a pair of blue spectacles, and other articles likely to be of use in making up a disguise. When he had donned them they gave him an appearance soarcely according with the fugitive of a few minutes previous. “I fancy no one will recognize me in this disguise even if pursuit is made,” he chuckled confidently. “The money? Yes, that is all safe. Ah! it was worth the battle, and victory perches on my banner, and I have won the day. A royal fortune! With Newcombe to cooperate with me, we oan double it at some foreign gambling place.” He gloated over the well-filled pocketbook for some time, then, securing it in an inner pocket, he paced the floor of the hut restlessly. An hour went by, and he glanced at his watch —Balph Prescott’s—his timepiece now, he told himself, with a hilarious laugh, as he pictured the discomfiture of the plotter when he regained his senses.

“Strange that Newcombe does not come!” he murmured, impatiently, at last, extinguishing the lantern, and going to the door of the hut Another hour went by, and he started from the spot. “I can’t, I won’t risk trouble by remaining here or going in search of Newcombe,” he muttered, determinedly. “He had his cue to be here. He is not here, bo I leave the country alone. With an abundance of money I can find an equally shrewd partner in Europe." Utterly selfish and heartless to the last, the impostor hurried through the woods. He had his plans formed to cross the country to a railroad, take an eastbound train, reach New York, and thence by steamer, Europe. Just where a narrow ravine lined the path he was traversing, he paused suddenly. ‘Like a flashing meteor, a woman’s form crossed his vision and blocked his path. “Stop!” Clear as a clarion note the mandate rang forth. “Isabel!” gasped the storied plotter. “Yes—l have found you; “What—what do you want?” stammered the abashed impostor. A white, shapely hand was extended from the folds of the long, dark cloak that enveloped the woman’s form. “I want the .fortune you have stolen from the mau you have so cruelly wronged, Paul Dalton!" was the impe- j rious reDlv.

CHAPTER XX. CONCLUSION. -**■ The hand of the impostor clqtched the breastpocket containing the precious wallet at the peremptory words of hia deserted wife. Then, with a wild glance about him, he made a movement of precipitate flight. The woman never moved. She simply repeated the ominous mandate. “Stop! I warn you, Paul Dalton. You know I never tell a lie. Take one more step, and— lam prepared to prevent a new wrong. I will kill you before you shall reap the reward of your awful wickedness!” The hand under the cloak moved significantly. The man shuddered; his hair crisped; his blood chilled. He knew she was a broken-hearted, desperate woman. His eyes were lurid with baffled hate as he gazed at her. “Then take it!” he hissed, as he drew forth the wallet. She reached out her hand, but uttered a startled cry as she realized in a flash that the acquiescent words of tlya scoundrel were employed solely to throw her off her guard. For he gave her a violont push back toward the edge of the yawning ravine. The woman did not, however, lose her presence of mind. With one hand she clutched the wallet and tore it from her husband’s grasp. With the other she stayed a fatal descent into the cavernous darkness of tin yawning void, three feet away. Her would-be executioner was less fortunate. His violent movement caused him to lose his balance; his wild struggle to gain the coveted pocketbook cost him dear.

He stumbled and fell. A cry of horror rent the woman’s lips as his struggling form disappeared over the edge of the cliff and was swallowed up in the black darkness of the ravine. She listened with bated breath for some sound or cry, but none came. Then, thrilled, appalled, she sped from the spot. Beaohing the first cottage, she summoned help. An old farmer and his hired man accompanied her to the ravine. There, lying across a mosscovered rook, they found the broken body of her husband. He was still alive, and they bore him to the village.. Placed under a dootor’s care, he was nursed by his wronged but faithful wife until morning. At earliest dawn, a bedraggled, limping form stole into Eidgeton and to Maple Leaf Farm. It was the baffled schemer, Balph Prescott. Before noon, taking with him the entire contents of Farmer John’s strong box, he sneaked out of the village.

' That village never heard of him again for two years, then it was to learn that he had died in a fight in a far Western gambling saloon. The man Newcombe, whom the real Paul Dalton had overpowered at the cabin, was brought to town by the sheriff and imprisoned. As Paul Dalton did not wish to make his own affairs public, however, he was released later, and disappeared. But on the morrow all Eidgeton knew the story of one man’s noble sacrifice and another man’s vilo plottings. They know, too, that to the last Isabel had clung to the battered wreck of humanity, who died deploring, if not repentant. It was a week later, after the burial of her husband, that Isabel returned to Eidgeton. Paul Dalton and his wife welcomed her at the old homo of Geoffrey Forsythe, where they had begun life anew, as husband and wife. “I have come back to stay with you, as you wish,” said Isabel, sadly. “I know you want mo, and, with my life wasted and broken, I will feel happiness to bo near you. My father has forgiven me.” “You have blessed our lives by lifting the dark veil of my past,” returned Paul, affectionately. “You recovered the fortune we would have lost. You shall have it with us here, as friend, adviser, sister.” “Not here,” answered Isabel, softly, “but at your proper home —Maple Leaf Farm. Buth, I have told your father all the story of your husband’s nobleness, of the evil deeds of his favorite, Balph Prescott, and he is brokenhearted over the injustice he has done. He is here to ask forgiveness and take you and your husband back to Maple Leaf Farm.” Bugged old Farmer John was a contrite, tearful man in that room a minute later. A happy man as, with his daughter and her husband, he returned to the old home that had been so cheerless without them. He know the true from the false now, the poor metal from the dross, and knew, too, that his future would be bright and peaceful, assured of the love and devotion of Hearts of Gold. Once more the golden grain is waving over the broad, fertile acres; once more Ruth’s happy face beams from the homestead door, and once more, blessed by the love of Paul, the sisterly devotion of Isabel, and the tender care of old Farmer John, she is the Heiress of Maple Leaf Farm. [the end.]