Democratic Sentinel, Volume 16, Number 49, Rensselaer, Jasper County, 23 December 1892 — TRVE AS STEEL [ARTICLE+ILLUSTRATION]

TRVE AS STEEL

MRS ALVAIL ELORDAM CIARTH.

CHAPTER X. DEAD CR ALIVE? Ghostly fell the snow! ’ Like a curtain, a Shroud, it had closed about the devoted form or' Edna Deane that wild, tempestuous night, when the cocr child oi destiny had sunk exhausted and despairing at the very threshold of safety. The siren-hearted Beatrico Mercer had sped 10 sunsh.ne, luxury and gold, with no thought of the real fate of the girl whose name she had assumed, whose loyal lover she had determined to win. More merciful than she, the soft snow had drifted gently over the inanimate wanderer, striving to shut out from the rigor of storm and tempest the frail form that had succumbed to the chill of winter like a tender lily. Upon that same eventful night another figure braved the storm, and,.breasting its fierceness, took his way along the same road, down which Edna Deane’s dumb guide had so nearly led her to shelter.

“A night to get housed. I pity the homeless or belated!”.breathed hearty, puffing John Blake, as he struggled through the deep drifts. “Ah! nearly home. There’s the dear old wife waiting to welcome me with a warm supper, I’ll warrant.” Banner John neared the unpretentious cottage that rese’mbled a Laplander’s hut, with its eaves hung deep with snow festoons. A doleful neigh from the wagon-shed aroused his humane heart, however, to turn from his path. He found there the exhausted animal that had led Edna hither, bestowed the wandering brute in its stall, and started again for the house. “Ho, there, my dear!” sang out' the bluff, great-hearted old fellow, as he made up a huge snowball and sent it six feet away dashing against the door of the cottage. It opened. An eager, motherly face showed in the lamplight. “Dear, dear! Is it you, John? I’ve been so worried. Always a boy, throwing snowballs and singing out like a pirate. Will you never mendr” “Never while this jolly snow reminds me of our schoolday sleighrides, and your pretty, blooming face, you dear old girl!” retorted happy John. “Come, throw me a broom to beat a path, so I won’t be dragging the snow all over that rag carpet you think more of than you do of me. ” “Did you ever!” “Been lonesome?” sang out John, industriously sweeping a path lo the door. “Terrible! Did you justcome, John?” “Did I just come? .You wager I haven’t been promenading around for fun, with snow chuck two feet down my neck, and that nice warm supper on the table!” “Because I thought 1 heard some one cry out a bit ago. ’’ “Pigeons, maybe.” “No. It was a human cry for help. ” “Pshaw! Fancies. The wind toots like an engine-whistle to-night—law3y me!" Farmer John uttered a sharp cry, stumbled, recoiled. The broom fell from his hand, and there he stood staring blankly down at the ground at his feet. “What now, John?” ejaculated his wife, peering, too. “Something in th path. Bag of oats —a sheep—no! Jane, look!” He had leaned over to examine the object at his feet. His great, soulful eyes glowed like two stars. Into view he had dragged a human hand, limp and nerveless. A soggy dress-sleeve followed and then a terrible cry raug from his wife’s lips. Out into the snow she dashed. Down beside the inanimate form, disenshrouded from its snowy mound, she knelt. “John! John!” she wailed, peering into the white, cold face of the insensible Edna Deane —“it’s a woman—a young girl. Oh, John! look at the bonny face,” and the quick tears rained down m wild, motherly pity., “Oh, John! dead or alive —which?”

CHAPTER XI. PLOTTERS IN' COUNCIL. The false Alice Ralston, the real Beatrice Mercer, went straight to Hopedale after leaving the home where she had found a father and a fortune. She took no risks In her movements. Ralston did not know of her destination, had not known that she was at the Hopedale Institution through the years Rodney, the man who had died at the bridge, his friend, his advisor, had the sole charge of placing the real Edna at the seminary, for, as Beatrice knew, when father and daughter had parted years before the former was a fugitive from justice. She had told the anxipus Ralston that she would return speedily. She had secured a large sum of money. She made sure that no one followed her to the train. To break any possible trail she changed cars at a large city midway to Hopedale and made several myterious purchases at a costumer’s and at a hair dresser’s shop. When the next morning Beatrice Mercer alighted from a sleeper on the train at the nearest railroad town to Hopedale, and took a carriage to her home, her best friend would not have recognized her. For she was completely disguised. She had come to aot a part, and she had come fully prepared. In dress and face she had effected a marvelous change, and when she reached the Hopedale hotel and ordered a suit of rooms, no one formerly familiar with the trim, neat figure and rather attractive face of the half-pay school teacher of Hopedale Seminary, about the village, would for a moment have suspected the true identity of this new Beatrice Mercer. . She had come hither with an object, a definite object. She had come to seek a trace of Ihe man 6he had loved, Raymond Marshall. She had resolved to win his love. Ruthlessly she had striven to destroy his faith in Edna Deane, as ruthlessly she had covered the trail of the young girl, when she disappeared, she had robbed her trusting friend of name, father and fortune, and now she would steal her loyal, broken-hearted lover from her. This was her plot, and her spirit never quailed at the upbraidings of an outraged, hardened conscience. “He shall be mine! Wealth is nothing without him,” she had told herself, and forthwith she set herself at work to consummate her designs. She had money—that could buy Information, cooperation. She had an ally In reserve, and after remaining in her room to raat

untsmioon, she dispatched a messenger for ©*■. Raphael Simms. This man was\ a physican who resided near the village. He was a hard, coarse-featured man of about 40, and her only living relative in the world. He had a very small practice, for people generally disliked him. but he combined with his profession a mortgage loaning office, and cared very little ior anything except money. A halt cousin of Beatrice’s father, these two had rarely met tne another, but Beatrice knew the man full/, and comprehended that she could rely on his secrecy anri co-operation where there was moneyed reward assured him for his services. At about 2 o’clock in the afternoon Doctor Raphael Simms was ushered into the parlor of the suite of rooms at the hotel occupied by Boatrice. He evidently supposed he’had been sent for by a pat.ent. for bowing awkwardly to her, he looked somewhat puzzled, as he said: “You are the lady who sent for me?” “Yes. Doctor,” responded Beatrice. “You are ill—some friend ” “No. I want your personal services, not your professional advice. You do not knovr me? Look!” Her visitor started violently as Beatrice removed the false front of hair and her glasses for the first time, revealing her true identity. “Beatrice Mercer!” he ejaculated in genuine surprise. “Your cousin. Yes. I need aid. I do not know a person in the village I can trust but you. First, I desire complete secrecy. Next, certain information you can glean for me. Perhaps a week’s attention off and on will do. For all this I will pay you $501). ” “ You —will—pay —me! ” gasped the potrified doctor, wondering if the friendless girl he had known as a dependent at the seminary had taken leave of her senses. “Five hundred dollars. Are not my words plain enough?” “Where would you get that sum of money?” His incredulity nettled Beatrice. “Out of my pocket-book! Five one-hundred-dollar bills. Count them. Take them; they won’t burn you. I pay you in advance.”

She had extended the amount in question. Its unexpected possession, the munificence of the reward, fairly stunned the Doctor. “I can’t understand how you come to have so much money,” he began. “Don’t try to.” interrupted Beatrice, impatiently. “Briefly, I have come into possession of several thousand dollars. I choose to spend the money as I like. I offer you SSOO to help me. Do you agree?” “Yes, indeed!” “First, my identity and plans are to be a dead secret between us, now and hereafter. ’’ “Trust me for that. ” “Next, you are to obey me implicitly.” “With such pay for my services, I am your slave!” “Very good. First and foremost, I wish you to go now, and at once, and 1 learn all you can about the whereabouts of Bayrrond Marshall.” “Eh!” ejaculated the Doctor, with a start. “I don’t think he is in the village.” “then ascertain where he is.” “I’ll t.y.” “Next, find out about the whispered financial complications in the affairs of his father. Col. Marshall.” “That is more easy." “And report progress to me as soon as you can. ” “There shall bo no de^hjf;” Dr. Simms departed. Beatrice looked excited, suspenseful. “The ball set in motion—oh! with a trusted ally and unlimited wealth, I cannot fail in the scheme I have adopted.” She counted the hours until late in the afternoon. Her face underwent vivid changes of color and expression as there was a knock at the door finally. “Come in!” It was her ally, Dr. Simms. He looked tired and excited. “Well?” she demanded imperiously. “I’ve had an atternoon of it.” “You have found Raymond Marshall?”

“He returned home this morning.” “From where?” “From a fruitless, heartbroken quest for that girl he was spoony on at the seminary—the one who disappeared so mysteriously.” “Edna Deane, you mean?” “Yes; that’s the name. He’s been searching for her everywhere, neglecting business, growing so thin and pale that they say he is fast breaking down.” “And his father?” “Added trouble there! Dark rumors say that his business integrity is at stake, that a financial crash threatens. I ma,de circumspect but close inquiries. He is at the office of the lawyer now, striving to adjust affairs. You see ” “You need not toll me more," interrupted Beatrice, impatiently. “I know more than you do, probably, about that. At the lawyer’s office?” she continued, arising and putting on her wraps. “Report to me here about eight o’clock this evening." “ You are not going?” “To the lawyer’s office myself.” She left the hotel alone. In ten minutes she entered the outer room of the offices of the lawyer her informant had referred to. She sank to a chair near to the halfopen door of the compartment marked “Frivate,” adjoining. Then she bent her ear and listened eagerly. Voices sounde 1 quite clearly. Her eyes glowed with satisfaction as she realized that accident had enabled her to enter the office and linger unperceived. Her heart beat quicker as she recognized the broken, pleading tones of Colonel Marshall, Raymond's father, and the words he uttered were: “Ten thousand dollars! Impossible! I tell you that unless I have time, unless those documents are suppressed or destroyed, I am a ruined man!” “Just in time! I shall win. Everythings favors me!” fell in a baleful, triumphant murmur from the lips of the confident Beatrice Mercer. CHAPTER XU. SAVED. Beatrice Mercer drew nearer to the half-open door, as those ominous words sounded forth: • “Unless those documents are suppressed or destroyed, I am a ruined man!” A strong man spoke them, but the voice, while mournful, bore a token of pleading, despairing agony. The listener knew that the speaker was the father of Raymond Marshall. What she already knew of his business complications had brought her to Hopedale. It was through the father that she relied upon reaching the son. There was the rustling of papers, and then the lawyer's voice reached her ears: *1 am very sorry, Colonel Marshall, but I have my orders to act. * “You can defer action.”

. .“1 would violate my duty to my ell* ents if I deferred it a day longer.” , “Then ” ' “To-morrow Igo into court and submit those document. They represent a personal indebtedness of SB,OOO. They represent your .indorsement for $2,000 more. The distressing feature of the latter amount is that thb alleged maker of the note denies its validity. In other words, it is a forgery.” A groan rang from the lips of the unhappy man. "You are right,” he murmured in a hollow, broken tone of deep despair. “My.personal indebtedness does not worry me. I should, never have been called upon to bear it, for I never personally contracted a dollar of it. However, penury, destitution myself and family might honorably endure, but dishonor, never! If that two-thousand-dollar claim is presented in court ’’ “You will be accused of forgery.” “Which I never committed! ’ cried tho Colonel. “You believe me?” “I certainly do, but will a jury? Those documents go in as evidence, on their face showing you are responsible for them." "But I have explained to you! That scoundrel of a partner of mine drew out of the firm a'few months since on the pretense of ill-health. He took nearly all the ready cash, and not until after he had got safe in a foreign land did I learn tnat the alleged valuable assets he had left as my share of the business were only waste paper. Worse than the burden of debt, he left those forged notes. I hypothecated them. Now I am accused of uttering them!" “Can you not take them up?” insinuated the lawyer. “Impossible! I have vainly tried to borrow. My son' a dependence usually, has lost all interest in business and wanders about half-crazed over the disappearance of a heartless jilt. No, ruin stares me in the sac the pris-on-dock, dishonor, death! ” “I am sorry for you.” That was all the lawyer could say, |TO BE CONTINUER |