Democratic Sentinel, Volume 21, Number 4, Rensselaer, Jasper County, 29 January 1897 — LOVE AND MONEY [ARTICLE+ILLUSTRATION]

LOVE AND MONEY

BY CHATLOTTEM. BRAEME

CHAPTER XIX. “When this trouble, or whatever it is, is over,” he asked, eagerly, “will you not continue our friendshipV Will you promise, that this secret shall uot stand between us always as it does now?” She thought for a few moments before answering him, and then said gently: “When my trouble is over, it will be dead and buried; but even then I can tell no one what it is or has been. It is a secret that for another’s sake must die with me.” “I respect it,” he cried, “and I shal never seek to know it; but tell me ont thing. When it has passed, this trouble of yours, where shall I find you?” “I cannot tell you now,” she replied, “nor do I know when I shall be in a position to tell you. There is, however, one promise I must ask —nay, almost exact from you.” “I will give auy promise you ask for," he said promptly. “Promise me that, if we meet in afterdays, it shall be as strangers, that you will not recognize me, that you will never mention this incident in my life.” “I promise most faithfully.” “Promise me even more,” she went on. “Promise to forget it yourself, so that, if ever you meet me in my right place in the world, you will never ask yourself why I was here." “I promise most loyally,” he replied. “But do you think it likely we shall meet again ?” “It is much more likely than not,” she answered. On the day after this most momentous one of her life, Angela was busy arranging some flowers, when Mrs. Bowen sought her, holding a small packet in her hand. “Good-morning, Miss Charles,” she said. “You will be surprised, and no doubt glad to hear that his lordship went away this morning.” Surprised indeed she was. The color faded from her face, and her heart sunk. Gone—and without telling her! Surprised, but not pleased, Angela realized In that moment how much of her happiness had gone with him. She realized, too, the fact that she loved him. “Yes,” continued Mrs. Bowen, “his lordship went away this morning quite early. He will not return perhaps for some months; so, Miss Charles, you will have the whole place to yourself again.” But “Miss Charles” did not look very happy over it, and only heaven knew the blank that the young man’s going had left. “His lordship,” continued Mrs. Bowen, “asked me’ to give this little parcel into your hands when you came down-stairs. There was no message with it.” Angela thanked the old housekeeper, and went to her favorite retreat —the white room. She knew by instinct that the parcel was a letter, although he had •o disguised it. She opened it hastily, and found that her suspicion was correct. The letter read as follows: “My Dear Miss Charles: I address you so, but I feel most strongly inclined to write instead, ‘My heart’s own darling.’ How little I dreamed, when I came home, that I should find my delight awaiting me on the very threshold—a vision of grace and loveliness that stole into my heart at once, and will never leave It! While I was under the same roof with you, I did not dare to tell you how dearly I loved yon. I loved you from the first moment I saw yon, and I shall love you until I die. Under my own roof I did not dare to ask you to be my wife. I ask you now, my darling, and lay my fortune, my love, my life at your feet. I leave my heart in those white hands that I think the fairest in the world. “My love, I pledge myself to you. Whatever shrouds you, whatever your lot in this world may be, I elect yon my queen and my love, my wife. I trust my future to you. I would have given much to remain at Brantome; but I could not have done so after telling you this. And now, my love, lam at your mercy. My fortune and life are yours. If it be your will and pleasure that I should wait yet awhile for my answer, I will wait. But, when the shadow has passed from your life, send me one line. My love for you deserves that. You need give no residence, no sign, no name, but say simply, ‘I shall be at Buch a place at such a time’ —that is all. Thns I will meet you. Address the note to me at the Agamemnon Club, Picadllly. I shall wait anxiously for that note, and till I receive it may heaven give me patience! I kiss the white hands I hold so fair, and on my knees I do homage to the loveliest and sweetest girl in the land, my future wife. From her devoted lover, “GLEN ARLEIGH.” Happy tears filled her eyes, happy smiles curved the sweet lips as she finished reading the letter. “There was never so loyal a lover,” thought Angela to herself. How few men would have left her in so chivalrous a manner! She admired the chivalry of the act; it was that which appealed to her. Could he have done more? He had left his home in order that she might remain there. It was the courtly action of a true gentleman, and she loved him for it She buried her face In her hands, and for a time gave herself up to happy thoughts of a happy future. The world had suddenly grown most dear to her because it held him, her life most precious to her because he wished to share it. Now more than ever she longed for the day when the advertisement should appear and set her free. CHAPTER XX. One morning, when Angela had put away the Times, feeling sad and disappointed because the unlooked-for advertisement did not appear, Mrs. Bowen came to see her about some little matter, and the young girl began talking to her of- the country and the neighborhood. “What is the very large house with tall white towers which we can see from the park?” she asked. “That ia Culdale Hall,” answered Mrs. “Lord aad Lady Culdale live therel and I hear that they have retpmed with a large party of guests. They generally return to the Hall about the mid-

file of June. I hear that they have a gay at Culdale now, and among them 'is a famous London beauty; I forget her name.” Perhaps, had h® remembered ft, a great tragedy might have been avoided. The household of Brantome HaH, during the summer months, attended services at St. Cuthbert’s Church, Cdldale there was no other church nenrer—and on Sunday morning after Lord Arleigh had left the hall, Mrs. Bowen went to Angela. “Miss Charles," she said. “I am going to St. Cuthbert’s Church this morning; would you like to go with me? Y’ou have not been to church since you have been here.” "1 should like it very much,” she replied. In her simple, loving heart there arose a great desire to go. It was not, perhaps, quite prudent, as she was so desirous of concealing her whereabouts; but then, as she thought, the risk would be small, for she would see no oue who knew her, and, besides, she would wear a thick black veil. A few minutes later Angela found herself seated in the comfortable, old-fash-ioned pew belonging to the Arleigh family. The little church was well filled, and, with a hasty glance round, she saw that some elegantly dressed ladies were near her. “The Culdale party,” whispered Mrs. Bowen; and Angela raised her eyes, when, 10, they fell on the dark, beautiful face of Gladys Rane. With a stifled groan, her face unnaturally pale, her limbs trembling, Angela fell back into her seat. Fortunately no one. had noticed the slender veiled figure, all eyes being directed toward the radiant loveliness of Gladys Rane. When Angela recovered herself, she looked again, half hoping that she had made a mistake. But no; there was the face, the fatal beauty of which had ruined her mother’s life, and had rendered her own one of constant peril. What had brought Gladys Rane there? Angela wondered. Then she remembered suddenly what Mrs. Bowen had told her. This was the Culdale party, and Gladys Rane was evidently one of it, The explanation was simple enough—Gladys Rane was on a visit to Culdale Park. As Angela watched for a moment the fair face of her mother’s rival, her heart suddenly stood still, and she experienced a terrible shock. A gentleman bent forward to give Miss Rane a book, and she saw that it was her mother’s husband, Captain Wynyard. . The church wqlls seemed to close around her, a red mist rose before her eyes; there was a rush as of many waters in her ears. She grew bewildered; all her senses seemed to bo coufused. There they were before her, Gladys Rane and Captain Wynyard—the man and the woman who, between them had ruined her mother’s life. The truth soon dawned upon her. He also was one of the Culdale party; and she had no doubt in her own mind that the meeting between him and Gladys Rane had been prearranged. She wondered if her mother knew of this; and her heart burned within her as she watched them. Suddenly a remembrance of her own danger came to her. The fatal will had not yet been canceled, or she would have seen the advertisement; and she knew that her life would not be safe if the Captain found out where she was before that happened. She was glad that she had taken the precaution to wear a Veil, for, so protected, he could not possibly recognize her. She saw the dark eyes of Gladys Rane rest for a moment on her, but there was no gleam of recognition in them, and she did not see the Captain even glance in her direction. But for all he had seen her; his keen eyes had pierced her disguise, and he recognized the slender, graceful figure, the stately carriage of her head. He gave no sign of the discovery he had made; but the cruel lines around his mouth deepened, and his white hands were ominously clinched. He glanced a second time to be quite sure that it was Angela, and then did not look again in her direction. He did not even tell Gladys Rane whom he had seen in church. He formed quickly his own wicked and cruel plans; and was resolved upon carrying them out with the utmost possible speed. He would have no confidant; his secret should be kept to himself.

CHAPTER XXI. Vance Wynyard had not been a happy man for weeks, and the mystery of Angela’s leaving home had not tended to improve his temper. 'He tried to assure himself that she could not by any possible means has suspected him, that her absence could have nothing to do with him. Yet her strange departure caused him uneasiness and anxiety. He had been miserable enough at Rood of late. Lady Laura had been so ill that he could not leave her to go up to town, though he would gladly have done so; but he knew what the world would say, and he did not care to pose as a bad husband. He had passed through a season of ennui and misery, which had deepened all his bad designs and which had more than ever made him wish himself free to marry the choice of his heart. His animosity toward Angela strengthened. He made inquiries in all directions, bnt he could find no trace of her. When things were at their darkest a letter came from Gladys Rane, informing him that she was going to Culdale Park with Lord and Lady Ouldale, intimate friends of the Captain’s, and asked him if he could not join the party there for a few days. 1 Lady Laura did not seek to oppose her husband’s deparrture; in fact, if anything, she was pleased at his decision. She intended to telegraph for Mr. Sansome on the very day the Captain left, asking him to come down to her at once, aB she wished to consult him on most important bnsinees. The Captain left home for Culdale, and a telegram was forthwith dispatched to Mr. Sansome; but the lawyer happened unfortunately to be from home. It was Monday before he received it, and it was not until Tuesday that he reached Rood; on the following morning, however, the long-looked-for advertisement appeared in the Times,. Angela rekd it with delight. It seemed to her that the black clouds had lifted—that her life was now free from the peril

Burt had threatened It The Captain need a© longer seek to compass her death now that he had nothing to gain by it There was one important point, hows ever, which she found she had overlooked. The Captain must be told that the will was destroyed, otherwise her scheme would prove abortive. She thought long and deeply, and finally decided that she would go home to her mother on Saturday, and ask her to write at once and inform the Captain what had been done. And then she would tell her juat sufficient to show her what peril they had been in, and persuade her to leave him, and never to live with him again. When she was safe with her mother, away from the man who had embittered both their lives, she would write the 111 tie note to Lord Arleigh, saying: “The time has come; meet me," She could not teil yet where she should take refuge with her mother; but, wherever it was, her lover should visit her. She had not the faintest suspicion that the Captain had recognized her in church. If she had, Bhe would probably have acted more expeditiously. Only now, when she to leave it, dilFshe realize how much she loved Brantome, with its bright, cheerful rooms, its lovely river and beautiful grounds. She dared not let herself think that the time might come when they would be her own. The idea of returning to her mother was delightful; the battles she would have to fight when she reached Rood had no terrors for her. She would not have been so happy had she known how near danger was to her —had she known all that the Captain had done since he saw her in church on Sunday morning. lie had, as a matter of course, been astonished. Of all places in the world, why should she have selected to come to Culdale? The Captain was greatly puzzled. It seemed hardly credible that Angola should be so near, and yet it was most certainly Angela’s face that he had seen. He was determined to solve the mystery, and he did. He watched the grounds of Brantome until he saw her, and then in his mind her fate was sealed. He saw her plainly, and had no further doubt as to her identity. Angela was at Brantome Hall, hiding under the name of Miss Charles. Why was she hiding? What did it mean? He could not tell; but whatever the cause, it mattered little now. Fate had delivered her Into his hands, and she should not escape him again. How, when, or where he would achieve his object he could not tell. He only knew that she must be removed from his path with as little delay as possible. On Thursday, when night set in, he rode from Culdale Hall to Brantome Park, fastening his horse to a tree while he reconnoitered the house. He watched the shadows on the blinds, nnd recognized Angela’s. In this way he discovered which was her room. It was not very high—only on the second story; and, as he stood in the soft darkness, he said to himself that he could easily reach the window by means of a ladder. There his herrible thoughts stopped—thoughts that appalled even himself. He did not tell Gladys Rane that he had found his lost step-daughter. He conceived it to be more prudent noLto do so. If anything happened, no sujfiicion could fall upon him; Gladys herself had not the least idea that the daughter of her rival was so near.

(To be continued.)