Democratic Sentinel, Volume 21, Number 6, Rensselaer, Jasper County, 12 February 1897 — LOVE AND MONEY [ARTICLE+ILLUSTRATION]

LOVE AND MONEY

BY CHARLOTTE M. BRAEME.

CHAPTER XXIV. On the same evening that Angela Rooden had met Gladys Rane in the park, while the sun was setting in a golden glow of color, Captain Wynyard had made up his mind to reeouaoitei Brantome. Black thoughts accompanied him in his murderous walk. Not wishing to lie seen —for he had that to do, if he could find an opportunity of doing it, which must have no witness—he did not enter Brantome Park by the usual way, but went round by Brantome Firs. He was aware of Angela’s habit of wandering through the grounds in the soft evening light, ind he thought it not unlikely that he might discover hes alone. He had no settled plan in his mind by which he hoped to accomplish the end he had in view; but he intended to avail himself of the first opportunity that presented itself. He crossed,-Brantome Firs, and went through the open gate, little drenmiug who had been there so .=hort a time before. Then, as he walked on, he caught sight of the ornamental lake, with its narrow terrace and steps that led to the water, and, unless his senses deceived him, Angela—yes, Angola herself —sitting, like one weary, on the steps! His Jieart gave a bound of almost fiendish lelight, then seemed to stnnd still. “My enemy is delivered into my hand!” were the first words that occurred to him.

Drawing nearer, he recognized the wrapper of silver-gray, aud then remembered the duy on which he had given it to Angela. He remembered, too, his wife’s delight, and his step-daughter’s cool reception of his gift—the gift that was to be a shroud. He trembled violently as he drew near to her; but he could not see her face, for it was hidden in a fold of the wrapper, no doubt to shield her eyes. The wind stirred the glistening folds, but It dl4 not rouse the wearied sleeper. “I wonder she wears that,” he said to himself, “considering that I gave it to her;” then, after a few moments —"She would not sleep so soundly if she knew that I was near. Everything is ready to my hand,” he thought, with fiendish satisfaction. Yet c<jld drops had gathered on his brow and his lips had grown white. There was none to interfere with his design, there was none to rescue her this time! A stenlthy footstep, n moment of intense, almost unendurable suspense, a hand outstretched, then withdrawn, then outstretched again—a sudden push, a despairing cry—and she was gone! There was a splash in the water, the eddies spreading and spreading until they reached the fountain; then all w.as quiet. To him, the murderer, with the brand of Cain on his brow, there came one moment of intense stillness that seemed hours long—a moment when horror seized him at the thought of the foul deed that he had done. A thousand burning eyes seemed suddenly to fill the air and fix their gaze upon him; a thousand voices seemed to hiss “Murderer!” in his ears. Then h.e saw a movement in the water —a woman’s hand was thrown up, and a faint cry for help reached his ears. There was even yet time if he would repent of his act and save her, for he was a good swimmer. The outstretched hand showed for one moment above the darkening eddies —it was like an appeal to heaven; then the waters closed over it, the eddies grew deeper, calmer, then died away, and the bosom of the lake was smooth as 'hough it held no guilty secret. Vance Wynyard turned and fled—fled, lesplte the blood-red mist that swam before his eyes and the horrible shudder that took the strength from his limbs. The sun had set when he reached Culdale Hall. Dinner was always late there on summer evenings; and when the Captain, still looking white and haggard, entered. the first bell had not rung. “I should be all right,” he said to himself, “if I should see Gladys. I must see her.”

With some little difficulty he found her pretty Parisian maid Fanchette, who had a shrewd idea how matters stood between her beautiful mistress and the handsome Captain. “Ask Miss Rane if 1 can see her just for two minutes before the dinner-bell rings,” he said, hastily. And Fanchette, noticing how strange and ill the Captain looked, replied: “Miss Rand is out, sir. She has been out all the afternoon, and has not yet returned.” “Out!” he oried, in amazement. “Are you sure, Fanchette?” “Quite sure, sir,” she replied. “I helped my mistress to dress.” “Where was she going?” he asked, quickly. “I understood that she intended to walk to Culdale, sir; I do not know what for. Lady Culdale wished her to have the carriage, but she declined, preferring to walk.” “At what time did she go?” asked the Captain. “I am not quite sure, sir; but it was some time after luncheon. I am expecting her every minute.” No fear or apprehension came over him; but he was surprised that she should remain out so long. He concluded, however, that she had been tempted to linger over her shopping. He lingered about the Hall for some time, iii the hope of meeting her, but no Gladys came.

CHAPTER XXV. “A woman found drowned in the lake st Brantome Park!” The words seemed to fly from one to another—the very air seemed to catch them and carry them along. One of the keepers, on going between four and five in the morning to look after swne water-fowl, fancied he saw something strange in the lake—a light paper parcel, floating as the wind blew. He took a long pole and drew it toward hhn, and, on opening it, found that it contained a skein of fine blue sewing-silk, such as ladies use in embroidery. Further down, near the fountain, something •Ice was stirring in the watte. This too

he drew out, and found it to be a lady’s handkerchief of fine lace, with delicately embroidered monogram, the letters of which were “G. R.” In one moment he understood. He had heard of the missing lady as he walked from his home to the Park. He had met two of the Culdale men-servants searching, and the three had stopped and talked together for some time. The mnn stood dazed and bewildered as he held the handkerchief in his hand. He hastened toward Culdale, and when halfway there, he urtt Lord Culdale, with two or three gentlemen, and told them his terrible news. His lordship looked at the handkerchief, with its finely embroidered monogram of “G. R.” “Gladys Raue!” he gasped. “But how, in the name of heaven, could she have fallen into the lake at Brantome?” They hastened to the lake, and soon raised the body, and laid it reverently on the stone terrace. The face was calm, even smiling. Perhaps—-hea veil was good!—her last thoughts had been pleasant ones. The exquisite features and the rippling black hair were almost as they had last seen them. They were strong men; but, as they looked on the fair dead woman, tears filled their eyes. The alarm had been given at Brantome now, and the servants came hurrying out. Hearing the commotion, Angela asked the housekeeper what it meant, and the answer almost stunned her. “There has been a terrible accident. Miss Charles,” replied Mrs. Boweif". “One of the ladies who has been stopping at Culdale has been found drowned in our lake!” * A lady from Culdale?” Angela questioned; and then Mrs. Bowen told her the whole story, as she had heard it from the servants—how one of the visitors at Culdale, a very beautiful lady, hnd been missing since yesterday afternoon, and had been found drowned in Brantome Lake. “What was the lady’s name?” Angela asked, in a voice quite unlike her own. The housekeeper replied that she was not quite sure—it was either "Dane,” or “Rnne;” but she knew that the unfortunate lady was a famous London beauty. “I am going down to the lake, Miss Charles,” she added; “come with me;” and Angela went. She was bewildered and incredulous. It could not be Gladys Rane, she tried to convince herself. She had been with her on the evening before, and had left her well and strong. What should bring her to Brantome? What had led to her death? How well she remembered her sitting under the shade of the trees! As she thought of their meeting, the dark, lovely face seemed to rise again before her. Surely Gladys Rane, with whom she had spoken so lately, was not the girl who had been found drowned. Angela had never felt any respect for Miss Rane; but she would have been shocked at such a terrible calamity, had the victim been the greatest stranger. It seemed hardly credible that this beautiful woman, who had been queen of the season, should have met with such an awful death while help was so closq at hand. When her eyes fell on the litjle group of men standing near the silent figure on the terrace, she uttered a eny of anguish; but apparently no one noticed it. Keeping close to Mrs. Bowen, she walked slowly to the terrace. One glance was enough to satisfy her that the dead body found in the lake was that of Gladys Rane. The face that not many hours before was so brilliant, in its loveliness and bloom was now white as marble, cold and still! “What brought her here?” Angela asked herself. Could it be that Gladys had come in search of her, and that, in trying to make her may to the Hall, she had fallen accidentally into tho lnk»? Every one seemed to agree that she had fallen in accidentally. When-Miss Rnne was last seen she was wearing valuable jewelry; and costly gems sti'l shone on her fingers, a necklace of gold clsaped the white throat. They had not been touched; therefore, it was evident there had been no robbery, no assault. As for murder, no such thought was entertained. Who would have any interest in tho death of this beautiful woman whom every one lov-d and admired? No one dreamed that it was anytning worse than a terrible accident. Angela did not go near the little knot of gentlemen; but, seeing one of the Culdale servants standing alone, she went up to him. “Does any one know,” she asked, “how the accident happened?”—and the answer was “No.” “Does any one know what brought the poor lady to the lake?” she asked again; and again the answer was “No.” “She must have come in search of me,” thought Angela; and the thought saddened her inexpressibly. Suddenly she saw something on the bank which attracted her attentionsomething saturated with water, and lying in a shapeless heap, something from which the water had taken the glistening beauty, leaving it n mere rag. She sa 4 ” the gleam of the sun on the bright clasps, and in a moment the truth flashed across her. She had left her silver-gray wrapper in the field where she had left Gladys Rane!

She had not thought of it before. Now she remembered how she had unfastened it, and how in ner sorrow and excitement she had come away without it. Perhaps Gladys Rane was on her way to bring it to her when the accident happened! With a great throb of relief she remembered that Miss Rane did not know where she was staying, so that it was impossible she could have come for the purpose of seeing her. Besides, Miss Rane would never dream tkAt she was staying at Brantome Hall; it was the last place in the world where she would think of finding her. Whatever motive had brought her there, it could not have been to see her, Angela felt fully assured. She remembered how she had gone in- the opposite direction so as purposely to mislead her. Then'it Occurred to her that Miss Rane -being a stronger in the neighborhood might not have known the way; and she felt a keen pang of regret that she had

v #ot thought of teflln* her. Vividly roe* her the picture of the fields and the two roads—the oae to the left, narrow end shadeless, leading to Culdale; the one to the right, breed mad bordered with tall, spreading trees. Suddenly, as If by inspiration, Angela felt that she had solved the mystery—Miss Rane had taken the wrong road! She had walked to Brantome instead of returning to Cnldale. But how the unfortunate girl ha-1 fallen into the water was as great a mystery as ever. But Angela was yet to learn that the unfortunate girl had been murdered, and by whom; yet to learn that a chain of circumstances had placed her deadliest enemy at her mercy. (To be continued.)