Saturday Evening Mail, Volume 17, Number 21, Terre Haute, Vigo County, 13 November 1886 — Page 6

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THE MAIL.

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A PATER FOR THE PEOPLE.

TERRK HAUTE NOV 13, 1886.

LOVE'S CREED.

Unpen Wl' though the wide world may port iie from you. Love, it cannot blot the pes*— iLe bappv post, shrined deep within my beferc.

When round mo your dear arms were knitted fast. The glutton, though a swine, wa«in the right \F ho «akl. Sot beaw Itself can take from ine The dinrpjra I have eaten. Dearly lwught

My joys, Uut mine through all eternity.

The love wherewith I love is mine alway— A crown of thorn* and roses. O my friendI Tfhich I must wear through many a weary day—

My heart will bo the richer at the end.

I love my love, and love, though you prove false. You have been true. Who knoweth what may be? Lives meet and part, like dancers in the waltz.

Although you kill me, you have lived for me.

Thou you should cast me out to droop ami piae, Warm on your bosom many an hour I lay That which I had, my king, will still be mine

When all I have shal fail and pass away.

would buy pleasure like a brave man'sVhild, And cry, To-day is mine*. The die is thrown, Hero! to my arm?, dear love my cluiins are filed.

To-morrow may take couunel for his own. —''Helen" in Chicago Times.

THE

Haunted Chamber.

BY "THE DUCilKSS."

Author of "Monica," "Mrrna Scully "Phyllis." ctc., ctc.

CUAITKIl I.

Tho sun has "dropped down," and the "day is dead." The silence and the cairn of coming night are over everything. Tho shadowy twilight lies soltly on sleeping flowers and swaying boughs, on quiet fountains—the marble basins of which gleam snow-white in the uncertain light—on the glimpse of the distant ocean seen through the

Sant

elms. A floating inist hangs in ic still warm air, making heaven and earth mingle in one sweet confusion.

Tho iw creeping up the ancient walls of the castle is rustling and whispering as the evening breeze sweeps over it. High up the tendrils climb, past mullioned windows and quaint devices, until they reach even to the old tower, nnd twine lovingly round it, and push through the long apertures in the masonry of the walls of the haunted chani-

It is here that the shadows cast their heaviest gloom. All this corner ol the old tower is wrapjied in darkness, as though to obscure the scene of ternblo crimes of past centuries.

Ghosts of dcad-and-goue lords and ladies seem to jieer out mysteriously from the openings ol't his quaint chamber, wherein no servant, male or female, of the castle has ever yet been known to set fortt. It is lull of diro horrors to them, antl replete with legends of bv-gone davs and grew some sights ghastly enough to make ti.e stoutest'heart quail.

In the davs of the Stuarts an old earl had hanged himself in that room, rather than face the world with dishonor attached to his name and earlier still a beauteous dame, fair but Iran, had been incarcerated there, and slowly starved to death by her relentless lord. There was even in the last century a baronet—the earldom has been lost to the D.uieconrts during the Common-wealth-who having quarreled with his friend oyer a reigning belle, had smitten him across the cheek with his

fal

'love, and then challenged him to morcombat. The luel had been fought, in the lurk less chamber, and had only ended with the death of both combatants the blood stains upon the flooring were large and deep, and to this day the lioards bear silent

Banguinary

4K"

witness to the of that secret

character

*Inst now, standing outside the castle in the warmth and softness of the dying daylight. one can hardly tlunk of by-gone horrors, or aught that is sad untl sinful.

There is an air of bustle and expoctnnev within-doors that betokens coming guests the servants are moving to and fro lioiselesslv hut busily, and now and then the stately hnusekwper passes from room to room uttering commands and injunctions to the maids as sht* goes. Xo lc*S8 (WTUJ)MMl UHU JltlXions is the butler, as he surveys the work of the footmen. It is so long since the old place has hat! a resident master, ami so much longer still since guests have been invited to it, that the household are more than ordinarily excited at the change now about to take place.

Sir Adrian Dvnecourt, after a prolonged tour on the Continent and lingering visits to the ICast. lias at last oowe nonio with the avowed intention of Incoming astaid country gentleman, and of settling down to the cultivation of turnips, the breeding of prize oxen, and the determination to be the M. F. II. when old Lord Dartree shall have fulfilled his declared intention of retiring in his favor. lie is a tall young man. lithe and active. 11 is skin, though naturallv fair, is bronzed by foreign travel. His hair is a light brown, cut very close to his head. His eyes are large, eiear, and honest, and of a peculiar dark violet they are beautiful eves, winning and sweet, and steady in their

f'lam-e.

11 is mouth, shaded by a droop-

ng fair mustache, is large and iirm, yet vcrv prone to laughter. It is quite the end of the London sea•on. ami Sir Adrian has hurried down from town to give directions for the reception of some people whom he had invited to stav with hint during the slaughter of the partridges. 2iow all is complete, ami the last train from London being due half an hour ago Sir Adrian is standing on the steps of his hall-door anxiously awaiting some of his guests. "There is even a touch of genuine impatience in his manner, which could family be attributed to the ordinary longing of a young man to see a few of Ws friends. Sir Adrian anxiety Is open and undisguised, and there is a little frown upon his brow. Presently lib face brightens as he hears the roll of carriage-wheels. When the carriage -T\ turns the corner of the drive, and toe are pulled up at the hall door, *Sir Adrian sees a fair face at the window that puts to flight all the few* he has been harboring for the last half hour* *l oo have corner he say* delighted-

"Such a journey as it has been, exclaims a voice not belonging to the face that had looked from the carriage at Sir Adrian. "It has been tiresome to the last degree. I really don't know when I felt so fatigued!"

A

little woman, small and fair, steps languidly to the ground as she says this id glances natni

and glances pathetically at her She is beautifully "got up, both dress and complexion, and at, a glance appears almost girlish. Laying her hand

Wll

complexion

in Sir

her to him. She looks up at him with her red lids drooping as if tired, and with a bewildered expression in her pretty blue eyes that adds to the charm of her face. "It's an awful distance from town* says Sir Adrian, as if apologizing for the spot on which his grand old castle has been built. "And it was more thsin good of you to come to me. I can only try to make up to you for the discomfort vou have experienced to-day by throwing all possible chances of amusement in your way whilst you stay here."

By this time she had withdrawn her hand, and so he is free to go up to his other guest and bid her welcome, lie says nothing to her strange to say, but it is his hand that seeks to retain hers this time, and it is his eyes that look longingly into the face before him. "You are tired, too?" he says at length. "Come into the house and rest awhile before dinner. You will like to go to your room at once, perhaps he adds, turning to his two visitors. "Thank you—yes. If you will have our tea sent up-stairs," replies Mrs. Talbot plaintively, "it will be such a comfort!" she always speaks in a somewhat pouting tone, and with heavy emphasis. "Tea—nonsense!" responds bir Adrian. "There's nothing like champagne as a pick-me-up. I'll send you tea also but, take my advice, and try the champagne." "Oh, thank you, I shall so much prefer my tea!" Mrs. Talbot declares, with a graceful little shrug of her shoulders, at which her friend Miss Delmaine laughs aloud. "I accept vour advice, Sir Adrian," she says, casting a mischievous glance at him from under her long lashes. "And—yes, Dora will take champagne too—when it conies." "Naughty girl!" exclaims Mrs. Talbot, with little flickering smile. IJora Talbot seldom smiles, having learned bv experience that her delicate face looks prettier in repose. "Come, then, Sir Adrian," she adds, "Jet lis enter your enchanted castle."

The servants by this time have taken in all their luggage—that is, as much as they have been able to bring in the carriage and now the two ladies walk up to the steps and enter the hall, their host beside them.

Mrs. Talbot, who has recovered her spirits a little, is chattering gayly, and monopolizing Sir Adrian to the best ot her ability, whilst Miss Delmaine is strangelv silent, and seems lost in a kimi of* pleased wonder as she gazes upon all her charming surroundings.

The last rays of light are streaming in through the stained-glass windows, rendering the old hall lull of mysterious beauty. The grim warriors in their coats of mail seem, to the entranced gaze of Florence Delmaine, to be making readv to spring from the niches which hold them.

Waking from her dream as she reaches the foot of tho stone staircase, she says abruptly, but with a lovely smile plaving round her mouth— "fcurclv, Sir Adrian, you have a ghost in this beautiful old place, or a secret staircase, or at least a bogy of some sort? Do not spoil the romantic look of it bv telling me you have no tale of terror to impart, no history of a ghostly visitant who walks these hulls ut tho dead of night." "We have no ghost here, I am sorry to say." answers Sir Adrian, laughing. "For"the lirst time I feel distressed and ashamed that it should lie so. We can only loast a haunted chamber but there are certain legends about it. I am proud to say. the bare narration of which would make even the stoutest quail." "Good gracious—how distinctly unpleasant!" exclaims Mrs. Talliot. with a nervous and verv effective shudder. "Howdistinctly delicious, you mean!" puts in Miss Delmaine. "Sir Adrian, is this chamber anywhere near where I shall sleep?" "Oh. no von need not be afraid of that!" answers Pynecourt hastily. "I am not afraid," said tho girl saueilv. "I have all my life been seeking an adventure of some sort. I am tired of mv prosaic existence. I want to know what dwellers in the shadowy realms of ghost-land are like." "Dear Sir Adrian, do urge her not to talk like that: it is positively wicked," pleads Dora Talbot, glancing at him iM seechingly. "Miss Delmaine. you will drive Mra Talbot from my house, if you persist vour evil courses." says Sir Adrian, laughing again. "Desist. I pray von!" "Are vou afraid. Dora?" asks Florence merrilv. "Then keep close to me. I can defy all evil spirits, I have spells and charms.1* "Yon have indeed!" puts Sir Adrian, in atone so low that only she can hear it. "And. knowing this, you should be merciful."'

Though she cannot hear what he says, yet Mrs. Tallwt can see he is addressing Florence, and marks with some uneasiness the glance that passes from his eyes to hers. Breaking quicklv into the conversation, she says timidly. laying her hand on her host's arm— "This shocking room you speak of will not be near mineY" "In another wing altogether."' sir Adrian replies reassuringly. "Indeed i*, is so far from tit is part of the castle that one might be safely incarcerated there and slow Iv starve to death without anv one of 'the household being a bit wiser. It is in tho north wing in the old tower, a portion of the building that lias not been in tee for over fifty years," "I breathe again," says Bora Talbot affectedly. "*I shall traverse every inch of that oW tower—haunted room and all—before I am a week older."' declares* Florence detiantly. After which she smiles at Adrian wain, and follows the maid up the brtxau stairrase to her room.

By the end of the week many otter visitors had been made welcome at the

Miss Delmaine, the only daughter and beiiras of an Indian nabob, had taken London by r» tbh

well. She had come home to England on the death of her father about two vears ago and, having no nearer relatives alive, had been kindly received bv her cousin, the Hon. Mrs. Talbot, who was then living with her husband in a pretty house in Mayfair.

Six

Adrian's she let it rest

there, as though glad to be at her journey's end. conveying at the same time by a gentle pressure of her taper fingers the fact that she is even more glad that the end of

her

journey has brought

months

Florence, too. discarded mourmngfor the lirst time, although her father liad been almost two years in his quiet grave amongst the llills and, with her cousin, who was now indeed her only friend, if slightly uncongenial, decided to return to London forthwith.

It was early in May, and, with a sensation of extreme and most natural Measure, the girl looked forward to a iew months passed amongst the best of those whom she had learned under her cousin's auspices to regard as societv."

Dora*Talbot herself was not by any means dead to the thought that it would be to her advantage to introduce into society a girl well-born and possessed of an almost fabulous fortune. Strav crumbs must surely fall to her share in a conncction of this kind, and such crumbs she was prepared to gather with a thankful heart.

But unhappily she set her affection upon Sir Adrian Dynecourt, with his grand old castle ami his princely rentroll—a "crumb" the magnitude and worth of which she was not slow to appreciate. At first she had not deemed it possible that Florence would seriously regard a mere baronet as a suitor, when her unbounded wealth would almost entitle her to a duke. ]Jut "love," as she discovered later, to her discomfiture, will always "find the way." And one day, quite unexpectedly, it dawned upon her that there might—if circumstances favored tlieni—grow up a feeling between Florence and Sir Adrian that might lead to mutual devotion.

Yet, strong in the belief of her own charms, Mrs. Talbot accepted the invitation given bv Sir Adrian, and at the close of the season she and Florence Delmaine find themselves the first of a batch of guests come to spend a month or two at the old castle at Dynecourt.

TERRE TT A UTE SATURDAY EVT2NIN Q- MAIL.

after Florence Delmaine

arrival. George Talbot had succumbed to a virulent fever and his widow, upon whom a handsome jointure had been settled, when the funeral and the necessarv law worries had come to an end, had* intimated to her young c^nsm that she intended to travel for a year upon the

Continent, and that she would

be glad, that is—with an elaborate sigh —she would be a degree less miserable, if she, Florence would accompany her. This delighted Florence. She was wearied with attendance on the sick, having done most of the nursing of the Hon. George, while his wife lamented and slept and. beside, she was still sore at heart for the loss of her father. The years abroad passed swiftly the end of it brought them to Paris once more, where, feeling that her time of mourning might be decently terminated, Mrs. Talbot had discarded her somber robes and put herself into the hands of the most fashionable dressmaker she could find.

Mrs. Talbot is still young, and, in her style, very pretty her eyes are languishing and nine as gent ian, her hair a soft nut-brown her lips perhaps are not altogether faultless, being too fine and too closely drawn, but pNai her mouth is small. She looks cfnTSlderable younger than she really is^ and (ioes not forget to make the most of this comfortable fact. Indeed, to a casual observer, her cousin looks scarcely her junior.

Miss Delmaine is tall, slender, po»ec more or less, while Mrs. Talbot is prettily* rounded, pelih: in every point, and nervously ambitious of winning the regard of the male sex.

During the past week private theatricals have been suggested. Hvery one is tired of dancing and music. The season had given them more than a surfeit of both, and so the have fallen back upon the theatricals.

The plav on which they have decided is Goldsmith's famous production, "She Stoops to Conquer."

Miss Yilliers. a pretty young girl with vellow hair and charming eyes, is to be Constautia Neville Miss Delmaine, Kate Ilardcastle Lady Gertrude Yining, though rather young for the part, lias consented to play Mrs. Ilardcastle, under the impression that she looks well in a cap and powdered hair. An impossible Tony Lumpkin has" been discovered in a nervous young man witu a hesitation in his speech and adifi' -i tv about the letter

US"—a

young nia

who wonderfullv misunderstands Tonv. and brings him out in a hither! unknown character a suitable Hastings has been found in the person of Captain ltingwood. a gallant young officer, and one of the "curled darlings" of society.

But who is to play Mar low? Who is to be the happv man. so blessed—even though in these fictitious circumstan-

f.es_as

to be allowed to make love to

the reigning beauty of the past season? Nearly everv man in the house lnis tlr own out a hint as to his fitness for the part, but as yet no arrangement lias been arrived at.

Sir Adrian of course is the one toward whom all eyes—and some very jealous 'ones—are directed. But his duties as host compel him. sorely against his will, to draw wk a little from the proffered honor, and consult the wishes of his guest? rather than his own. Miss 1 lehnuiuc t.urseti has laughingly declined to make any choice of a stage lover, so that, up to the present moment, matters are slill in such a state of tmfusion and uncertainty that thev have lieen unable to name any date for the production of their play.

It is four o'clock, ami they are all standing or sitting in the libra nr. intent as usual in discussing the difficulty. Tlwv are all talking together, and, in the excitement that prevails, no one hears the door open, or the footman a calm introduction of a gentleman, who now comes leisurely up to where Sir Sir Adrian is standing, leaning over Florence Delmaine's chair.

He is a tall man of about thirty-five, with a dark face and dark eyes, and, withal, a slight resemblance to Sir A an "Ah. Arthur, it is your

says

Sir

Ad-

1 tone that has cer-

rian, in a surprised tainly no cordiality In it, but. just as certainly, the tone is not repellent. ""Yes.* replies the stranger, with a languid smile, and without confusion. "Yesterday I suddenly recollected the general invitation yon gave me a month ago to come to vou at any time that suited me beat. Tikis time suits me. and so I have come.*

Be still smiles as he says this, and looks expectantly at Sir Adrian, who, as rn duty bound, instantlyttells him he Is very glad to see him, and that he 1 fillow to have come without for a more formal repetition of uiviiatkm. Then he takes him over to old Lady FiUAbmmt, the mothwof

The same ceremony is gone through with some of the others, Dut, when he brings him to Mrs. Talbot, that pretty widow interrupts his mode of introduction. "Mr. Dynecourt and are old friends," she says, giving her hand to the new-comer.' Then, turning to her cousin, she adds, "Florence, is it not a fatality our meeting him so oftenV "Have we met so often?" asks Florence quietly, but with a touch of hauteur and dislike in her tone. Theu she too gives a cold little hand to Mr. Dynecourt, who lingers over it until she disdainfully draws it away, after which he turns from her abruptly and devotes himself to Dora Talbot.

The widow is glad of his attentions. He is handsome and well-bred, and for the last half hour she has been feeling slightly bored so eager has leen the discussion about the Marlow matter, that she has been little sought after by the opposite sex. And now, once again, the subject is being examined in all its bearings, and the discussion waxes fast and furious. "What is it all about?" asks Arthur Dynecourt presently, glancing at the animated group in the middle of the room. And Sir Adrian, hearing his question explains it to him. "Ah, indeed!" he says. And then, after a scarcely perceptible pause— "Who is to be Kate Ilardcastle? "Miss Delmaine," answered Sir Adrian, who is still leaning over that young lady's chair. "In what does the difficulty consist?" inquires Arthur Dynecourt, with apparent indifference. "Well," replies Sir Adrian, laughiug "I believe mere fear holds us back. Miss Delmaine, as we all know, is a finished actress, and we dread spoiling her performance by faults on our side. None of us have attempted the character before this is why we hesitate." "A very sensible hesitation, I think," says his cousin coolly. "You should thank me then for coming to your relief thhi morning I have played the part several film's, and shall be delighted to undertake it again, anil help you out of your difficulty.''

At this Miss Delmaine flushes angrily, and opens her lips as if sin would say something, but. alter a second's reflection, restrains herself. She sinks back into her chair with a proud languor, and closes her mouth resolutely.

Sir Adriwn is confounded. All along he had secretly hoped that, in the end. this part would fail to his lot but now —what is to be done? How can he refuse to let his cousin take his place, especially as he has declared himself familiar with the part-.

Arthur, observing his cousin's hesitation, laughs aloud. His is not a pleasant laugh, but has rather a sneering ring in it, and at the present moment it jars upon, the ears ol the listeners. "If I have been indiscreet." he says, with a slight glance at Florence's proud face, "pray pardon me. 1 only meant to render vou a little assistance. I thought I understood from you that you were in a dilemma. Do not dwell upon mv offer another moment. I am afraid I have made myself somewhat officious—unintentionally, believe me.' "My dear fellow, not at all." declares Sir Adrian hastily, shocked at his own apparent want of courtesy. "I assure you, you mistake. It is all so much to the contrary, that 1 graeefuliv accept your offer, ami beg joti will bo Marlow." "But really—" begings Arthur Dyne­

"Not a word!" interrupts Sir Adrian and indeed by this time Arthur Dynecourt has brought his cousin to believe lie is about to confer upon him a great favor. "Look here, young fellows." Sir Adrian goes on. walking toward the other men, who are still arguing ami disputing over the vexed question, "I've settled it all for you. Here is mv cousin, he will take the difficulty off your hands, and be a first-class Marlow iit the same time."

A suppressed consternation follows his announcement. Many and dark are the glances east upon the newcomer. who receives them all .with his usual imperturbable smile. Bising. Arthur approaches one of the astonished group who is known to him, and says something upon the subject with a slight shrug of his shoulders. As he is Sir Adrian's cousin, every one. feels that it will be impossible to offer any objection to his taking the much-covet-ed part. "Well, I have, sacrificed myself for you I have renounced a very dear desire all to please you," says Sir Adrian softly, bending down to Florence. "Have I succeeded?" "Yon have sueeerded in displeasing ine more than 1 can say," she returns coldly. Then, seeing his amazed expression, she goes on hastily, "Forgive me, but I had hoped for another Mariow."

She blushes prettily as she says this, and an expression arises in her dark eyes that moves his deeply. Stooping over her hand, he imprints a kiss upon it. Dora Tallmt. whose head is turned aside, sees nothing of this, but Arthur Dynecourt has observed the silent caress. ami a dark frown gathers on his brow.

CH.UTF.U U.

Every day ami all clay long there is nothing but rehearsing. In every corner two or more may l»e seen studying together the parts they have to play. Florence Delmaine alone refuses to rehearse her part except in full company.

thoughts might have been easily diverted into another channel." "You think so?" asks Mrs. Talbot Jointly, trilling with her fan. "I can not sav I have noticed that his attentions to her have been in any way particular." "Xot as yet," agrees Dynecourt, studying her attentively "and if I might be open with you," he adds, breaking off abruptly aiid assuming an air of anxiety—"we might perhaps mutually help each other." "Help ejveh other?" "Dear Mrs. Talbot," says Dynecourt softly, "has it never occurred to you how safe a thing it would be for my cousin Sir Adrian to marry a sensible woman—a woman who understands the world and its ways—a woman young and beautiful certainly, but yet conversant with the convenances of society? Such a woman would rescue Adrian from the shoals and quicksands tliat surround him in the form of mercenary friends and scheming mothers. Such a woman might surely be found. Nay. I think I myself could put my hand upon her, if I dared, at this moment."

Mrs. Talbot trembles slightly, and blushes a good deal, but says nothing. "He is my nearest of kin," goes on Dynecourt,* in the same low impassive voice. "Naturallv I am interested in hiin, and my interest on this point is surely without motive as. were he never to marry, were he to leave no heir, were he to' die some sudden death" —here a remarkable change overspreads his features—"I should inherit all the land you see around you, and the title besides."

Mrs. Talbot is still silent. She merely bows her head in assent. "Then, you see, 1 mean kindly toward him when I suggest that he should marry some one calculated to sustain his rank in the world." continued Dynecourt. "As I have said before, I know one who would fill the position charmingly, if she would deign to do so." "And ho?" falters Dora Talbot nervouslv. "May I sav to whom allude?" he murmurs. "Mrs. Talbot pardon mo if 1 have beeri impertinent in thinking of you as that woman."

A little flickering smile adorns Dora's lips for a moment, then, suddenly remembering that smiles do not become her. she reTapses into her former calm. "Yon flatter me," she says sweetly. "I never flatter," he responds, with tolling emphasis. "But, I can see you are not angry, and so I am emboldened to say plaiiilv, I would gladly see you my cousin's wile. Is the idea not altogether abhorrent to you?" "No. Oh, no!" "It is perhaps—pardon me if I go too far—even agreeable to you?"' "Mr. Dynecourt," says Mrs. Talbot, suddenly glancing at liiin and laying her jeweled fingers on his arm, "I will confess to you that I am tired of being alone—dependent on myself, as it were —tin-own on my own judgment for the answering of every question that arises. 1 would glailly acknowledge a superior bead. I would have some one help me now and then with a word of advice in short. 1 would have a husband. And"—here she lays her fan against her lips and glances archly at him—"I confess too that I like Sir Adrian as—well—as well as any man I know." "lie is a verv fortunate man"—gravely. "I would be knew his happiness." "Not for worlds," says Mrs. Talbot, with well-feigned alarm. "You could not even hint to him such a thing as— as—" She stops, confused. "I shall bint nothing—do nothing, except wliat vou wish. Ah. Mrs. Talbot"—with a'heavy sigh—"you are snpremelv happv! I envy you! With your fascinations and" insinuatingly "a word in season from me. I see no reason why you should not claim as your own the man whom you—well, let us say, like while I—" "If I can befriend you in any way." interrupts Dora quickly, "command me."

hearse her part except in run company, mvVuise'with her alone? attempts to iwince her to favor him with a private reading of those scenes in which he and she must act together. He had even appealed to Dora Talbot to help him in this matter, which she is oufv too willing to do, as she is secretfv desirous of flinging the girl as much "in his way as possible. Indeed anything that would keep Florence out of "Sir Adrian's sight would le welcome to lier: so that she listens kindly to Arthur Dynecourt when he solicits her assistance. "She evidently shuns me," he says an aggrieved tone to her one evening, sinking into the seat beside hers. "Except a devotion toher that is singular-

that I*" be regarded by her as an offense. Yet it appears to me that die dislikes me." "There I am sure you are wrong," declares the widow, tapping his arm lightly with a fan. "Soe is out a girlshe hardly knows her own mind." "ghe seems to know it pretty well when Adrian addresses her," he says, with a sullen glance.

At this Mrs. Talbot can not repress a start she grows a little pale, and then tries to hide her confusion by a smile. Bat the smile Is forced, and Arthur Dynecourt, watching her, reads her heart as easily as if it were an open ''ihfcmt suppose Adrian cares for her," ha wee on auietly. "At least"— ten ha drops lus ejea I believe,

She is indeed quite dazzled by the picture he lnis painted before her eyes. Can it be—is it—possible, that Sir Adrian may some day Iw hers? Apart from his Wealth, she regards him with very tender feelings, and of late she has been rendered at times absolutely miserable bv the thought that he had fallen a victim to tin: charml„, Flor^ (Mice. .W'H *"|1 .Now* if. l»v means of tins 'man. her' rival can lie kept out of Adrian way. all may yet be well, and her host may lie brought to her feet before her visit comes to an end.

Of Arthur Dvueeouit's infatuation for Florence she is fully aware, and is right in deeming that part of his adteJration for the beautiful girl has grown out of his knowledge of her moneybags. Stilt, she-argues to herself, his love is true and faithful, despite his knowledge of her *l«i. and hew UI in a a probability make her as good a husband as she is likely to find. "May 1 command you?" asks Arthur, in his softest tones. "You know my secret. 1 lieiicve. Ever since that last meeting at Hrightou. when my heart overcame me and made me show my sentiments openly and inyotir presence, vou have lieen aware of the hopeless p'assiou that is consuming me. I mav be mad. but 1 still think that, witii opportunities and time. I might make myself at least tolerated by Miss Delmaine. Will you help me in this matter? Will you give me the chance

By so doing" "you will also give my cousin the happy chance of seeing you alone."

Dora only too well understood his insinuation. Jbitterly Sir Adrian and Florence have been almost inseparable. To now meet with one whose interest it is to keep them asunder is very pleasant to her. "I will help yon," she says in a low

*°*Then try to Induce Miss Delmaine to give me a private rehearsal to-mor-row in the north gallery." he whispers hurriedly, seeing Capt. Iiiiigwood and Miss Villiers approaching. "Ilush! Not another word? I rely upon you. Above all things, remember that what has occurred is ou is our little ions smile to Mrs. Talbot's heart.

She is faithful to her word nevertheless, and late that night, when all have gone to their moms, she puts on her dressing-gown, dismisses her maid, and crossing the corridor, taps lightly at the door of Florence's apartment.

Hearing some one cry "Come in, she opens the door, and, having fastened it again, goes over to where Florence is anting while her maid Is brushing her long soft hair that readies almost to the jptmnd as she sits. "Let me brush your hair to-night, Flo,* she says gayly. "Let me be your

acquiesces

"Verv well—you mav Florence, laughing. "Go kins. Mrs. Talbot* has won you your release."

"Good-night, Par-

Parkins having gladly withdrawn, Dora takes up the ivory-handled brush and gently begins to brush her cousin's, hair.

After some preliminary conversation leading up to the subject she? has in hand, she savs carelessly— "By the bv, Flo, you are rather uncivil to Arthur Dynecourt, don't you: think?" -m "Uncivil?" ji '•\Yell—yes. That is tltf word for your behavior toward him, I think. Do you know, I am afraid Sir Adrian lias, noticed it, and aren't you afraid he will, think it rather odd of you—rude. I

IM

I once knew

their relations slighted. a man who used to abuse his brother all dav long, but, if any ono else happened to say ono disparaging word or nim in his presence, it put him in a pretty ratxe. And. after all, poor Arthur lias done nothing to deserve actual ill-treatment at your hands." "I detest him. And. besides, it is a distinct impertinence to follow any one about from place to place as ho has followed me. 1 will not submit to it calmly. It is a positive persecution.

My dear, you must not blame him if he has lost his head about you. That, is rather a compliment, if anything."

I shall always resent suca complements." "lie is certainly very unmanly in alt other ways, aud must sav devoted toyou. He* is handsome too, is lie not aiivl lias quite the air of one accustomed to command i:i society''" "lias he paid yon to sin* his praises?'* asks Florence, with a little laugh but

her words so nearly hit the mark that Dora blushes painfully. "I mean." she explains at last, in a. rather hurried way. "that 1 io not think it is good form to single (int. any one in a household where one is a guest to show him pointed rudeness. You give all the others acting in this play ample opportunities of rehearsing alonewitn vou. It has been remarked to m& bv two or three that, you purposely slight and avoid Mr. Dynecourt." "So I do," Florence admits calmly adding, "Your two or three have great perspicacity." "They even hinted to me," Dora goes on deliberately, "that your dislike to him arose from the fact that you werepiqued at his being your stage lover, instead of Sir Adrian!"

It cost her an effort to utter thesewords.but the effect produced by them, is worth the effort.

Florence, glowing deathly pale, releases her hair from her cousins grasp,, and rises quickly to her feet. "1 don't know*who your gossips may be," she says slowly "but they are wrong —quite wrong—do you hear? My dislike to Mr. Dynecourt arisosi from very different feelings. He is dis^tasteful to me in many ways but. as am undesiroii.s that my manner sliouhl! give occasion for surmises such as you, have just mentioned to me, I will give him an opportunity of reciting his part, -to me, alone, as soon as ever lie' ishes." "I think you are right, dearest," responds Mrs. Talbot sweetly. She is a little afraid of her cousin, but still maintains her position bravely, it is always a mark of folly to defy public opinion. Do not wait for him to ask vou again to go through your play with him alone, but tell "him yourself tomorrow that you will meet him for that purpose iii the north gal'ery somo time during the day." "Verv well." savs Florence but her face still betrays dislike and disinclination to the course recommended. "And. Dora, I don't think I want my hair brushed any more, thanks my head is aching so dreadfully."

This is a hint that she will be glad of Mrs. Talbot speedy departure and, that lady taking that hint. Florence is soon left to her own thoughts.

The next morning, directly after breakfast, she finds an opportunity to ti'll Mr. Dynecourt that she will give him half an hour in the north gallery to trv over his part with her, as she considers it will be better, and more conducive to the smoothness of tho piece, to learn any little mannerism thai may belong to either of them.

To this speech Dynecourt makes a suitable replv. aw] names a particular hour for them to meet. Miss Delmaine,i having given a grave assent to this ar-^ rangeinent, moves away, as though glad to be rid of her companion.

A few minutes afterward Dynecourt, meeting Mrs. Talbot in the hall, gives her an expressive glance, and tells her in a low voice that lie considers himself deeply in her debt.

This story, telling of the mystery and of the terrible tragedy it the Haunted Chamber, will be continued in the bi'I for about six weeks.

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