Terre Haute Weekly Gazette, Volume 7, Number 39, Terre Haute, Vigo County, 30 March 1876 — Page 6

li.i.jic*.!

Under the lamplight there she stands, Face upturned to the angry t»kj Bftw ititf scalding uLshed tear"

Un1»-r 'b« quiv»-iing eyelids Falling »»tf snow flakes, ono by one, OhoH Iv Hi»d gr*y, 'bp wintry v.ui*t, Over a woman's thin-clad form

Cast adrift on ihe town to-niftlH. Out from I ho gilded portals there, •Neath where tho li^nt shimB over hesd, Strains of tho sweetest, music :re p.

Gavlv the wine-cup bubble* red: Youth :i no ean'y in fine mr-»y. Glimmer of silk «nd jewels :arf. Rinpli of meirv l»ugh and snnt:

Floating ont on the frosty HI•. Nothing to those in ijay s,.! Tr"nd'n the d«nce in "•nflilw

111. f-i •»'8

1

I,ittl« ti'(*y hoed tlie sleet and s'* Swci-pliig up inrough the Ht r© Colors K.ni crimson, binn uni, BO-•

Gleam in th" g-,iri*b glow Mid si lne, Follv, in ("CHi-lnt Mp ..

N

M'H n) twinkles H.I

W I

the. its

II»rk* how 'he merry cymbalM iMer Hill faster run* the plaj! ")tily a fallen star gone down

A woman tempted and led astra\! Lout through love and a brokeu vow, The shadow of sin upon her patl He" how the circn tn«n* ct g° ..

Trim and proper In scorn and wram. 17,, v/here tlx- ment .tht'lr*I Glimmers like goM in 'he morning ht t't, 1»V ho r.-sy flush ot .lawn.

Hhk v-'nif ht-d it w: me h-de« of night

Th" »r Knaves.

Now s.'be-'k If* '"tn- back. i*«enil'tvy rid. Would v"' know lie tir-t n/liji 1

(iipliitunt di'l?

1

'.Vliy what should ne do, In .nt pi igel Dl bo law, lint cImIl-'i(te S.-in Ward to a nice gsmtol 'draw."

,,1 il.- w:. t--«l lo

S -hcnoU iloalt. know t^o even': "How ho i.MkmJ but ..'.in an1. "Co-it'Mir!"

So il'M I." Ml) 'he ti- ll'''.

it "a o.hir

s*'" r"1""

,l -W it, Hi..I th'*»i v."' ":w" W :r 6- let rip. Sin rk 1 1 [•'. el: cctlt'or s)V

Iiijj linir iv

Such finc.se—'i" ii" p'peso re oil 11.» Ir p1' Til] Srh"''•« oiade s-. .v.. v."

ItM PHI !.

A'l'l S'lit w.n! «•!••.•..'i !l «t A I.

"All!" f|"-th S- I with a 'lour' in And I'vn If.iir irv—- in Ivin. devil C'in't. bent— 1 jit 11-. !5hI ., W ii -, i'

Mkn p.'' "Y- wit

SiM P-'". r.»!e I with a grin. J—AVERT DKVCUSS, !.I.

V.

Gerard Lmagston's Grimo

LOVE'S PROBATIOI'L

BT

FRANK LEROY,

AllTi:03 OF "THE WARN'H^O HIND." "WEALTH AHD MISEET," BB0ADWAT ET OA3 LIGHT," ETC., ETq,

CHAPTER VIL BAVED FROM DISHOKOB.

The sound of Gerard's agi(at«d exit, and the simultaneous fall, warned the Captain that it was time for him to interfere.

He opened the door gently. Sirs. Livingston lay on the floor, insensible but her face still bore testimony to tie suffering she had undergone.

Mr. Livingston was in his arm-chair as he had left him. The blessing of unconsciousness had not been granted him. It was scarcely possible for mortal countenance to look more terrible in its suffering than his did when fliey brought him home and vet. now. Captain Alden saw that fresh line* had been written on the gray forehead, and the eyes were deeper sunken. lie seemed relieved to see Ihe Captain but, true to the mainspring of his whole life, his first action was to beseech aid for his prostrate wife. i*

The Captain raised her in his arms, a* if she had been a child, and laid her carefully upon a sofa. lie opened the window, to let the tr\ air kiss her poor, shrunken face, and sprinkled lf-r with some strong restoralive that was at hand. While waiting for the effect of his miuistrations, he turned to Mr. Livingston. "Is it as we feared?" he asked, in a low voice. He felt it was cruel to ask the question he was keenly alive to the father's acute shrtme: his own delicate sense of honor even magnified the sufferings of the ntihappy man, but it was necessary for him to know the actual truth. \Vhile had been keeping this dreary watcli in the dining-room, he had been revolving many thing's in his own mind. The one end and aim of all his reflections was to help his friend in his misfortunes—screen tne son'sgoilt—and, by so doing, save the honor of the family, and maKe it still possible for hint to receive the daughter as his son's wife.

That it was intensely painful for him to be any way mixed up with such dishonor, need not be said but Reginald's happiness was the object of his life, and he Knew his son's nature well enough to know that no misfortunes caused by others would ever make him forsake Lotta. -Even should he so far respect his father's will as to break off the engagement, he would remr.in true to her. Captain Alden judged him by himself, and in so doing lie judged rightly.

For Reginald's sake, then, Gerard's guilt must be concealed. For all reply to Captain Alden question, Mr. Livingston bowed his head.

And then, for some moments neither spoke. The CaplAin continued his ministrations to Mrs. fiivingstlm, which were beginning to prodtftM their effect-. Soon the lady opened HOT fy«?s and as, after the first taguc, \Vpndermg look, they fell upon her husband, and the misery of full consciousness once more settled upon her face, the Captain feared that tiey would have a scene of tears and lamentations. But, for c-uce in her life, Mrs. Livingston was brave and she sat up and listened quietly, as the Captain spoke in a low voice to her husband. "I think I see a way to save vo® trmo ti» worst consequences of this aftair,* he bewail.

Mr. Livingston lifted his head a little, and gave a look of inqaiiy: "The bond between as great now, the Captain went on. "You may listen to me without scruple, and accept what I offer without fear of obligation for what I do, I do for my boy's sake!

Still Mr. Livingston listened, without making any sign. "In one way and another, I have scraped together five thousand dollars," continued Captain Alden. "I intended it for a wedding present to our children, but now the best present I can make them is to save your nonor. You shall have the money Dy noon to-morrow, if till then the loss can be concealed. What do you say?'"

Mr. Livingston said nothing. His head sank lower, and, for the first time since" he had know of his disgrace, he wept freely.

Mrs. Livingston roused to a pitch of emotion of which one would scarcely have considered her capable, got up from her pofa, and came and knelt humbly before the Captain—once the object of her bitter scorn. "Bless yon!" she murmured. "May you be rewarded for your goodness! I)o you hear, John?" she went on, laying her hands on the trembling ones of tier husband. "You will be saved. No one will inow of this miserable matter."

With an effort, Mr. Livingston checked his sobs. "I accept your noble offer," he murmured. "May your son reward you for your mercy to mine." "And now tell me how you have parted with your son?" asked the Captain, with some hesitation.

This question renewed too keenly the remembrance of that parting. Mrs. Livingston's tears began to flow afresh. "We have parted forever!'' replied tho father, in a low voice.

Captain Alden was silent his thin lips twitcned convulsively, lie was thinking what would be his feelings if he had to speak thus of Reginald. "May I tell him what has been arranged he a-sked, gently. "The boy has sinned, but hi.s punishment, is heavy. Tho knowledge of your safety will bo a comfort to him."

Mr. Livingston writhed. Even ere Gerard had left the room, he had yearned for one last embrace. If Gerard had asked again, he would not have been refused but he had gone bat and made no further effort. He saw no sign of the inner workings of his father's heart and so, deeply penitent, but not. wholly without, bitterness, he had left him.

The Captain wau quicker at understanding the prompting of paternal love than Gerard had been. '"I will spenk to him," he said "and tell him he may come to say good-bye again. Can you bear tho agitation, do you think?"

Mr. Livingston bowed his head. He would have borne anything for the sake of telling hi3 son that he forgave him, though henceforth, they must live as strangers.

Mrs. Livingston clutched eagerly at the Captain's offer. "Poor boy!" she kept murmuring between her sobs

Once more, husband and wife were left alone together but before Captain Alden Bought Gerard, he went to Lotta.

Poor Lotta—the one generally overlooked her future father-in-law had not forgotten her. He knew that Lotta felt her own fate trembling in the balance, while such dire whisperings were rifa about her brother.

She sprang up to meet him when ha entered, as 'if he was her only support. Her eyes asked their question plainly enough.

Captain Alden closed the door carefully, and then, in presence of poor Dodson, who still stood by the mantel, he told her of the day's burden of guilt and sliame..

Lotta could scarcely be made to comprehend it. Gerard a thief! Gerard, banished from home.

After a few soothing words to her, the Captain explained to Dodson that five thousand dollars was iorthcoming to replace the money missing from the desk, and that the secret being know only to so few, it was hoped that il would never become public.

Though he did not sav that he furnished the money, both Docisoii and Lotta understood it at once. 1/il.t.a seized the browned, weather-beaten hand, and covered it with fervent kisses. The .'ai/.av-.'d eyes glistened with emotion, llis heart was greatly drawn to this young trirl.

He soon recovered himself, .ind. bidi'.ieg her go to her parents, he hastened ui stairs.

The Captain had been hard worked that day but liis stout heart neve

cacy

-failed

Jj JL 1 A \J fl V_- A

where

duty was to be done. This last task he shrank from more than all the res!. Lie had always had an instinctive aversion to Gerard, and though he pitied hivn intensely, and had pleaded his cause with genuine emotion with his father, he revolted from speaking with him on the subject of his crime and he felt full convinced that Gerard would lie equally'loth to listen to him. I.Io\v***r, it must be done. It. should not be his fault if Gerard left his father's house without forgiveness, and a blessing to help him on "his way. If from false deli­

he shrank from telling him of his own good deed, which was to sa\ the whole family, Gerard, in his ignorance, and from sheer remorse, might be driven on to blacker crimes. So reasoning, ho slowly mounted tho staii-s.

At. the moment that he reached the top, Gerard's door opened, and he came out with hat. and coat on, and a small bag in his hand.

He had been prompt, then, to take his father at his word. Gerard started at seeing the Captain, and was going to pass him without sjx-ak-ing but the Captain laid his hand upon his arm. "I have a few words to say to you," he said. "For your own sake, do not refuse to hear me."

After a moment's hesitation, Gerard turned back, and led the way into his room in silence.

CHAPTER VIII.

EEPA ITTURE OF THE OUTCAST. There was an awkward pause at first, as the two men stood face to face. The Captain did not know how to begin, and Gerard would not help him. Gerard's heart was a prey to a storm of contending emotion. Anger, bitterness, regret,shaine, and despair, contended for mastery. io the longest day of his life he would rue the misery he bad brought upon his parents and yet, even at this lionr of supreme sorrow and repentance, the fact of the foolish indulgence of his mother, and the weakness of his father in concealing from them all.the true state of his affairs, itood out plain and clear before him, and excused, if it did not mitigate, his crime. Of the cruelty of the woman who had led him on, only at length to laugh at the results of her coquetry, he did not as yet dare suffer himself to think. There is limit to the capacity of the human wind for euff'-iing, and unconsciously Gerard

protected himself from his own misery. I hare driven poor Mr. Livingston to diSAnd so Gerard, full of his own troubles, traction, had he heard them. stood silent before the Captain, not It might have been these rumora, or it

He had guessed between Lotta and Reginald but he did knew that he would never befit to resume not know of the avowal of their engage- it. Wliatever it was, John Livingment which had taken place that very ston waa dismissed, with a pension gay of one thouand dollars a year "You are surprised to see me?' said the and, broken down in health and spirit, Cantain, at length. I vrorn and wearied by the fretting of his

Gerard made no rrply. I long-indulged wife, he retired to a, li.tle "I come as the emissary of your fa- house in Williamsburg. There L^ta, ther," Captain Alden began a^ain. who soon after her father's recovery had

ter "ive me the privilege of doing the lit- kindest friends, came to see nun still more tie That, is in mv power to assist her family often. At each of these visits Mr. Livin their misfortunes." ingston would ask. with a weary sigh, if

Gerard had looked up quickly at the he had heard any tidings and each time mer tion of he ties that existed between the Captain was obliged to saa.ie JU Lotta and young Alden but at the allu- head. sion to his"family's misfortunes they fell From the day when he watched uera/nun, and he turned abruptly awav. crd leave tlie house in Madison Squar»%

He might penit«nt before his "father, after that terrible farewell, they had but he would not endure the rebukes of a never received word or sign from linn, stranger. They had decree hat he should be uead

Ciptain Alden had no intention of re- to them, and he had determined, though Giptain buking then. He went, to administer such consolation a-s he could but he was clurnBy and awkward in his endeavor. "We thought—your father thought," he continued! "that it would be a comfort, to you to know that the consequences of what you have done will not be so heavy

been

licly dishonored. Now you know what

From heucei'orl he was coa fit io:n[ .i i"ii lor h-ne-'t "men. Vli *. conviction w:•bitter, and the C-apiaiu's mailer was hnrsh.

The that was at length turned to Captain Alden was utterly rigid and devoid of expression. "I thank you,'" he said, "f ir this action that has t:aved much suffering to my father. That is to more eagerly throbbim say. 11 hank you, if you can deign to re- the pleasures had ceive thanks from such as I."

hypocrite to pretend to ignore or to pa.ss over such worse than folly but you are

young —the young act rashly. If you had known yesterday all that your miserable feelings have taught you to-day, you would have acted differently. But you will atone. The worst consequences of your sin have been averted you have life and opportunities before you you have learned a bitter lesson—profit by it, and make me bless the day which gave me the opportunity and the right to speak to you thus. have spoken to you freely, but you will not resent it. Sliake hands."

But Gerard turned away again. "I resent nothing," he muttered bitterly "but I am not fib to shake hands with you. 1 am in the abyss you stand on the height. If the day ever comes when I may speak to you on even standing, I will thank you and bless you as you deserve—but not now. Let me go." "JS'ot yet. our father wishes to say good-bye again. You refuse my fellowship—you will not refuse to mitigate lii.s /uttering"

For a moment, Gerard stood with bowed head then, suddenly clutching the friendly hand that, was still extended, he cried, "May heaven bless you for your goodness! The day may come wh.»n I mav be cble to acquit nivm-lf of my heavy oblifatimi but lor your generous mercy I shall be your debtor to my life's end. Farewell'"

Like a tlash of liglitningliehadbrushed past the startled '.':pf:ti:i and rushed down the stairs. But, before he could reach the library door, Lotta stood before him. She had heard his rapid descent, and hurried out. Even now, she could not believe the truth of the Captain's story. Gerard was li-»- Gerard still—wild, care-

^s,"and"dissipaf('(i, but "st'ill true "and

pain

without bitterness, so to be.

heart

honorable in her eyk '"an f.Hf

A few hours ago, Gerard would have shaken her from his arm with sonu patient word". "Now, the clinging, trusting action went- to his heart, lie embraced her tenderly, whispered to her to love him still—never to forget him: and then, with her st j!l lnngir.g to his arm, he entered the library.

The scene that followed was painful beyond words to describe. r'aj.t.-Jn Alden, who stood for some moments hesitating at the open door, anxious to put an end to, and yet unwilling to intrude on, such grief, almost repented that he had proposed another interview. However, for Gerard's sake, it was better r.s it. was: and in a few more minutes he came forth, pale as death, and with tear-stained eyes, but with more of inward peace upon his countenance that it had worn for many mont hs.

The accumulated load of anxiety had reached its acme at last reparation must now be the watch-word of liis life.

The Captain watched him descend the steps in the gray morning light. The dreary night was over at

IX.

Tl! E AXDEREB.

upon fiim as he at first supposed. Som'o parted from his father on that neverone—tliat is" said the Captain, suddenly to-be-forgotten night, and during that chancing his hesitating manner, and time no communication of any kind had spenkk'i out in his usual frank, bluff way, passed between hem. Gerard had made "1 haveio'.it him the money to replace a resolution, which, whether right or wlir.t you took, and so the matter can be wrong, he (lung to. lie resolved that kept a reeret. You have nothing to thank never again would he meet any of those me for," he continued "I do it for my he had so grievously injured till he could son's sake his happiness is wrappe-d up repay the money the abstraction of which in your sister, and 1 could not sutler him hcid cost them so duar. Of his father's to marry into a family that lias

Five rs had passed sinco GertnT

pub- compulsory retirement from the sec re-

I

taryshiti he. knew nothing. Captain Al-

have come to say." den had written to him several times Th.ire was a gasp before Gerard replied, and at ljotta's urgent entreaties, adverA great struggle had be gene through tisements had been inserted in the newsbct'ore he could 'hank the man who saved papers praying him to return home, or to his father, but who spoke tfc the same time in u-!i h::rsh terms of himself. Gerard fe.lc l.i-.'i.ly enough that he was enfirelv out the Captain's calculation.*, except ivs a t.iii ur to be avoided nay, whose existence as "linost enough to form a barri-T to the proposed marriage

send them tidings. But rs Gerard had never been to any post-oflice to inquire for letters, and had newr ehanc.-d to see the newspapers in.whii fh» advertisements appeared. the severance between them ha« been complete.

The in!ease suffering that, in spife of to appreciate the cold, inflexible demeanor, was be- security. trayed in the tone of the l:«t words, went And so the months passed contentedly straight to the Captain's hesit. lie held ir.vr v. He ever held steadily in view the out his hand frankly to Gerard, who pre- ^rand object of his life—the repayment tended not to see the movement. of the five thousand dollars lent by Cap"Xay, 1 will not pnrt so," said the Cap- tain Alden. Sometimes he longed to tain, in his bin It voice. "For Lotta's sake, look on the well-known faces again, and there must be good will between us. You I a thrill of tenderness went through his have done wrong, very wrong. Ian no

His career, hou.crh unmarked by any

larriage. iits career, nougn unmarKeu uy lered no etartling incidents, was satisfactory and

could he have thrown off the bitter memories of the past, he would not. have been unhappy. It is true, he sometimes pined for a more exciting life. Tlie quiet of the little German city in which he had made his home, palled on his young energies. He liad kii.evn a more intense, a world but then exceeded by the pain and. young as he was, he had learned the blessing of quiet and

as he recalled the tones of

,, ... v-oungerthan himself.

last.

There, had

been an evil endiug to th-' iy which had begun with anticipation of so much happiness for Lotta and his son.

For some weeks after Gerard's departure there was a blank in the records of the house in Madison Square. Its mas-

man, dependent on those about him for •. turnej

hi3

fa-

tlier's earnest voice, the doting caresses of his mother, and file bright face of poor Lotta. But with all his sorrow and repentance, he had never entirely forgotten tho bitter consciousness that had flashed on him that miserable night, and had in some measure drowned his selfreproach, that to tli#'false judgment and foolish indulgence of that father and mother ho owed fhe terrible strait in which he now found himself.

It checked him in his wish to return to them again—it stilled the tenderness of liis yearnings for home. When he was free from that debt to Captain Alden, lie would go to them again—but not till then.

When he first landed in Belgium, he had only twenty dollars in his pocket. They vanished quickly enough, long before he had iound means to replace them. Then Ine was destitute. Happily i. him, he had won the heart of the old woman with vhofi he lodged. She fancied she sr^ .j'c cicjlance in him to a son she ha* on# years ago, and by her kindly efiV-ns he »ltahed a pupil, a young ~uan of humble riation who desired to vcarn the English language.

How would Gerard Livingston have once laughed at the idea of teaching a mechanic English for the sake of a few dollars! How,

:*h

infinite scorn, would

he not have ridic*ied the notion! Mow, the poor employment seemed a very godsend. lie worked patiently at, his occupation, and with so much success that lie obtained more pupils, and, linally, some of a better class. lie soon came to ha-»e quite a connection. and his time was fully occupied.

About two years after his departure from New York, he formed an intimate

£''flnai,1,-'mw

1

n'n

birth'^ ilUl°

He was the only son of the reigning duke of a tiny Gertnan principality and so loud was he on his return to his father's Court in praise of his American friend, that in spite of Gerard's strict incognito, and almost deli ant. refusal to give any i:ri iculars of his private history, he was Epp1 'in'ed ciutvuiion to the young Prince on .-h r.ot.t lis' tour.

The iiicivase.d intimacy only increased the friendship between them and linally, at Prince Karl's earnest request, Gerard was appointed the Duke's private secreta/- ,.

Now Gerard began ,to carry out his cherished project in good earnest. His expenses were .small, and the Duke paid him a handsome salary besides which, he had plenty of time for painting, in which art he was a proficient and in the circle of grandees to whose society he was now admitted, he had many opportunities of disposing of hik drawings.

Another two years passed quietly away. Gerard had grown accustomed to the dullness and mock grandeur of the Lilliputian Court. His friend. Prince Karl, now fairly launched on the stream of life, gave himself up to such dissipation a-s came in iiis way, and tried hard, but vainly, to induce Gerard to be the companion of his amusements.

But Gerard stood firm. To all the sedncing pictures that Karl so graphically

ter lay struggling between life and death drew,"of delights which the American and when, at last, life gained the victory, surely have never tasted, or he he rose from the combat an aged, infirm

wouid

of witnessing the wreck that suffering he kept his father fully informed of Gerhad made of the once active, prosperous," ard's steadiness and friendly admonitions self-denying man, but terrible the himself, as Gerard perceived by the change it wrought in their material posi- Duke's increased kindness. tion. Gerard was making way slowly but

The secret of Gerard's crime had been g^rely the Duke was even beginning to carefully hushed up, and vet some whia- forgive, or, perhaps, forget, his abrupt reperings had got abroad, which, added to fa98i of confidence. At first, though he the sudden and serious illness of the sec- hsd yielded to his son's wish to employ retarv, gave rise to suspicions that would friend, the Duke had kept his pTi­

not so steadfastly refuse them, he

a

the most trivial service. excuse, and mingled his refusals with It was a terrible change for all who be- cautions to his fnend till half-admiring, longed to him—terrible not only for the half-angry, Prince Karl turned away. But

deaf ear. He made his duty his

•ate correspondence, not very weighty at ray time, in the hands of an old confidential attendant. He was not exactly suspicious of this American, but he thought, and with reason, that there must be some serious cause for such Strict secrecy.

Gerard was perfectly aware of his employer'a feeling towards him but nothing could induce him to confide to any one the painful story of his last days at home in fact, he was aware that, his secret once known, he must leave the place, Even should the Duke, persuaded of his reformation, be willing to retain him in his service, he could not stay to be pointed out as a common thief.

Just when Gerard saw with satisfaction that he was beginning to be trusted, in ppite of his reserve, an event occurred which shool his security to the very centre.

CHAPTER X. A Bl'RPKISB.

The little Court was all in commotion. The speedy arrival of the Duke's niece was announced and her coming, her appearance, and her affairs in general, were the only topic of conversation.

It appeared as if there was some mystery about her. Her relationship with the Duke was variously stated and, many different reasons were assigned for her long absence from his Court. Her arrival was a matter of great, moment. Ladies were at a premium at W Tho Duke had been a widower for many years. Karl was his only child. The honors of his Court had been done by his sister-in-law—a gray, grave, unpopular woman, of middle age.

So the arrival of the young Countess was anticipated with delight. She would give life to the usual dull festivities balls and

fetes

would once again be the

order of the day. All the resources of the dukedom were called into requisition for the grand ball which was to be held in her honor on the day of her arrival. Karl was in a wild state of excitement. The ordinary am usemen Is of W did not by any means suflice to exhaust the youn£ Prince's capaciiy for enjoyment. This coming of iiis couiin was a veritable godsend to him.

The eventful day arrived at last. So did the .young Countess. There had been a grand "crush at the railway-station to receive h^r, in spite of the Duke's evident wish to avoid notice.

Ilis manner regarding his visitor was strange. He was anxious in every way do all that could be for her pleasure, but at the same time studiously avoided

nny appearance of state in her reception. The Countess, his sister-in-law, looked black as night when the name of her niece was mentioned in her presence. She took no interest in the preparations. She refused to go to receive her young vistor, and in every way she could, threw cold water on the pleasure .with which her arrival was expected.

The private secretary, of course, had no concern with all these matters. Prince Karl might work himself to a state of frenzy regarding the probable appearance and disposition of his cousin to Gerard the matter was indifferent. Were she as beautiful as Venus, and amiable as beautiful, it was nothing to him. It was not likely she would so much as cast a glance at the humble secretary. Gerard thought he had grown philosophically indifferent to everything. But though he sternly refused himself to leave his work to go to the railway-station to see the arrival, he could not resist appearing at the ball, according to the Dukes desire. As a rule, Gerard eschewed all festivities,— he had a dim kind of fear of rcognition— but, for this once, he meant to make an exception. He was glad of the opportunity of seeing the young Countess, 1'hough he entered the room before the hour for her appearance, a large company had already assembled. It was quite a brilliant affair and, though on a small scale, the decorations would not, have disgraced tho grandest European Court. The ladies above all were gorgeous in their attire.

The stranger had been used to the ball-rooms of London and Paris, and they did not, wish to be regarded a whit behind the fashions.

It took a little while for Gerard to accustom himself to the glare and noise. It was long since he had looked on such a scene—five years, almost.

Soon there was a buzz, and a general uprising. The l)u!e had entered, leading his niece, followed by Prince Karl, with the angry old Countess,

There was quite a murmur ot .admiration as the ducal party passed along. Gerard, hidden behind a marble pillar, was watching, lialf-cnrious, half-amused. It waa long before he could catch a glimpse of the new-comer through the crowd.

Suddenly, he gave a great start. No one observed him. All were occupied with gazing. For a few moments, the arm that had been carelessly Hung round Ve pillar, tightened its grasp. He crunheii the gay wreaths of flowers that adorned it but what cared he?

A great faintness had come over him the lighted palace had become dark. Instead of rowds, and music, and decorations, he was alone in a dark conservatory, and the .air was heavy with the perfume of flowers.

Alone? No, he was not alone—the heroine of this gay scene wait with him. He saw the white fingers gathering up the folds of the lace shawl, as he had seen her for the last time.

With a great effort, Gerard conquered the giddiness that threatened to overcome him. Not for all the world would he have attracted noiiee then. He did not leave the ball-room a fascination was upon him. He must look once again— make sure that he was not the sport of a delusion and if not—if it were really she —he must gaze, and hug his agony closer to him, and devour it in silence.

Slowly and cautiously he made his way near to where she was standing, bowing and receiving the homage that was paid her, as if it were her birthright. Surely he must be deceived? Constance Duvernay, though haughty and cspricious to her admirers, could never have assumed that royal air—that calm, stately indifference.

These thoughts pissed rapidly through his mind as, utterly confused and puz[iled, he gazed at the brilliant group.

Five years had done their work it was the same face, and yet it was another, Suddenly, the beautiful girl, hanging on her uncle's arm, looked up in answer to some remark from Prince Karl.

Then he knew now he wxs not mistaken it was she, indeed. That gesture—that indescribable movement of the graceful head—he knew it well. A hundred times he had watched it with rapturous admiration. Yes the Countess and Constance Duvernay were one and the same.

The discovery was too startllnc the

dm and whirl is his paching head was too great now for him to wonder at the circumstance. Simply he comprehended the bare fact.

He still watched he seemed chained to the place. He might never again dare to gaze at her, and so he feasted his full.

At last, there was a movement the party broke up. The dance was about to begin, and with dim, bleared eyes, Gerard saw Prince Karl lead his cousin off in triumph.

After that, he saw no more. Ho succeeded in making his way ont. of the room, lie even replied coherently to those of his acquaintances who addressed liim though how he did it, he never knew. When he reached his o\v chamber, it was dark and desolate. The lights had not been brought as usual. The excitement of tlie Court had spread to the servants they were all crowding round to get a peep into the ball-room. No matter Gerard was thankful for tho darkness. He would be able to sit and think in peace to recall every minute circumstance belonging to that scene in the conservatory. Sheliad played a cruel

E[e

art, and yet he could not hate her for it. was mad ever to have dreamed of winning her. How could he have dared raise his eyes to the queen of the scene below? It was his mother's doing—his fond, foolish mother. If it had not been for her, he would never have gone to the Clinton's never seen Constance never involved himself in those useless debts never committed that terrible crime for fear that his shortcoming should reach her ears.

Gerard clenched his hands. But soon milder thoughts arose. If liis mother had erred, it was from excess of love to him it was wicked to justify himself by laying his misdeeds upon her.

Then the bitterness fell on Constance. She, at leatst, had no excuse. She had encouraged and led him on, only for her own selfish triumph and yet the time had been when he coald have sworn she loved him.

As he ixmdered, words and facts presented themselves with new force. Things that he had heard and forgotten, now came from their hiding-places and ranged themselves in order. He remembered the mystery that had always been about Constance Davernay's parentage— how, when he had attempted to question, he had been rebuked. He thought nothing of it then—ha was too madly in love but now they assumed a significance. Even here, in her uncle's Court, the fact was not clearly announced. The relationship—that made her heir to the Duke through the marriage of a half-sister's second husband—was puzzling. Then he bethought him that the Clintons had been much in Germany—had lived there entirely, indeed, during (h early part of their married life. This might account for Constance having be«n given into their charge though why her noble birth should have been concealed waa still a mystery.

So Gerard sat and pondered in fhe dark, till the pain that racked his head obliged him to lio down.

He flung himself, still dressed, upon the bed, and soon fell into an uneasy slumber, in which Constance Duvernay and the young Countess played strange antics, of which he was always the butt and victim.

CHAPTER XL A 8T0LEJT INTERVIEW.

Gerard woke up the next morning with the dim consciousness that he had sustained some great misfortune. The truth soon dawned upon him, and then he collected all his faculties to decide on the best plan of action.

He would not dally with his danger— for danger he considered it. In the whirl of last night's emotion he had thought of nothing hut the personal relations between Constance and himself But now he bethought him that her recognition involved discovery. Discovery meant disgrace. Better a thousand times go of his own free will, while he was still honored and respected, than prolong by a few months his engagement, at last to be dismissed with reproach and scorn. Still it was annoying. The necessary sum for restitution was complete, save five, hundred dollars, if lie left the Duke now, without giving any valid reason, he could expect no help fioiii liim hi securing further etnoi.eie .). lb: Wi.illd probably have to In upon his savings, and so retard coiif.i'.le"r::i ly the time when he could return to New York, a free, unfettered man.

Nevertheless h« must i.-o. It was better to endure delay t^iati shame. So he. resolved: but he never went. I'irst one reason, then another, held him fast. He knew he deceived himself—he knew he was trilling with a carefullyformed resolution—and yet he lingered. I'or the space of three inontlis he contrived so well, that Constance never saw him. lie saw her frequently. He could not. deny himself the painful pleasure of .-razing on the still l«»ved face when ht was safe himself from olmert a! ion.

There was no fear of her recognizing his name, for he had always !eeii known as Mr. Gerard. -I hs-.nself J. Gerard,and in ilie I.:---. !..- go into the details of i-N pei-oiiai histoiy, no one Lad que.slioii,-d Imu more particularly about it.

There was no fear of Constance remarking on that even it by chance it should be mentioned in her presence,how could she think it likely that the man who had left home in disgrace would be at her uncle's Court, holding a confidential post? And Karl, tie- only person likely to speak of him, was iar too rap turously in love to spe»k or think of ai_\ one but himself and Constance.

So three months passed, and the tim drew near when Gerard .should hav» cause to curse himself for his vacillation

He was sitting alone one afternoon the Duke's private room. He had beei writing busily. The Duke and Constanc. had gone out riding and Gerard, thinking himself safe enough that day fron the recognition he so much feared, in stead of retiring to his own apartment a dsual when his work was done, sat list lessly in his chair before the escritoire exactly opposite the door of the room.

It so chanced that Constance met wit a small accident at the beginning of th ride, and, in spite of her remonstrances the Duke insisted on bringing her home They came in by aside entrance close his private apartments and so, befo Gerard knew what was happening, or tha the Duke had returned, he found him self face to face with Constance.

In spite of his surprise, he maintaine his composure so well that, for all the re cognition he showed, Constance migh have thought her eyes deceived her.

But, nevertheless, she knew him in stanfly, and she was not equal to the oc casion. Whether it wan that in her se cret heart, she had always nourished th remorse that Gerard onc«j told her shoul