Terre Haute Weekly Gazette, Terre Haute, Vigo County, 31 January 1878 — Page 5

PUT YOURSELF IN HIS PLACE.

A Novel of Thrilling Interest About the Great Strikes in England.

rr'

BY CHARLES RKADR.

I- 'otitluu&l Krorn Last Issuc.l

CHAPTER XXXVIII.

Just outside the little sea-side town of Eastbank is a house which, being very Old, contrasts agreeably with the pretentious villas fashion has raised. It is room}* inside, vet outside it looks like a cottage: low, rambling, gabled, and picturesq e. It stands on a slope just above the sea, and its front garden runs down almost to the sea-shore. The aspect is southerly. The placid sea look# like a beautiful lake for, about two mile3 out, a

feepstongue

reat of land runs across, and the tempests out. S"f* The cottage itself was now clothed deep with green creepers,and its verandah with jessamine and the low white walls of the garden were beautiful with vineleaves and huge fig-leaves, that ran up them and about them, and waved over them in tropical luxuriance. In short, the house was a very bower, and looked the abode of bliss, and this time last year a young couple had Sfent their honeymoon there, and left it with a sigh. But one place sees many minds and now this tweet place was the bed on which diooped the broken lily of this tale, Grace Carden.

She lay in the warm air of the veranlah, and turned her hollow eyes upon the lea and every day life crept slowly back ko her young body, but not to her desolate heart.

A brain fever either kills or blunts, and trace's agony was blunted. Her mind rat in a strange state. She was beginning to look two things in the face that |he man she loved was dead that the tan she loved, and had nearly died for, tad loved another as well as herself: and lit last grief, strange to say, was the iving of her. She forgave him with all }er heart, for he was dead she made ccuses for him, for she loved him but, |nce his whole heart had not been hers, sr pride and modesty rebelled against ring for him, and she resolved live bhe fought hard to live and st well. Finally, being a very |oman, though a noble one, she hated kel Dence.

I She was not alone in the world. Her inger, her illness, and her misery had lown her the treasure of a father's love, had found this tweet bower for her id here he sat for hours by her side, ith his hand in hert, gazing on her lith touching anxiety and affection, itinets compelled him to run into lillsborough now and then, but he distched it with feverish haste, and came ck to her it drove him to London he telegraphed to her twice a day, was miserable till he got back. She the man of business turned into a in of love for her, and she felt it. "Ah, »a," she said one day, "I little [ught you loved your poor Grace so jch. You don't love any other child me, do you, papa?" and with this

Bttion bhs clung weeping round his :k. jMy darling child, there's nothing on |th I love but you. When shall 1 see tmile again?"

IIn

a few years, perhaps. God knows." )ne evening—he had been in Hillslough that day—he said, "My dear, ]ive seen an old friend of yours to-day,

Coventry. IJe asked vpry kindly £r you."

trace made ns reply. [He is almost as pale as you are. He lbeen very ill, he tells me. And |lv, I believe it was "our illness upstet V» poor Mr. Coventry** said Grace, but a leaden air of indifference. hope 1 didn't do wrong, but when he

Id after you so anxiously, I said, le, and see for yourself.' Oh, you not look frightened he is r.ot com-

He says you are offended with I? lot I. What is Mr. Coventry to

Tell, he thinks so. He says he was kyed into speaking ill to you of some (who, he ihought, was living and that weighs upon his conscience." can understand that. I am miseraut let me try and be just. Papa

Coventry was trying to comfort me, clumsy way and what he said he not invent—he heard it and so people say to that I—I—oh, papa!

Carden dropped the whole subject tly. }wever, 6he returned to it herself, lid, listlessly, that Mr. Coventry, in »inion, had shown more generosity moat people would in his cate. She iO feeling against him he was of no importance in her eyes than that and he might visit her if he pleason one condition—that he should all the past, and never presume speak to her of lovee

Men are all incapable of .,' 'as thinking of Henry, even while ]a4 speaking of his rival. permission, thus limited, was con. to Mr. Coventry by his friend Carut he showed no hurry to take ad jc of it and, as for Grace, she for [e had given it.

I this coolness of Coventry's was Apparent. He was only wai.ing Nval of Patrick Lally from Ireland j»ally was an old and confidential t, who had served him formerly in ntrigues, and with whom he had reluctantly some months ago, and him a small pension for past ser-

Iie dared not leave the villa in of anjr person less devoted to him Ms Lally. man arrived at last, received mjntructions, and then Mr. Coventry

Eastbank. iund what seemed the gh06t of ^arcfen lying on the sofa, looking jea. ie sight of her he started back in

it have I done?" strange worasfejj^lHJfrr him beVuew wha\Jj0*^ft)L8 saying. h^agdHfiem but did not take the inquire intw their meaniug. doggedly, "I am alive, you see. "'kills. It is wonderful we die of a blow, of swallowing a pin |»'alive. But never mind me you 'veil yourself. What is the mat-

,ou ask me?" I,, which implied that her mness nice of his, the turned her head'

away from hitn with weariness and ditgust, and looked at the sea, and thought of the dead. I

Coventry sat speechless, and eyed her silent figure with miserable devotion, he was by her tide once more, and no rival near. He set himself to study all her moods, and begin by being inoffensive to her in time he niignt be something more. lie tpeiit four days in Eastbank. Ihd never uttered a word of love but his soft soothing voice was ever in her ear, and won her attention now and then not ofien.

When he left het\ she did not ask him come again. Her father did, though, and told him to be patient better days were in store. "Give h-:*" time," taid he, "and, a month or two hcnce. if vou have the same feeling for her you used to have—" "I love her more than ever. I worship her—" "Then you will have me on your side, stronger than ever. But you must give her time."

And now Coventry had an ally tar more powerful than himself—-an ally at once zealoub and judicious. Mr. Carden contented himself at first with praising him in general terms next he affected to laugh at him for renting the villa, merely to be in the place which Grace had occupied. Then Grace defended him. "Don't laugh at an honest love. Pity it. It is all we can do, and the least we can do."

But when he advanced farther, and began to remind his daughter she had once given this gentleman hopes, and all but engaged herself to hiu, she drew back with fear and repugnance, and said, "If he can not forget th,it pray lef^, him never come near me a^ain.'' •'Oh," said Mr. Caiden, "I believe he has no hopes of the ki it is of you I am thinking, not of him. It has got about that poor Little had a connection with some gitl in hum Die life, and that he was in love wi4.h her, and you, in love with him. That wounds a father's pride, and makes me grateful to Coventry for his unshaken devotion, whilst hers are sneering at my poor child for her innocent love."

Grace writhed, and the tears ran down her cheeks at this. "Oh, spare the dead!" she faltered.

Then her father kissed her, and begged her to forgive him he would avoid all these topics in future: and so he did for some time but what he had said rankled.

A tew days after this Coventry came again, and did nothing but soothe Grace with words, only he managed so that Grace should detect him looking very sad when he was not actually employed in cheering her.

She began to pity him a little, and wonder at his devotion. He had not been gone many hours when another visitor arrived quite unexpectedly—Mr. Raby. He came to ted her his own news, and warn her of the difficult game thev were now playing at Raby Hall, that she might not thwart it inadvertently.

Grace was much agitated, and shed tears of sympathy. She promised, wilh a sigh, to hold no communication with Mrs. Little. She thought it very hard, but she promited.

In the course of his narrative Mr. Raby spoke very highly of Jael Dence, and of her conduct in the matter.

To this Grace did not respond. She waited her opportunity, and baid, keenly and coldly, "How did she come to be in your house?" "Well, thai is a secret. "Can you not trust me with a secret?" "Oh, yes," said Raby, "provided you will promise faithfully "to tell no one."

Grace promised, ond he then told her that Jael Dence, in a moment of desparution, had thrown herself into the river at the back of his house. "Poor girl!" said he, "her brain was not right at the time. Heaven keep us all from those moments of despair. She has got over it now, and nurses and watches my poor sister more like a mother watching her child than a _voung woman taking care ot

an old one. She is the mainspring of the

house." At all this Grace turned from pale to white, but said nothing and Raby ran on in praise of Jael, little dreaming* what pain his words inflicted.

When he left her, she rose and walked down to tbe sea for her tortured spirit gave her body energy. Hitherto she found she had only suspected now sbe was sure. Hitherto she had feared Henry Little had loved Jael Dence a little now she was sure he had loved her best. Jael Dence *ould not have attempted self-destruction for any man unless lie loved her. The very act proved her claim to him more eloquently than words could do. Now she believed all—the anonymous letter—Mr. Coventry's report—the woman's words who worked in the same factor^, and could not be deceived. .And her very godfather accepted Jael Dence and her claim to sympathy: she was taken into his house, and set to nurse Henry Litre's mother, poor Grace was slighted on all sides she must not even write to Mrs. Little, nor take part in the pious falsehood they were concocting together, Raby and his Jael Dence, whom every body loved best—every body except this poor faithful ill-used wretch, Frederick Coventry and him she hated for loving her better than the man she loved had loved her.

Tender, but very proud, this sensitive creature saw herself dethroned from iter lovt. Jae^. Dence had eclipsed her in every way had saved his life with her strong arm, had almost perished with him and had tried to kill herself when he was dead. She was far behind this rival in every thing. She had only loved, and suffered, and nearly died. "No, no," she said to herself, "she could not love him better than 1 did: but he loved her best and she knew it, and that made her arm strong to fight, and her heurt strong to die for him. I am nobody— nothing." Then the scalding tears ran down her cheeks

But soon the pride got tae upper hand, and dried hei cheeks, and nearly maddened her.

She began to blush for her love, to blush for her illness. She rose into that state of exasperation in which persons of her sej^do thing* they look back upon

Onder, and, strange to say, all this ithoutone unkind thought of him whose faults she saw, but excused—he was dead.

She now began to struggle visibly, and violently, against her deadly scrrow She forced herself to take walks and rides, and to talk, with nothing to say. She e/en tried to laugh now and then. She made violent efforts to be gracious and pitiful to Mr. Coventry, and the next minute made him suffer for it by treating him like a troublesome hound.

He loved her madly, yet sometimes he felt tempted to kill her, and end both her torture and his own.

Such was the inner life of Grace Car-

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THE TERRfi HAtJ'PK $ KKKlfr^ffSffiirH'R

den for many days devoid of striking, ncid ent, yet well worthy of study by tho.«g who care to pierce below the" surfit~e. a-id see what passes in the hearts of 'he unhap jy,ami to learn how things come gradually about that sound incredible when not to traced, yet are natural and almost inevitable results of certain! conflicting passions in a virgin heart

One day Mr Carden telegraphed from London to Mr. Coventry at Hillsborough that he was coming down to Ens'.bank by the midday express and would be glad to meet him there at four o'clock. He also telegraphed to Grace, and said, "Dinner at five."

Both gentlemen arrived about the same time, a little before dinner. Soon after dinner was over, Grace observed a restlessness in her father's manner, which convinced her he had something private to say to Mr. Coventry. Her suspicions were aroused: she fancied he was going to encourage Mr. Coventry to court her. Instantly the whole woman was in arms, and her love for the deceased came rushing back tenfold. She rose, soon after dinner, and retired to the drawing room but, a6 soon as she got there she slipped quietly into the verandah, and lay softly down upon her couch. The dinning-room window was open, anfl, with her quick ears, she could hear nearly every word.

She soon found that all her bitterness and her prenaration for hostilities Were wasted. Her father was telling Mr Coventry the story ot Richard Martin only he carried it a step tarther than I have done. "Well, sir," said he, '*the money has not been paid more than a month," when an insurance office down at Liverpool communicated with us. The same game had been played with them but somehow, suspicions were excited. We co.nparcd notes with them, and set detectives to work. They traced Martin's confederates, and found one of them was in prison awaiting his trial for some minor offense. 1'hev worked on him to tell the truth (I am afraid they compounded), and he let out the whole truth. Every one of those villians could swim like ducks, and Richard Martin like a fish. Drowned? not he: he had floated down to Greenwich or somewhere—the blackguard! and hid himself. And what do you think the miscreants did next? Bought a dead marine and took him down in a box to some low public-house by the waterside. They had a supper, and dressed their marine in Richard Martin's clothes, and shaved its whiskers, and broke its tooth, and set it up in a chair with a table before it, and a pot of ale, and fastened a pipe in its mouth and they kept toasting this ghastly corpse as the thing that was to make all their fortunes." At this grotesque and horrible picture, a sigh of horror was uttered in the veranda. Mr. Carden, occupied vith his narrative, did uot hear it, but Coventry did. "Then, when it was pitch dark, they staggered down to the water with it and planted it in the weeds. And, mark the cunning! when they had gone through dieir farce of recognizing it publicly for Richard Martin, they bribed a churchwarden and buried it under our very noses it was all done in a way to take in the very devil. There's no Richard Martin there never was a Richard Martin thee never will be: all this- was contrived and executed by a swindler well known to the police, only they can't catch him he is here, and there, and everywhere they call him 'Shifty Dick.' He and his myrmidons have bled the 'Gossha.vk' to the tune of nine hundred pounds."

He drew his breath and proceeded more calmly. "However, a lesson of this kind is never thrown away upon a public man, and it has given me 6ome very curious ideas about another matter. You know what I mean."

Coventry stared, and looked quite taken aback by this sudden turn. However he stampiered out, "I suppose you mean—but, really, I can't imagine what similarity—" he paused, and, inadvertuntly, his eye glanced uneasily towards the verandah. "Oh," said Mr. Carden, "these diaboljcal frauds are not done up in one pattern, or, °f course, there would soon be an end of their success. Bui come now what proof have we got that what they found in the river at Hillsborough was the remains of Henry Little?" "I don't know, I am sure. But nobody seems tp„ doubt. The situation, the clothes, the-^ ring—so many coincidences." i"That is all very well, if there were no rogues in the world. But there are: and I know it, to my cost. The 'Gosshawk' hate just lost nine hundred pounds by not suspecting. It shall not lose five thousand by the same weakness I'll take care of that."

He paused a moment, and .then proceeded to argue the matter: "The very idea of an imposture has never occurred to any body in Little's case, it did not occur to me until the business of Shifty Dick enlightened me But, come now, just admit the idea of imposture into that honest, unsuspicious mind of yours, and you'll find the whole thing wears a very doubtful appearance directly. A common workmen—he was no more-at the time—insures his life, for how much? three hundred pounds? no five thousand. Within one year after he disappears, under cover of an explosion. Some weeks afterwards—about as many as the Martin swindle—there is found in the river a fragment ot humanity an arm, and a hand, and a piece of a hun\an trunk but no face, mind you: srms are pretty much alike, taces differ. The fragment is clad in brown tweed, and Litrle wore brown tweed that is all very well but the marine was found dressed from head(to foo. in Shifty Dick's very clotheo. But let lis go on. There was a plain gold ring found on the hand in Hillsborough river, and my daughter had given Little a plain gold ring. But what was there to hinder an importer from buying some pauper's body, and putting a plain gold ring on the hand? Why, pauper's bodies are constantly sold, and the funeral service gabbled over a coffin full bf stones. If had paper and ink here, and could put Little's case and Martin's in two columns, I should soon show you that Martin and his gang faced And overcame greater difficulties- in the way of impostures than any that have been overcome in Little's case. The Martin gang dealt with the face here, that is shirked. The Martin gang planted a body, not a fragment. Does it not strike you as very odd that the. rest of Henry Little is not to be found? It may be all right but, of the two, I incline to think it is a plant, and that person, calling himself the heir or assign of Little, will soon apply to the *Go&shawk' for five thousand pounds^vjAVeli, let Mm. I shall look on that person as the agent ot a living

not the heir of a dead one and I thai) tell him I don't believe in arm-, and shoulders, and tweed suits, and plain gold rings—(why, wedding-rings are the very things conjurors take from the public at random *o play hanky-panky with thev are so like one another.) I »hall demand to see the man's face, and the mother who bore him must identify that face before I will pay one shilling to his heirs or assigns. I am waiting to see who will co n» forward and claim. Nobody moves and that is curioub. Well, when they do I shall be ready for them. You look pale! But no wondei: it is really no subject tor an after-dinner conversation."

Coventry was pale indeed, and his mind all in a whirl as what he should say for Mr. Carden's sagacity terrified him, and the worst of it was, he felt sure that Grace Carden had heard Jevery word.

At last, however, his natural cnnning came to his aid, and he made a very artful speech, directed principally to his unseen hearer. "Mr. Carden," said he, "this seems to me very shrewd but surely it fails in one respect you leave the man's character out ot the account. Mr. Little came between me and the one I love, and inflicted great misery on me but I vfill try and be just to him, I don't believe he istan irnposter of that kind. He was false in love, he had been reared amongst workmen and everybody said he loved a working girl more than he did your daughter but as for cheating yota or any other person out ot five thousand pounds, I can't believe it. They all say he was as honest a man in money .inattters as ever breathed."

"You judge him b) yourself. Besides men begin by deceiving women, but they go on to—Why, Grace, my poor childGood heavens! have you—?"

Grace was leaning against the open window, ghastly and terrible. "Yes," said she haughtily, ''I have been guilty of the meanness of listening, and I suffer for it. It is but one page more to a broken heart. Mr. Conventrv, you are just, you are generous and I will try and reward you for those words. No, papa, no impostor, but a man sore tried, sore tempted. It he is alive, we shall soon

kno^-"

"How?" "t**" "He will write—to Jael Dence." Having uttered this strange speech, she rushed away with a wild cry of agony, and nobody saw her face again that night.

She did not. ioifiS' down stairs riWt day. Mr. Carden went up to her. He staid with her an hour, and came down looking much dejected he a iked Mr. Coventry to take a turn in the garden with him. When they were alone, he said gravely, "Mr. Coventry that unfortunate conversation of ours has quite upset my poor girl. She tells me now she will not believe he is dead unfil months and months have passed without his writing to Jael Dence "Well but, sir," said Coventry, "coulJ you not convince her?" "How can I, when I am myself convinced he is alive, and will give us a great deal of trouble yet for it is clear to me the poor girl loves him more than she knows? LOOK here, Coventry, there's no man I so desire for a son-in-law as yourself you have shown a patience, a fidelity!—but as a just man, and a man of honor. I must now advise you to give up all thoughts of her. You are not doing yourself justice she will not marry you while that man is alive and unmarried. I am provoked at her: she will not leave her room while you are in the house. Shall I tell vou what she said? 'I respect him, I admire him, but I can't bear the tight of him now.' That is all because I let out last night that I thought Little was alive. I told her, alive oj not, he was dead to her." "And what did she say tb' that?" "Not a word. She wrung her hands, and burst out crying terribly. Ah! my my friend! may you never know what it is to be a father, and see your child wrin her hands, and cry her heart out, as have seen mine."

His tears flowed and his voice was choked. He faltered out, "We are two miserable creatures forgive us, and leave us to our fate:"

Coventry rose, sick at heart, and said, "Tell her I will not intrude upon her." He telegraphed to Lally and went back to Hillsborough as miserable as those he left behind but with this differ ence, he deserved his misery, deservet it richly.

Ere he had been two days in Hillsborough a telegram.came from*him to Mr Carden— "Re Little. Important discovery. Pray come here at once."

Mr. Carden had the prudence to withhold from Grace the nature of this communication. He merely told her busi ness called him suddenly to Hillsborough. He started by the next train, and found Mr. Coventry awaiting him at44 Woodbine Villa" with strange news: it was r.ot conjecture, nor a matter of deduction, but a piece of undeniable evidence and it knocked both Mr. Carden's theory and his daughter's to atomes atone blow.

CHAPTER XXXVIII.

Meantime the history of Raby Hous*: was the history of what French dramatiit call "a pious lie." its indirect effect in keeping Grace Carden apart from Mrs. Little and Jael Dence was unforseen and disastrous its immediate and direct effect on Mrs. Little was encourageing to those concerncd what with the reconciliation to her brother, the return to native air and beloved scenes, the tenderness and firmness of Jael Dence, and conviction .that her son was' safe out of the clutched of the dreadful unions, she picked up flesh and color and spirit weekly.

By-and-by she turned round upon Jael Dence, and the nurse became the pupil Mrs.^Little taught her grammar, pronunciation, dancing, carriage and deport ment. Jael could already sing from notes Mrs. Little taught her to accompany herself on the piano forte. The teacher was so vidian', and the pupil so apt and attentive, that surprising progress was made. To be sure, they were together night and* day.

This labor of love occupied Mrs. Little's mind agreeably, and,* as the pupil was equahv resolute in making her teacher walk or ride on ho.-seback with her every day, the hours glided swiftly, and, to Mr. Little, pleasantiy.

Her brother rather avoided her, by order of Jael Dence but so many proba ble reasons were given for his absences that she suspected nothing. Only she said one day, What a gad-about he is now. This comet of not marrying. We must find him a wife."

When he was at home they breakfasted together, all three, and then Mra. Little sometimes spoke of Henry, aod so hopefully. thata great^ualna

*&&:

mand his features so well at Jael could, looked gloomy, and sometimes retired behind his newspaper.

Mrs. Little observed this one day, and pointed it out to Jael. "Oh," said Jael, "take no notice. You know he wanted Mr. Henry to stay quietly here and be his heir."

And so did I. But his very name seems to—" He like* him wtll, for all that, ma'am only he won't own it yet. You know what Squire it." '•The Squire you should sav, dear. But

4Mr.

Raby' is better still.'" As a rule, avoid all sma'l titles: the Doctor, the Squire, the Baronet the Mayor."

Jael «£ized this handle, and, by putting questions to her teacher, got her away from the dangerous topic.

Ever on the watch, and occupied in many ways with Mrs. Little, Jael began to recover resignation but this could not be without an occasional paroxvtm of grief.

These she managed to hide from Mrs. Little. But one day that lady surprised her crying. She stood and looked at her a moment, then sat down quietly beside her and took her hand. Jael started, and feared discovery. "My child," said Mrs. Little, "if you have lost a father you have gained a mother and then, as to your sister, why my Henry i« gone to" the very 6ame country yet, you see, I don't-give way to sorrow. As soon as he writes, I will beg him to make inquiries for Patty, and send them home if they are not doing well." Then Mrs. Little kissed Jael, and coaxed her and rocked with her, and Jael's tears began to flow no longer for her own grief but for this mother, who was innocently consoling her, unconscious of the blow that must one day fall upon herself.

So matters went on pretty smoothly only one morning, speaking of Henry, Mrs. Little &urpised a look of »ecret intelligence between her brother and Jael Dence. She made no remark at the time, but she puzzled in secret over it, and began at last to watch the pair.

She asked Raby at dinner, one day, when she might hope to hear ftom Henry. "I don't know," said he, and looked at Jael Dence like a person watching tor or ders.

Mrs. Little observed ,this, and turned keenly round to Jael. !A »i "Oh," said Jael,

athe

Doctor—I beg

pardon, Doctor Amboyne—ran tell you chat better than I can. It is a long way to Australia." "How you send me from one to another," said Mrs. Little speaking very slowly.• -,

They made no reply to thai, and Mrs. Little said no more. But she pondered all this. She wrote to Dr. Ambone, and asked him why no letter had come from Henry.

Doctor Amboyne wrote back that, even if he had gone in a steamboat, there was hardly time for a letter to come back: but he had gone in a sailing vessel. "Give him three months and a half to get there, and two months for his letters to come back."

In this same letter he told her he was glad to hear she was renewing her youth like an eagle, hut reminded her it would entail some consequences more agreeable to him than to her.

She laid do«n the letter with a blush and fell into a reverie. Doctor Amboyne followed up this letter with a visit or two, and ur^ed her to keep her promise and marry him.

She had no excuse fordecling, but she procrastined she did not like to marry without consulting Henry, or, at least, telling him by letter.

And'whilst the was thus temporizing, events took place at Eastbank which ended by rudely disturbing the pious falsehood at Raby Hall

That sequence of events began with the interview between Mr. Carden and Mr. Coventry at Woodbine Villa. "Little had made a will. My own so licitor drew it, and holds it at this moment." This was the inteligence Coventry had to communicate.

4,Very

ty?»

well then now I shall know

who is coming to the

4Gosshawk'

for the

five thousand pounds. That will be the next act of the comedy, vou see. "Wait a moment. He leaves to Mrs. Little his own reversion to a sum of nineteen hundred pounds, in which she has already the life interest he gives a hundred pounds to hit sweetheart Dence: all the rest of his estate, in possession or expectation, he bequeaths to—Miss Carden." "Good heavens!—Why then—" Mr. Carden could say no more, for astonishment. "So," said Coventry, "if he is alive, she is the contederate who is to profit bv the fraud those live thousand pounds belong to her at this moment." "Are you sure? -Who is your authori

"A communicative clerk, win happens to be the son of a tenant of mine. The solicitor himself, I believe, chooses to doubt hiu client's decease. It is at his private request that horrible oV ject is refused Christian burial." "On what grounds, pray?" "Legal grounds, I suppose the man did not die regularly, and according to precedent. He omitted to provide him self with two witnesses previously to being blown up In a case of this'kind we may ssfe'y put an old-fashioned attorney's opinion out of. the question. What do you think? that is all I care to know "I don't know what to think now. But I foresee one thing I shall be placed in a rather awkward position. I ought to defend the

4Gosshawk,'

Next morning they breakfasu -e gether, and during breakfast two vV men called, and, at Coventry's req were ushered into the room. Thev a. to say that they knew Mr. Little wt and felt sure that was hit dead hand tbe. had seen at the town bal^' toVfc'rttrV cro*-examined them severely, but they stuck to their conviction and this will hardly surprise the reader when I tell bim the workn en io question were Cole and another, suboroed bv Coventry hiintelf to go through the performance

wmm

1?""

to the difficulty of h«s position. Director of the "Gosshawk," and father to a young lady who had a claim of five thoutand pounds on it. and that claim debatable^ though to his mind no longer dotiblful.

Now Mr. Coventry had a great ad— vantage over Mr. Carden herv: he had studied this very situation profoundly for several hours, and at last had seen how much might be done with it.

He be^an by artfully complfinenting Mr. Carden on hit delicacy, hut said Misi Caruen must not be the loser bv it. "Convince her, on other grounds, that the man it dead encourage hvr to reward my devotion with" her hand, and I will relieve you of every thing disagreeable. Let us set.le on Miss Carden, for her teparate use, the five thousand pounds and anything else derivable from Little's estate but we mutt also settle my farm of Hind hope: for it shall never be said she topk as much from that man as she did from me. Well, in due courte I apply to the 'Gosshawk' for my wife's money. I am not bound to tell your company it is not mine but hert: that is between you and me. But you really ought to write to London at once and withdraw the charge of fraud you owe that piece of justice to Miss Carden, and. to the memory of the deceased "That is true and it wjli pavjfe the way for the demand you propose to make onMrs. Coventry'8 behalf. Well, you really are a. tri$j? friend, at well as a true lover."

In thart, he went back to Hilkborough resolved to marry his daughter to Coventry at soon as possible. Still, following" that gentleman's instructions, he with-* held from Grace that Little had made will in her favor. He knew her to be quite capable to refuse to touch a farthing of it, or to act as executrix. But he tola her the workmen had identified theremains, and that other circumstancet had also convinced him he had been unjust': to a deceased person which he regretted*

When her father thus retracted his own words, away went Grace's last faint hope that Henry lived and now the must die for him, or live for others.

She thought of Jael Dence, and chose the latter. Another burst or two of agony, and then hor great aim and study appeared to be to forget lier«e1f altogether. She wai full of attention for her father, and, whenever Mr. Coventry came she labored to reward him wiih kind words, and even with smiles but they were sad ones.

As for Coventry, he saw, with secret exultation, that the was now too languid and hopeless to resist the joint efforts of her father and himself, and that tome day or other, she must fall lifeless into his arms.

He said to himself, '*It is onlv a question of time." He was now oftener at the villa than at Hillsborough, nnd, with remarkable self-denial adhered steadily to the line of soothing and unobtrusive devotien.

On* morning at breakfast the post brought him a large envelope from Hilltborough. He examined it, and found a capital "L" in the corner of the envelope^ which "L" wat written by his man Lally, in compliance with secret instructions from hit, master.

Coventry instandy put the envelope into his pocket, and his hand began to shake so that he could hardly hold hi» cup to his lips. Hit agitation, however, was not noticed.

Directly after breakfast he strolled,- $ with affected composure, into the garden, and sat down in a bower where he wassafe from surprise, as the tangled leaves' were not so thick but he could peep througn them.

He undid the enclosure, and found three letters two were of no importance the third bore a foreign post-mark, and wat# addressed to Miss Carden in a' hand-: writing which he recognized at a glance^ as Henry Little's.

But as this was not the first letter from Henry to Grace which he had intercept—x ed and read I had better begin by saying a few words about the first.

Wei!, then, the letters with which Coventry swam the river on the i.ight ofthe^ explosion were six, viz., Io Mr! Bolt, to Doctor Amboyne, to Mr. Baynes,tojaelv Dence, to Mrs. Little, and to Grace Carden. The letter to Grace Carden wat, short but touchine, full of devotion, hope resolution, and grief at parting. He told. her he had come to take leave that atter-* noon, but she had been out, ljckily for he felt he ought to go, and must no, butr how could he look at nor and then leave her? This was ihe general purport, and expressed with tuch anguish and fortitude as might have melted a heart off marble. .J

The reader may have obierved that upon his rival's disappearance Coventry was no happier. This letter wa* the secret cause. First, it showed him hi» rival was alive and he had wasted crime secondly, it stiuck him with /re-* morse, yet not wi.h penitence and J(o be full of remorae, vet empty of tjat true penitcnce which coiVcs-ies the wroinj, this ii to be miser

But, as time rolled, •^.'T^ringing the various events I hj^rtt related but no new*? of Little /ySiitry tiCjan to think that young inaw'rrmt have come to some un^ timely end:

Frum this pleasant dreahl he was now awakened by the second intercepted '.... ter. It ran thus: "Boston, U. S "Mv own diar iov« weeks since 1 left J£ be a fortnight

is a long tifrom

but I am not go:

to rob my own daughter of five t^ pounds, if it belongs to her "Willyou permit me t--"Certainly, I sha obliged: for really I do "Well, then, I thinky into the matter carefu prejudice. I have made mytelf: I went down to th begged the workmen, who to examine the remains, ant. here and tell us their real opin "Oh to my mind, it all depei will. If that answers the descry give—hum!"

heat

Carden received the testimony

reader, for the'

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