Terre Haute Weekly Gazette, Terre Haute, Vigo County, 26 July 1883 — Page 2

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^THURSDAY JULY 26,1883.

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TALE PROM BEAL LITE.

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BY RETT WDTWOOD.

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Mrs, Be am an tossed aside the letter «he had been perusing, a. frown contracting her heavy brows. "It is from Aunt Waugh," she said, addressing her husband.

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Mrs. Beaman leaned her head upon lier hand. She was a proud, ambitious woman, and had been greatly disturbed toy her husband's words. "I had no idea affairs were in so bad condition," she said, after a pause.— •'Marcia must be warned, or she will take no pains to make herself agreeable to the old lady. Our chances of inheriting her money are not so bad. There Is but one person I really fear."

44

Who is that?" **You have heard me speak of Gertrude Vane? She bore the same relation to Aunt Waugh that I do." "Yes." "She lived with the old lady for some years, as an adopted daughter. That was long ago. She finally married against our great-aunt's wishes, and was discarded. She is dead now, as is also her husband. But I have been told they left a daughter, who must now be A youn^ lady."

you look upon this girl as a

-rival?"

'Yes, Aunt Waugh was extremely fond of her mother until they quarrelled and separated. She might relent at any moment, and think it her duty to liunt up the child." "We must take care of that," Mr. Beaman answered, significantly.

An hour later Mrs. Waugh arrived. A bent, wrinkled old woman of nearly eighty, with a grim, hard face, and the blunt manners of one accustomed to be obeyed. There was a wistful, almost

Sowever,look

athetic in her keen, gray eyes, as she stood in the nandsome drawing-room, holding Mrs. Beaman's jewelled hand in her own. "You and I are among the last of our race, Esther," she said. "It is a pity we have seen so little of each other.' "It has not been my fault,"Mrs. Beaman answered, sweetly. "I would gladly have welcomed you to my home and heart at any time," dear aunt. I hope you have come to remain."

Mrs. Waugh produced an ear-trump-et from under her costly India shawl. *'You must speak alittle louder, niece," he said, placing the trumpet to her ear. "I do not hear so well as I once did." "Have I got to scream myself hoarse?" she muttered. "This is more than I bargained for."

At this moment a babel of commingled sounds arose from the garden underneath the open window. There were screams and cries, the dull thud of blows, and a volley of angry words, such as will not bear repeating, became audible in the confusion. "What's that?" cried Mrs. Waugh, starting, and holding the trumpet to her ear. "The children at play," Mrs. Beaman •powered, sweetly. "The little dears are having a vacation, and enjoy it greatly. They are so full of life and spirit, the little angels! Do you like children, Aunt Waugh?" "Humph! yes—when they keep their distance." ''Mine will be no annoyance to you. They are confined to the nursery, for the most part. I have engaged a new

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overaess, who will be here to-morrow, liberty will be restricted when

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•witch has taken it into her head to pay va another visit. I hoped we had seen the last of her ten years ago. That •woman's vitality is something remarkable. We have been looking for her to die ever since I can remember." "When is she coming?'1 Mr. Beaman Inquired, his tone betokening eager intcrost "To-day. The letter, for some reason, has been delayed on the way. We may look for her now at any moment." "I have heard you say that Mrs. Waugh is very rich'?" "Yes. She must be worth several hundred thousand. And she has no near relatives to inherit her propertyno one nearer than ourselves." "Ah!" A greedy glitter shone in Mr. Beaman's eyes. Leaning forward, lie laid his hand lightly upon his wife's.

knows but your great-aunt may

•elect you for her heiress, Esther?" he Whispered. "Perhaps that is the object of her present visit." "I wish to Heaven she would." .. I "It is not unlikely. She can't take her money into the other world—it must be left to some one I advise you to make the most of this opportunity. Shuffle the cards well, Esther, you may win the day."

Mrs. Beaman gave her head a toss. "I know on which side my bread is buttered, James. I can be as affable and cringing as the next one. The old witch will never know from me how I hate and despise her." "It is always best to use a little diplomacy with such people."

Drawing his chair nearer, he added, in a suppressed tone: "I may as well let you into a little secret, Esther. My business is not what it has been. I have been running behind for some months. Unless relief comes from some quafter, we are ruined." v" -'Ruined, James?" "Huahl It's no use proclaiming the fact to the whole household. Our expenses arei heavy, and I scarcely know which way to turn to meet them. Our daughter Marcia is just coming out, and of course will be more of a burden than ever. It won't do to stint her in any way now is her time to catch young Castleton for her husband. The younger children must be provided for.— Every thing depends upon this ^x'otchetyoid woman. So her visit is most opportune, after all. It will be well worth while to find the way into her good graces."

sne is new co ioor. niccc imai.Mrs. Waugh complained of fatigue, and was soon shown to her chamber— the most luxurious in the house. As she closed the door and looked around, a smile that was half quizzical and wholly sad parted her thin lips. "If I want genuine affection and honesty, it is^selesrhwkfaff for it here," she Sighed. "But Tshall hot go away at once. My relatives may improve upon further acquaintance. It would be pleasant to find one who would love me for myself."

The next morning, as she sat at the breakfast-table—from which the children had been banished—she said, abruptly: "I feel the weight of my years more and more. I am an old, old woman now, and cannot expect to live much longer." "Nonsense," said Mr. Beaman "you are good for an hundred." "No the grim messenger might come at any time. It behooves me to set my worldly affairs in order." "Have you not done so already?" Mrs. Beaman inquired, with an anxiety impossible to conceal. "No. I wished to assure myself what was the best use that could be made of my money." "Perhaps you will endow a school, or found an asylum?" "Oh, no. I have thought sometimes of

Husband and wife waited in vain for their guest to continue. Her head drooped thoughtfully—she did not utter another word through the meal. "I wonder if she can be thinking of Gertrude?" Mrs. Beaman said to herself. "If she regrets her harshness in driving her away?"

She was resolved to find out, and the opportunity soon presented itself. It happened that she had in her possession a portrait of Gertrude Vane, painted, on ivory—oro that had been given to her twenty years before. She now brought it down from the old trunk in the attic, where it had lain so long neglected, and placed it on the table near which Mrs. Waugh preferred to sit.

The result was all that could be desired. The restless old fingers soon got hold of the picture—she held it up, staring at it a moment, a strange blending of sorrow, anger, and regret in her wrinkled face. Suddenly she started up. "How dared you put that picture in my way, Esther Beaman?" she cried, stamping her foot. "How dared you?" "Forgive me," came the half-fright-ened response. "I—I—did not know it was there." "Don't tell me that. I know better."

Mrs. Waugh moved slowly toward the door. There was a blur before her eyes—two large tears fell down her yellow face. With her hand on the knob, she looked back, and made an effort to speak. "I did a cruel thing in—in—sending Gertrude away. The tidings came several years ago that she was dead, and had left an only child. I was too proud and stubborn to interest myself in the matter at the time. Do you know if the story was true?" "No," Mrs. Beaman answered, glibly. "But I feel inclined to doubt it. It seems to me I should have known if it were so." "Poor Gertrude! She is the only per son who ever loved me. And now she is gone."

Mrs. Beaman could scarcely control herself until the door closed between them. "The old fool!" she cried, biting her lip. "Who would ever imagine her as giving way to such nonsense? All is lost should that girl ever appear."

Half an hour later, while Mrs. Beaman still sat ruminating, the door-bell rang. Presently a servant looked in. "The new governess, madam," he said, in a respectful tone. "Will you see her?" "Yes, Thomas. Show her in here." "You are Miss Grey?" she said, in a sharp tone of voice. "The young person Madam Pinkney was so kind as to recommend?" ., "Yes, madam." sr "You look very youthful for such a .osition. Can you teach French and music, as well as the more common branches?" ..... "Yes, madam." "Very well. You may consider yourself engaged. The amount of the salary has already been stipulated in my correspondence with Madam Pinkney —we need not refer to it again. You will be expected to take the entire charge of tne youneer children, and assist Marcia inner French lessons." "I shall try to please you, madam." "Humph! I hope so. Now ring that, bell on the table. One of the servants will show you to the room you are to occupy."

The girl turned to obey but just as she reached the table her glance happened to fall upon the portrait of Gertrude Vane, which Mrs. Waugh had left lying there, the face upturned.

A startled cry broke from her lips. Hearing it, Mrs. Beaman looked round harply. She was astonished to see the irl kissing the portrait with a wild sort of vehemence. "What are you doing?" she angrily demanded.

The girl's pretty face grew pink with blushes. "Forgive me, madam. I could not elp it. The picture is that of my dead mother. O, how strange it seems to find it here." "Your mother?"

Every drop of blood in Mrs. Beaman's veins seemed turning to ice. She started up. her eyes dilated, her heart beating strangely. Gertrude Vane had married a Grey. Why did she not think of it before? "Are you Gertrude Vane's daughter?" she almost hissed. "Yes that was mamma's maiden aame. Did you know her, madam?" "I? Certainly not." Mrs. Beaman broke into a hoarse laugh. Her wits were slowly coming back. She realized the urgent necessity for getting the girl out of the house—at once and forever— before she and Mrs. Waugh came in contact with each other. "I did not know your mother—I nev-t cjr make friendships with that class of. persons," she repeated, scornfully.—] "Hut I've neara or ner ana no good, for that matter. Please consider our agreement cancelled. No earthly consideration would induce me to receive Gertrude Vane's daughter into my house." "What had poor mamma done that you should turn against me?" "I decline to enter into explanations. Go." "Riit kava nil mnnfiv—J am Denni-

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Miss Grey was groping her way through, blinding tears to the housedoor, when a yellow, jewelled hand fell lightly upon her arm. Mrs. Waugh had descended from her chamber just in time to encounter her on the way out. "You are crying," she said, kindly.— "What is the matter?"

The girl's tears flowed faster than ever at nearing the voice of sympathy. In half-a-dozen sconces she tola her simple story.* "I felt so sure of the situation," she said, in conclusion. "Madam Pinkney told me the matter was settled. And now I have no money to take me away —•no friends to whom I can go." "Take courage, my dear," she said. "You shall be provided for."

Before the other realized her intention, she had drawn her forcibly back to the drawing-room door, and the next instant the two stood before the dismayed mistress of the house. "This child tells me you have declined to employ her, Esther," said the old lady. "Pray reconsider the decision. and give her a trial. I shall regard it as a personal favor."

Never in all her life had Mrs. Beaman been so near an attack of genuine hysterics. Just for a moment she fancied all was lost. Her sight failed, her heart turned to sickenss. "I know nothing of the child," Mrs. Waugh resumed

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that face is one

be trusted Anywhere. If you turn her away, I shall feel it my duty to befriend her."

Mis. Beaman gasped once or twice, then succeeded in controlling herself. She was a shrewd woman, ana took her cue instantly. And so her aunt had not discovered the girl's identity.? It might still be possible to keep the secret. But not by sending her away at once. That course would enlist Mrs. Waugh's sympathies still more powerfully, and the truth would be sure to come to light. "1 would do anything in the world to oblige you, dear aunt,'"she said, sweetly. "I may have been a little hasty in dealing with the girl. If she will come up to my dressing-room, I will talk the matter over with her, and see what can be done."

She rose, and Miss Grey gratefully prepared to follow her out. The old lady detained her for another word. "If you fail to come to an agreement, my dear, be sure to call for Mrs. Waugh before leaving the house. I will see that some other refuge is found." "Thank you, madam."

Mrs. Beaman was relieved to see that the mention of her aunt's name had no effect upon the girl. It seemed to be strange to her ears. Evidently Gertrude Vane had never spoken it in her daughter's hearing. "Just like her," she muttered. "Gertrude was always just so proud and reticent. She might have starved, but the first overtures toward reconciliation would never have come from her."

The moment they were shut into her dressing-room alone, she said, sharply, to the trembling girl: "Now let us come to an understanding. Your mother's daughter is not the proper person to receive under my roof as instructress to my children. To you, personally, I have no objection, however. I will consent to employ you lor the present, on two conditions." "O, madam, you are very, very kind." "In the first place, you are to drop your present name, taking any other that you prefer." "Papa's mother was a Stuart. lean

be Lois Stuart, if you think best." "That will do. "Now for the second condition. Mrs. Waugh is a very eccentric person, full of whims ana notions. I do not care to have her on intimate terms with you. You must promise me to avoid her as much as possible, and on no account are you to tell her more of your history than she knows already." "I do promise."

The girl's tone was half sad. Her heart had gone out already to the old woman who had spoken so kindly to her, and she would have been glad to claim her as a friend. "Very well. I will send you to your room, and you can, lay aside your wraps."

When Mr. Beaman returned home, and heard the remarkable story from his wife's lips, he was almost beside himself with rage and apprehension." "It is fate," he fumed. "Nothing else could have brought the two together under my roof at a time so inopportune. The girl must march from here as soon as it can be managed." "Of course," Mrs. Beaman answered, looking at him significantly, "But when she goes it must be under such circumstances that Aunt Waugh will be glad to get rid of her." "Yes."

It happened the next day that the old lady met the new governess for a moment on the stairs. She paused, dropping her two hands gently on the girl's shoulders. "I hope you like your situation, my

"I am trying to do my duty, madam." Mrs. Waugh smiled at the evasion. "I understand. Esther's children are a hard lot to get along with. I see them occasionally in the grounds and about the house. I would sooner have the same number of savages to manage." Then dropping her voice, she added: "What is your name, dear?" "Lois, madam." v.-

Mrs. Waugh echoed it with a start. "Why, that is my name, too. We ought to be better friends than ever. Wul you come and sit with me when you are at leisure?"

The girl glanced up and down the hall, a flush rising in her cheeks. "I should be glad. But—but—Mrs. Beaman would not like it," she faltered, hurrying precipitately away.

That same evening Louis Castleton called to see Marcia. He had been absent on a flying trip to the South, and had recently returned. Mrs. Waugh liked the young man at once. He seemed frank, honest and ingeniousqualities she knew how to appreciate.

There was plenty of gay, cheerful talk, and finally the young man asked for music- Marcia was an indifferent

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lessr* sooDed tne gnr. **i spent my last dollar in getting here. What am I to do?" "That is your concern," Mrs. Beaman haughtily replied. "I do not feel called upon to provide for you. You cannot remain here. Be good e&ongh to go at once."

The poor soul ceased to plead, but her step was heavy and dejected as she turned away. ..Mrs. Beaman fell back in her chair, quite faint with apprehension and excitement. "What a narrow escape!" she muttered, wiping her hot forenead.

THE TilCIUER ff ATTTfe WEEKLY GAZETTE.

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penwmei on ciio yimio, wra nex vuics had but little compass, though she was always ready to display it. Mrs. Waugh listened, an odd twinkle in her beadlike eyes. Finally she turned to her niece and said: "Why not bring in the new governess? I heard her singing and playing to-day, and her performance was quite creditable. It would be a diversion for us all."

Mrs. Beaman glanced at her husband. She could scarcely conceal her dismay. "A mere school-girl! I don't believe in bringing a person of that sort into the drawing-room." "Humph! Send for her, Esther—just to please me. I shall go for her myself if you refuse——"

Mrs. Beaman touched the bell. There was no help for it. She knew from experience that when Mrs. Waugh had once made up her mind to anything she could not be easisly diverted.

Lois came, looking very dainty and sweet in her simple black dress. Louis Castleton started up with an exclamation of surprise ana pleasure. Almost involuntarily he extended his hand. "I am very glad to see you again. It is a pleasure Idid not anticipate."

Marcia stared, biting her pretty lips till the blood came. "Is it possible that you have met this young person before, Mr. Castleton?" she said, in a haughty tone. "Yes. We happened to be on board the same train. But I was not so fortunate as to obtain an introduction. I did not dream she was on the way here."

Lois blushed prettily as she met the young man's ardent gaze. "Mr. Castleton did me a real service," she faltered. "My foot slipped as I was getting out of the coach, and I must have fallen and hurt myself but for his timely assistance. "Indeed!" said Marcia, with a palpable sneer. "I have noticed there is always a handsome young gentleman near to offer his services whenever a jfoung lady is awkward enough to stum-

Lois's cheeks burned like fire as she seated herself at the piano. The first notes she struck were tremulous and weak, but she soon recovered confidence. When presently her voice rang through the room, pure, rich, and deliriously sweet, Mrs. Beaman gnashed her teeth with rage and envy. "Who dreamed the little fool could sing like that?" she said to herself. "Mr. Castleton looks like a man entranced. "Where is it all to end? I might better have run the risk of sending the girl away."

The song ended, as Lois rose to leave the room Mrs. Waugh held out her hand to her almost tenderly. "You have done me real good, child. It is a pleasure t& listen to sueh a voice. I hope to hear it frequently."

Mr. Castleton said nothing, but his eyes were eloquent. The next day, when Lois took out the children for their usual walk, Mr. Castleton met them at the gate. "I was waiting for you," ne said, his handsome face flushing with pleasure. "A little bird told me you would come this way. I was always very fond of these desultory walks. You will let me join you?"

Lois tried to think of some excuse, but there was really none to offer. Besides, away down in the depths of her throbbing heart she realized already how delightful it would be to have this handsome young fellow for a companion.

For three days in succession the same story was repeated. Lois invariably found Mr. Castleton at the gate, and they rambled about the fields, as gay, careless and happy as the children themselves.

Then Mrs. Beaman found them out. She was dreadfully angry, and would have discharged Lois upon the spot, but for a wholesome dread of the consequences. "There must be an end of this," she said, quite fiercely. "You ought to be ashamed of yourself. An engaged man. too! Mr. Castleton is to marry Marcia."

Poor Lois turned pale and faint. Was it true—what that cruel woman said? The mere thought that Louis Castleton was betrothed to another made her very miserable.

But the walks ceased. From that time forward the children were required to take their exercise within the grounds, and the young governess devoted herself to them more assiduously than ever.

One day Mrs. Beaman encountered Mrs. Waugh unexpectedly in one of the corridors. The old lady stood beside the great bay-window at the end, turning a small, glittering object between her fingers. Her yellow face looked ghastly—she was trembling from head to foot. "What is the matter, dear aunt?" cried the startled lady. "Are you ill?"

Mrs. Waugh turned slowly, and after a moment's Hesitation held up something in the vivid light. "I picked this up where I stand," she said, a quivering voice. Who could have dropped it?"

Mrs. Beaman strained her eyes. What she saw was a simple old-fashioned brooch of fine gold. "It is one I gave Gertrude more than twenty years ago," half-sobbed the old lady. "I recognized it at a glance. On the back is the very inscription I had engraved there—'L. W. to G. V.'"

It was well Mrs. Beaman's wits were keen in this emergency they served her well. Of course the brooch had been dropped by Lois, but it would never answer for this fact to become known. "How very strange!" she ejaculated, drawing a deep breath. "The brooch is one 1 purchased of a pawnbroker in the citv. I noticed the inscription, but never dreamed of associating it with you or Gertrude."

Mrs. Waugh touched the ornament caressingly, ner eyes full of tears "May I keep it, Esther?" *1 "Certainly. It is of no value to me. I am glad to be able to restore it."

Nevertheless she could not stifle some secret misgivings. Lois might see the brooch at any time, and lay claim to it. She felt like one walking on abridge of glass. It would be necessary to carry matters with a high hand if she hoped to succeed.

The next morning, when Lois took the children out for their daily airing, a man^s tall, shapely figure rose up suddenly before her as she turned an abrupt angle in the path.

Louis Castleton, an eager flush on his handsome face! Lois had not seen him for several days. She would have fled, but he caught her two hands and held them fast. "Why do you avoid me so persistently?" Ha

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zttj I S«re w&tcnea ror your coming, you would not have the heart to do so. Her face changed, but no words came to the trembling lips. "At first I fancied you bad selected a different hour for your walks. Yesterday I stood at the gate from dawn until dusk. This morning I climbed the fence, and invaded the grounds." "O. why did you do it?"

He looked into her face with a conscious laugh. •'Because I was resolved to see you at all hazards. I was about going to the house to ask for you when you appeared. O, Lois, do not try me so again."

At the utterance of her own name in that tender, pleading tone she started, and sprang away from him. "Don't speak to me like that!" "Why not?" he panted, following her up. "Lois, listen to me. There is something I wish to say to you "Keep away! Do not touch me!"

The words seemed to pierce him like a knife. While he stood motionless, staring at her with a pale, dismayed face, she fled past in the direction of the house. "O, how could he trifle with mei"' cried the miserable girl, shedding the bitterest tears of her life. "He is soon to be the husband of another, and—and —I love him!"

Late that night poor Lois was awakened from troublea dreams by the sound of suppressed voices underneath her window. She looked out, but could see nothing in the darkness. Perplexed and distressed by vague forebodings, she hastily drew on her dressing-gown and slippers, and stole silently down

The drawing-room window stood wide open just outside she saw the outlines of two figures standing close together— a man and a woman. Involuntarily Bhe fell back, and caught her breath. "You love me, Marcia?" the man said, in a voice of liquid music. "Yes, Rupert," was the answer. "Why, then, do you hesitate? Fly with me to-night. We will come back at the end of a week, and penitently throw ourselves at the feet of your parents. They will forgive us, or course. All will end happily. Only consent, darling, and you shall never regret it." "You will be a true and loving husband. Rupert?" "Yes, yes. Do not doubt me. You yield—Heaven bless you, Marcia. We will go at once. Where is your shawl. You are shivering with cold, and must not leave without it. Let me get it." "I threw it across one of the chairs in the drawing-room."

He leaned forward and touched his lips to her forehead. "Do not stir, darling," he whispered. "I will be back in a moment."

Lois saw him coming directly toward her. She understood all. Marcia's lover was Rupert Dane, a handsome, stylish-ly-dressed man of middle age, a stranger in the neighborhood, whose acquaintance the girl had somehow managed to

She'was shocked, startled to discover that Marcia had kept up his acquaintance clandestinely. Her heart was throbbing wildly as she caught the girl's hand between both her own. ""What would you do?" she cried.

A smothered cry of terror broke from Marcia's lips, but on recognizing the governess she drew herself up with an air of haughty disdain. "So youhave been playing the spy?" she hissed. "No the merest accident brought me here but I am in time, thank God, to dissuade you from a purpose that might embitter your whole after life with unavailing regret." "How dare you meddle in my affairs? A mere hireling! How dare you?"

Lois's eyes filled with tears at the angry, vehement words, but she did not uGSist "Marcia, you must not be guilty of this wickedness," she eried. "Think of Mr. Castleton—the man to whom your troth is plighted! Do not wound his loving heart by an act of treachery."

The girl's lip curled with scorn. "Do not take up false notions. Louis Castleton is nothing to me—I am nothing to him."

Are you not his betrothed wife?" "No," came the quick response. "My

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arentshave done all they could to about a marriage between us. But I do not care for Mr. Castleton in that way, or he for me." "Then let me appeal to you in the name of your mother," she said. "Do not bring sorrow and shame upon her by the false step you contemplate. If you must marry Rupert Dane, let it be done openly, before all the world." "Don't be a fooll My mind is made up. When Rupert returns, I shall go away with him/' "Stir from this spot and I will alarm the house." "Wretch! You would not dare!" gasped Marcia. "It is the only way to save you. Come quietly back to your chamber, and the incidents of this night shall forever remain a profound secret between us. Do come." "Never!"

The two stood and looked at each other in the pale starlight. Both were white and determined. But Lois was resolved to take no decisive step until forced to it by the other's obstinacy.

The minutes wore on. Marcia grew nervous and restless. Rupert did not reappear. What could be keeping him? He had only stepped inside the house to procure her shawl.

She watched the window with anxious eyes. A full half hour wore on. Unable to endure the suspense, at last she crawled over the sill, into the drawingroom, and lighted one of the wax tapers in the sconces. "Something dreadful must have occurred," she said, in a faint, frightened voice. "Lois, help me to discover what it is!"

They went through the lower rooms one by one. No signs of Rupert Dane anywhere. When finally they reached the main hall, and paused there to take breath .Lois made an unexpected discovery. The front door stood slightly ajar —all the bolts and bars swung back. "He is gone!" she exclaimed.

Marcia echoed the word. At first she looked incredulous, but there, on the threshold, lay a glove she seemed to recognize. Thrusting it into her bosom, she turned to Lois with a bewildered face. "What does it mean? Why has he left me without a word? I do not understand."

But she did the next morning. Scarcely had she taken her seat at the breakfast table, where most of the family were already assembled, when Mrs. Waugh hobbled into the room, livid and

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w- **i nave oeen rooroai** exuuameG rsa old lady. Mr. Beaman started up as though ha had been shot. "Robbed? What do you miss?" "My gold watch, and a purse containing two hundred dollars. They were taken last night while I slept."

A momenrs dead silence. Then Mrs. Beaman, who saw her opportunity, even at such a time, hastened to take advantage of it. "Loisis the thief!" shecried. "I know she was prowling round the house late last night. It could have been no one else. I might have known better than, to take the girl in."

Marcia looked ready to faint. But, iir spite of her agony ana shame, she felt a strong desire to shield her treacherous lover. It so happened that she had found Mrs. Waugh's empty purse on the stairs. Without stopping to consider the consequences, she hurried to Loisis chamber, tucked the purse away under the linen in her trunk, and turned to fly.

Too late. Her father, mother, Mrs. Waugh and Lois all met her at the door. The girl was weeping and protesting her innocence. In the general excitement no one gave a second thought to Marcia's presence in the room. "It is my duty to search your effects," Mr. Beaman was saying, sternly. "I shall do so in the presence of these witnesses. You have had no opportunity to dispose of the stolen goods."

Of course the empty purse was at once brought to light. In vain did poor Lois declare her innocence concerning, it. Even Mrs. Waugh was led to believe in her guilt. "You shall go to jail for this!" Mrs. Beaman hissed, between her teeth. "Now produce the watch and the money. You might as well. They will be of no use to you. I'm going to send one of the servants for a constable."

But Mrs. Waugh interposed. Her stern old heart was melted by the girl's evident misery. She had been wonderfully drawn to her from the first. "You shall do nothing of the sort," she said, her eyes filling with tears. "Lois must leave here at once, but I refuse to prosecute her. She has robbed a defenceless old woman who was learning to love her, and the stings of conscience will be punishment enough."

Ten minutes later Lois had left the house, and was picking her way through blinding tears along tne fragrant country roaa. Suddenly a tall figure rose up before her, blocking the way. "What is the matter?" said a tender, pitiful voice—the voice of Louis Castleton. "Why do you weep?"

At the words she broke down utterly, and, in a wild paroxysm of sobs and tears, told the simple story, beginning with the events of the preceding night.

The young man listened silently.— \Vhen at last the quivering voice died away in afresh burst of sobs, he said quietly: "Rupert Dane is the culprite

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know

him to be a thorough scoundrel. His love for Marcia was all a pretence—he has a wife already." "O, sir, have

rgou

faith in my inno­

cence?" He opened his arms, and drew her to him with a tender smile. "Yes, Lois. You are so dear to me I would far rather doubt myself. Only trust me, darling, and your innocence shall be established before all the wor ."

Half an hour later he had found shelter for the girl in a farm-house near by, and was ready to set out in search of the real criminal.

The quest proved successful. He called the police to his assistance, and the next day found Rupert biding in a low den in a neighboring city, his booty still upon his person.

It was a happy moment for Lois when the young man, holding her hand tightly clasped in his own, lea her into the grand drawing-room where the Beamans and Mrs. Waugh were assembled, bearing with him the proofs of her innocence of the theft.

They were met by startled and chilling glances, but, undismayed by them, Louis Castleton walked proudly the length of the apartment, and laid the recovered watch and money in Mrs. Waugh's lap. "These were taken from the person of the real culprit, Rupert Dane," he said/'who is now in the county jail

A shrill cry from Marcia cut the sentence short. She had fallen half fainting into the nearest chair.

After a pause, the young man continued: "This lady, Lois Grey, has been unjustly accused of theft. She is my promised wife, and I have a right to espouse her cause "Lois Grey?" the old woman interrupted, drawing a quick breath, and moving forward a step.

As she rose, Lois noticed a gold ornament glittering at her throat, in a fleecy background of old lace. The sight made her forget everything else for a moment. "My lost brooch!" she exclaimed.—. "The last gift of my poor dead mother! How glad I am that you have found it!"

Mrs. Waugh stared, and sat down again, looking dizzy and bewildered. Slowly an inlding of the truth was piercing her deadened senses. "Are you—are you—Gertrude Vane's daughter?" she gasped. to •n "Yes."

A half-sobbing cry, and the shaking arms were around Lois, the wrinkled cheek laid against her own. "Thank God! Now I know why my heart was so drawn toward you. O, child, child! this is a happy day for me. I shall be lonely and loveless no longer. I know you will give me a place in your affections." "Q, yes, yes!"

The Beamans were wild with rage and disappointment. But expostulations were in vain. When Lois left the house, a few moments later, Mrs. Waugh went with her, never to enter it again.

tm

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iff'

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P*

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