A STRANGE CASE; OR, Beaten with his own Weapons.

Daily Telegraph (Napier), Issue 3142, 23 July 1881, Page 5 (Supplement)

A STRANGE CASE; OR, Beaten with his own Weapons.

A REALISTIC STORY OF THE QUAKER CITY.

BY MAJOR ALFRED ROCHEFORT.

CHAPTER XIII. THE MIDNIGHT CONFERENCE AND WHAT TOLLOWED IT. Agne3 Helm stopped when she heard the never-forgotten but dreaded voice calling out' lam here !' She drew her shawl closer about her, for, though it was midsummer, she shivered as if the cold blasts of winter were beating upon her. ' You have sent for me,' she managed to Bay. ' What do you want ?' ' Agnes, is that the way you greet me, your husband, after fourteen years of parting?' he asked, and as he spoke lie same towards her, and she could see his dark, burly form against the lighter backgi-ound of sky. ' Parting !' she repeated. ' There was no parting. You left as you have come, like a thief in the night —' ' Stop, Agnes. Am I not your husband ?' 'My husband?' ' Your husband ?' ' Once you were.' ' But am I not now ? Have you obtained a divorce ?' He came so close that she could feel his foul, gin-laden breath. ' If you think you have a right to that name—though I shall never acknowledge it —come out here before the world and say so ! Come out before the law you have outraged and claim your rights! If you had any you would do so —' ' Stop, Agnes! I will not listen to this !' he said, fiercely. .' If I am so bad and worthless, why did you come here to meet me ? If you are so good, and so much in favor of law, why didn't you notify the officers that I was to be here, and have me arrested P Why, I ask you again ?' ' Why ?' ' Yes, why! that is what I said.' 'Because, Charles Helm, I would still shield you from the punishment you so richly merit, not for your own sake, not from any feeling of love I bear you —the love in my heart died out when yon disgraced the name you gave me, and stole the boy I bore you ' —she grew stronger and more fearless as she spoke— c but because I would keep all knowledge of a father so vile from the child that is left me.' 'Why, Agnes,' lie said sneeringly, 'you have found the gift of speech since last I had the pleasure of conversing with you. Do you go to meeting now ? I am sure you do. Now talk to me. You say I come like a thief in the night; that is true, but let me say the time is nearing when you will seek me out, and on your knees you will ask me to have mercy, and my having mercy will depend on how you treat me now. Do you hear me ?' he asked, savagely. ' I hear you, but I do not fear you,' she responded. ' Oh, you have become bold ; your Quaker disposition has vanished, and you are ready for battle. Good ; I like that; you know I was always combative, and now I am more so than ever.' 'I heard and I hoped, for the world's sake,' she said bitterly, ' that you were dead.' 'That I was lynched out in California, eh ? Ha, ha, ha! If you knew all about that you would laugh too. I was hunted down, and the lynchers caught a man they supposed to be me, though he wasn't near so good a fellow, and they strung him up ; and in that way the news that gladdened your heart got out. lam alive and hearty, and if you don't believe it feel my arms. Ah, you won't! Well, Agnes, once you thought it a great happiness to cling to my arm, and you'll think it a great honor yet, if I don't mistake.' ' I cannot remain |here talking. Again I demand : why did you send for me ?' She drew back as he came near. ' Did you do as I told you in the letter ?' ' What was that ?' ' Did you bring money ?' ' 1 will give you money on one condition.' ' Name it.' ' That you leave here for ever.' «For ever P' * That is what I said.' ' Ha. ha, ha! Why, Agnes, you are cruel. In your heart you would not banish me ; you love me too well for that. You want me to come back and tell you all about the boy, don't you ?' ' Does my son still live ?' she asked eagerly. ' Your son lives ond flourishes, of that I can assure you,' he answered. ' Where is he ?' ' Not far away.' ( And is he a good man ?' * There aint a better nor a handsomer man in the land, and he owes it all to me.' ' Is he one of your associates ?' ' No, faith ; I wish he was. The last time I saw him he gave me a very warm reception.' And as Helm spoke he felt his broken nose and blackened eyes. < Where is he ?' ' I can't tell you now. Wait.' ' How long must I wait ?' ' Till I am ready. Now, how much money did you bring ?' he asked, reaching out his hand. ' I had not much to bring,' she replied. ' Nonsense. I know you are rich. What have you done with your savings through all these years ?' 'My savings have been small, for I have had to educate my daughter, and I have helped your sister, Carrie, for years—she is a widow.' ' I wish she had married Clifford; he'd have had her at one timo; but my old mother was opposed to it. But never mind, tho Helms will get their rights in another way. How much money did you say you had ?' ' I have one hundred and thirty dollars with me,' she said, reaching out the wallet containing the money. * That is only a drop, but it will do for tonight.' — 'I cannot give you more,' she said. ' I don : t want you to give me more. I'll soon be able to help myself. And if |I run short I'll call on Doctor Clifford. I need

(better clothes, and when I have spruced up you will see me again. I tell you, Agnes, you will yet be the mistress of this place.' He turned to leave, and now she followed him and asked pleadingly : ' Where is my boy ?' ' You would give much to see him ?' he whispered, with an intonation that a demon might envy. ' I would die to see him. Is he far away ?' ' He is near by.' ' In this city ?' ' I can tell you no more. I have given you your moneys werth. I shall be here in three nights. If yoi; would learn more meet me and bring more money.' He wheeled and hurried off, and Agnes Helm, with a dying heart and leaden feet, made her way back to the house. Charles Helm got over the wall and dropped into the road, when he stopped and uttered a low whistle. ' Is that you, Peter ?' asked a voice. ' Hist. Yes, Joe. Come along.' He was joined by Sam Sage, who asked : ' What luck ?' ' Not good.' 'Didn't you get anything? 1 asked Sam Sage, in a disappointed tone. ' Yes. But only sixty-five dollars,' replied Helm. They were now hurrying into the city. ' Well that aint much, hardly a bite, I'm sure, but it's better than nothing. It'll pay the twenty we owe, and give us something to spruce up on. If I only 'ad better toggery, so's to look like a gent, I'd a made a rise long before this. But tell me, how did the old lady act ? Cry, and scold, and faint, eh ?' ' No, Sam ; she's a mildish woman ; she always was that, but she's game. I wonder how she stood it all; it would have killed me,' said Helm, with something like sorrow in his voice. ' That's because men take things to heart more than women,' said Sam Sage, in his most philosophical manner. ' And these women, yen know, are kinder built for trouble. It's their nature to stand it and flourish under it.' Then changing his voice and his subject, he said : 'But, I say, Peter, old fellow ?' ' Well ?' ' Tt's bad that you've got your face disfigured. Them black eyes will keep you out of society for some time, eh ?' Charles Helm responded with a fierce oath. ' Gad, you know,' continued Sam Sage, 'itis a remarkably funny ease. You go to talk to your own daughter, as is quite natural in a parent, even though the daughter knows not that you are her sire, and while feasting your heyes and hears on the young beauty, along comes your own son, you know, and in the most irreverent manner, Gad, he punches your 'cd. It's the most hextraordinary thing that's hevcr come undor my notice. Ha, ha, ha!' And Sam Sage laughed that gui'gling laugh which, never pleasant to Charles Helm, was now as maddening as a red rag to a furious bull. As usual, he vented his rage in profanity, and his companion, who delighted to make him angry, proceeded to calm him down. ' Ah, I beg your pardon, ole feller, if I've touched a sensitive spot. I've sensitive spots myself, and I know how it feels to have 'em trod on. No one has more respect than yours truly for the feelings of a parent, though I've never 'eld that honorable position. Yet you'll agree, my gentle pal, that that was a most remarkable meeting, hafter all you've did for him.' ' I don't blame him, Sam,' said Helm, with energy. ' You don't. Then you must blame yourself.' ' The young man didn't know me. He believed I was a tramp, and was acting rudely to the young lady, so what could he do but knock me down. Though had I seen him coming he could not have done so. I tell you I admire his courage and am proud of his strength. When he learns what I have done for him he will love me as a son should love a father.' 'No doubt about that; not a bit of doubt. Now let me tell you what I learned to-day about this young man, Frederick Leeming.' They were now in Jthe built-by portion of the road leading into the city, and Sam Sage sank his voice and drew his companion into a dark alleyway. ' Well, what did you learn ?' ' I met up with Orne, Hazzard and Co.'s janitor, a gabby ole feller, and he told me that the young man had been all over the world, and knew Calofornia, but his information wasn't what lawyers would call 1 'certain.' Well, I hung round till the time when the young man left the bank, and then I stepped over and met him face to face.' ' Did he look at you ?' ' Look at me ? Well, I should say he did, I stopped, started like, and he did the same. His big, dark eyes took on an expression of horror, and his cheeks became as white as his shirt. I bowed my head, and as I psssed him I whispered ' Frank,' and he staggered as if I'd shot him.' ' You believe, then, that he is the fellow, and that he was never wrecked ?' ' He may have been wrecked, but I'll swear he never was drowned. Ha, ha, ha ?' laughed Sam Sage. They came out of the alleyway, and the conversation ceased until they reached the den of the negro, Ike.

. CHAPTER XIV, FREDERICK LEEMING. Sam Sage had made no mistake as to the identity of Frederick Leeming and the boy Frank Helm, whom the father (?) had stolen away fourteen years before. The fact being established, it is necessary to explain—which we shall do briefly—some of the circumstances that brought him again into contact with the wretches from whom he had fled. A bright boy of seven usually possesses a good memory and a vivid imagination. Should ho live to be three score and ten, and retain his faculties, he will always be able to recall the scenes and loading incidents of his life at seven. Should his name be changed, he will be apt to remember the name lie had before, and he will be able in after years to recall a landscape, while he forgets a face. A child of seven is the most inquiring and the most credulous of mortals. Facts then accepted as truths are the hardest to

eradicate. Charles Helm was ever with the boy— before they disappeared —and he kept him as much as possible away from his mother and baby sister. He poisoned tho child's mind, and created in him the habit of secrecy. Under the guise of parental love, he prepared the child for the flight which his own accumulating crimes told him that he must soon make. When Charles Helm and Sam Sage reached California—by way of the Isthmus—with the child, they appeared under assumed names, and at once began that career of lawlessness for which long practice had eminently qualified them. Having changed their own names they changed the child's, and by awful threats made him dread the name ' Prank Helm' so much that he never used it. 'Frederick Spencer' sounded very well, and the gamblers and thieves of the golden city knew the child as ' Fred Spencer,' and the father as ' Peter Spencer.' We have not the time to recite —even if it were necessary—the misdeeds of Helm and Sage. They did everything in their power to sow in the mind of the boy the seeds of soul and body destroying vice ; but it was like the attempt to destroy the purity of a diamond by defiling it with tar. Sharpened beyond his years by association with sharpers, and alive to what was right through that innate conception of right which Heaven has placed in every human heart, the boy rose superior to his surroundings and resolved to fly from them. He was strengthened in this determination by a manly ship-captain named Leeming, an Englishman, whose ship was about to sail from San Francisco for China. To change the name from Spencer to Leeming did not strike the boy as strange when the captain proposed it j indeed, from his own experience he had every reason to believe that changing names was a very ordinary matter, and much like taking new clothes when the old ones became shabby So he ran away with the captain ; and Captain Leeming, who was a most generous, manly sailor, made up his mind to adopt the boy when he could reach the proper authorities. In the meantime he took him to his heart. The vessel was wrecked off the coast of China, and it was thought that the captain and all hands were lost. A boy, supported by a life-preserver, was picked up by a Chinese junk the morning following the wreck, and he was taken to Hong Kong. Here the attention of the American merchant, Eli Orne, was called to tho boy, and being a childless man, he adopted Frederick Leeming, as he called liimself. The boy had the best educational advantages to be found in Asia. He had a wonderful aptitude for the languages, and before his eighteenth year he could talk with the natives in all the seaports of China, Japan, Malacca, and India, besides acquiring Spanish in the Philippine Islands. He told Mr Orne as much of his story as he thought proper, and since then, while free-spoken and generous, he had maintained a strict reticence as to his own past. When Frederick Leeming was twenty years of age, Mr Orne came home with him from China, and at once placed him in the position which he now held in the Philadelphia branch of the house of Orne, Hazzard and Co. This is the history. As a child in California, Frederick Leeming had been taught that his mother was even more vicious than his father, and so it was that he trained himself never to think of her. This must not be deemed unnatural; indeed, it was to his credit that lie determined to depend on himself and to work his way up from the degradation of his birth —he so thought it —to the plane whereon he could stand before the world as an honest and able man. It is curious" that through all these years he should retain a more distinct recollection of Sam Sage than of the other man. Yet such was the case. And when Sam Sage met him on the street, something about his face led him to say, mentally : ' I have seen that man before;' and when Sam Sage uttered the never-forgotten name ' Frank,' whole truth flashed across his mind. Perplexed thougli he was by this apparition, he kept his own counsel and attended to his duties, and participated in his chosen pleasures, without anyone's knowing that there was a trouble at his heart. A few days after his meeting with Sam Sage, and a few minutes before his official duties for the day were ovor, one of the bank clerks came into his office and handed him a note, which he said had been left by a negro boy. The handwriting was strange and evidently nervous. He tore it open, supposing it to be some business communication, and read as follows :— ' Philadelphia, July 21st, 18S0. 'To Mb. Frederick Leeming, Asst. Cashier, Firm of Orne, Hazzard and Co., South Third-st., City: I cannot crave pardon for addressing my own son. No matter how much you may hate your father, I am sure you have not forgot him. I confess that at one time you had cause not to think well of me; but all that is past. For eleven years I thought you dead, and my heart has been in grief. I cannot explain here how I discovered your identity with my long lost boy. ' I would go to see you, but I am poor, and wretchedly clad, and I do not wish to humiliate you in the eyes of your associates, so I know you will come to me ; for even if you have not got any filial love, I am certain that your ideas of duty will bring you to suffering father. ' I have a great deal to say to you, and you should know it now. ' You have grown to be a fine, handsome man, and I, your father, watch you with pride as you pass along tho streets, and I rejoice, even when I suffer, that your life will be more successful than mine has been. ' I cannot remain longer without seeing you. My consideration prevents mo from breaking away and going to see you. ' I am sure you will save a scene in the bank and come to me. ' I have a room in a respectable place, No. 741J, Sansom-street. Ring the lower bell and ask for yours affectionately, 'Peter Spencer.' Fred Leeming read this over again and ' again, and each time the expression of pain

and the look of age deepened on his hand- - some face. i There was not in his manly heart a par- • tide of vanity; his whole nature wat? perme- , ated with an ennobling pride. Vividly all : his past association with this man, whom he firmly believed to be his father, flashed before his mind. Brave and frank though ; I he was, he shuddered as be thought of acknowledging before the world that this criminal was so closely related to him. There were but two courses left—oneJto bribe the man to leave, or remain silent; and the other to leave himself and go b.t,ck to China. Against having anything to/do with this man his whole nature revolted. Yet there were many reasons why {he should wish to stay where he was. Eveij if he left the city, he had no reason to beliitve that ' Peter Spencer' would not seek out Mr Orne, or the clerks, and press his clain'is to kinship. A man with less strength and decision of chai'acter would have gone with his troubles I to some dear friend and tearfully asked for advice. But the self-reliance of Frederick Leeming had been trained to its utmost development. He was not the man to fly from a danger or a trouble till he had assured himself of all its features. He made up his mind deliberately, but once he had come to a determination he acted promptly. He wrote a note to Caspar Clifford and sent it by a messenger, saying that he could not go out that afternoon as he had promised. He sent another note to 741 £ Sansom street, saying he would call at eight that evening. From the address it will be seen that i Helm had changed his quarters for the better. He and Sam Sage were smoking in the cozy room and refreshing themselves by frequent examinations of a black bottle when the messenger brought Frederick Leeming's note. ' Ho ! ho!' shouted Helm, as he read it aloud. ' Wo have got him ! we have got him!' ' So we have. Ah ! the luck is changing,' chuckled Sam Sage. ' We'll soon have our pockets lined with gold again; and then we'll feel more comfortable, you know.' ' I'm not so sure about being able to handle this fellow now that he lias grown big but I'm inclined to think that he will be willing to pay us for our absence or our silence,' said Helm. ' But I can't afford to lose sight of him.' ' Well, I should say not. You have more to dread from him than he has from you. I don't sec how you are going to play the game while Dr. Clifford and this young man are alive. Don't you see that the trick isn't in your own hands by a jug full ?' ' So far I've done what I aimed at; but if it's necessary to get both those men out of the way, and I'm inclined to think it is, I'll do it,' said Charle3 Helm, adding an oath to emphasize his decision. ' Curious that they should all be brought into contact again,' mused Sam Sage. ' It is positively startling. Now wouldn't it be a good stroke to play Doctor Clifford and this young man one against the other ?' ' How do you mean ?' ' Why, if you could make it appear that, for instance, if Doctor Clifford was found dead that this young man did it; or you might make him do something like robbery or forgery, and then have the doctor or some one else prosecute him. I tell you the young man is very proud, and if he felt himself to be disgraced he would leave here and never show his face again. But, as I've always told you, the best place to have a man that you are anxious about is in the—' Sam Sage did not finish the sentence, but pointed significantly down, and Charles Helm, in a ghostly whisper, said : ' The grave ?' Sam Sage nodded. A rap was heard at the door, and a slatternly girl put in her head to say that there was— ' A young gent in the parlor as wishes to see you, Mr Spencer.' ' All right, Sally. I'll go down; or, better still, you bring him up here in a few minutes,' said Helm. The girl withdrew, and Sam Sage asked : ' Do you want to have me here ?' ' Yes : but I guess he'd better net know it. Here, get into this closet, and keep mum. He won't stay long. You can depend on that.' Sam Sage had just entered the closet, and pulled the door to, so that he could see and hear with some satisfaction, when a quick step was heard on the bare stairs, followed by a rap on the door. ' Come in,' called out Charles Helm. The door opened, and Frederick Leeming walked resolutely in, and to his utter amazement found himself in the presence of the man he had seen up the river. CHAPTER XV. DRIVEN TO DESPAIR. Charles Helm was prepared to meet the young man. Yet, now, when they were brought face to face his bad heart failed, and he was unable to carry out the theatrical part he had planned. He thought to have seized the young man's hands, and kissed them, and even to have pretended to shed tears of joy ; but Helm was not an actor. And now that he looked into the handsome, resolute eyes, a sense of his own degradation came upon him, and he could not speak. ' Did you write this note?' asked Fred Leeming, holding out the envelope. ' I—I —did,' replied Helm, with a sensation of strangulation. ' And is your name Peter Spencer ?' ' Yes—yes.' ' You claim to be my father ?' ' I am ; oh, I am your father.' Helm reached out his hands and took a tottei'ing step towards the young man, but as there was no sign of his advance being met, he hung his head and cast down his eyes. ' I cannot believe you are my father—' ' You do not want to believe it because I am poor!'groaned Helm, with a wretched effort at pathos. ' I know not and care not whether you , are poor or rich, but I do know that you . are as degraded a man as is to be found outside of a jajl, or inside it, for that matter. When I left, with my child-life [ blasted by association with you, I cherished i the thought that if I ever became a man I

■ would seek you and your wicked companion out and bring you to justice. This deter- ■ mination has not ceased to influence me.' ' Pardon me, Frederick—pardon me for ! interrupting you,' said Helm, plucking up i courage, ' but can you name any crime of . mine that you could have me sent up on ? . Think before you make such charges against ! your own father.' i ' I may not be able to remember specific crimes, but I can well remember the life i you were leading when I ran away. But ; how did you know me ?' asked the young : man, with a look of loathing in his eyes. > 'It was the parental instinct,' replied Helm ; and then with a skill in rapid lying i in which he had but few equals and no ' superiors, he added : ' And then, though of i course you won't believe it, I've known ; where you were for many a year ; but seeing you were doing well I do not wish to throw any obstacle in your way. Now you are a man in years, and you ought to be able to lend me hand for the sake of my forbearance, if not for the love and the care I hav> lavished on you, though you do not seem to remember it.' ' You want money ; is not that it?' 'I do want money. lam very poor. But more than money I want some sympathy from my own son,' said Helm, with his pocket handkerchief to his eyes. ' If you talk to me again about anything but money I shall hand you over to the authorities as a black-mailer, and have you sent to the penitentiary,' said Fred Leeming, angry and disgusted. ' Oh, no; do not talk that way. Think of how it would affect you. Think of how you'd like your rich friends and gay companions to know that you are the son of a black-mailer, and that it was you who brought your father into court to prove this. How would it look ? Think of that!" said Helm, with a look of triumph. ' I care not how it looks so that I am right," replipd Fred Leeming ; and lie meant to be truthful. Yet he did care, for like all men, uncertain of his status, he was very sensitive. ' Very well; do what you think is right. If you oppose me you will be sorry. Mark me—you will be sorry.' ' I do not oare for your cant, nor your threats. You want money. Here is one hundred dollars, and let me say it is the last I will give you. If, however, you return to California, and promise never to come back, I will do better with you. I believe that is all you want with me ?' Fred Leeming threw the money on the bed and turned to leave, but Helm called to him : ' Won't you shake hands with me ? Good or bad, I am your father.' He reached out his hand, and the young man drew back from it and answered : ' I cannot take your hand, nor can I believe that I am the son of a man so wicked. But show me by proofs that I hold that relationship, and reform your life, and I will care for you with my last dollar.' ' I can prove it.' ' Do so.' ' I will at the proper time ; but that is not now. Will you not come to see me again ?' ' No.' ' Then you force me to come and see you. Better face this trouble, if it be trouble, like a man—' 'Like a man!' broke in Fred Leeming, fiercely. ' And you dare to speak to me about acting like a man ? You never felt a manly impulse nor did a manly act except by chance. I have a good memory, Peter Spencer, and I can look back and recall a time when you bore another name. lam not idle. You will not tell me who I am, I am determiued to find out who you are.' ' And lam willing you should do bo,' shouted Helm, as Fred Leeming banged the door behind him and hurried down the stairs. ' Ha, ha, ha !' roared Sam Sage, coming out of the closet. ' That was rich ! Better than a play. Well, what do you think of that youth, eh ? He was pretty hard to handle as a boy ; but, by George! he has grown out of reach. Did you ever see such a backbone ?' ' Backbone ?' sneered Helm ; 'it would wilt if he knew what is in store for him. He threw me a hundred dollars, but I will drain him dry and fling him into the gutter like a sucked orange ! Curse his insolence ! But it is a comfort to know that I have cut him off from a position a king might envy, and put my own boy in his place.' ' Yes ; there is a comfort and a consolation in that thought. But are you going to let the money lie on the bed for the girl to pick up ?' Sam Sage, to guard against such folly, picked up the money himself, and was delighted to find it was made up of two fifty dollar bills. ' Why, he must have guessed I was near by. Ah, now I recall he made an unflattering allusion to yours truly. He intended this for me, Peter, and the other for you.' Sam Sage took one bill and handed the other to Helm, who crammed it carelessly into his pocket. They went out together and got dinner in an obscure restaurant, where they could eat and talk without danger of being seen or overheard. That midnight found Charles Helm again in the grove back of the Clifford mansion. He hud not been there long when ho heard a light step, and the quick breathing that indicated pain. ' I am here, Agnes,' he said. She came to him and whispered : ' Here is all the money I have in the world. Now keep your promise.' ' How much is it ?' ' Two hundred dollars,' she replied. ' That will not last long. My habits are much more expensive than they were when you first knew me. But you can get money, for Doctor Clifford is rich, and his safes are full of old plate and family jewels. Oh, I know it, and I also know that I have as much right to them as he has,' said Helm, with a ring of anger in his voice. i ' But,' she said, coming back to. the question that had been stirring her heart since her first meeting with the wretch, 'you said you would tell mo about my boy.' ' So I did ; and I will keep my promise.' .He hesitated. It had not been a part of his plan to tell her of his plot at this stage, j but he now believed that it was right for Ellen's sake that the mother should know

her kinship with the young man, whose love seemed to be more than brotherly. 1 1 will tell you,' he said, ' on one condition.' * Name the condition.' ' That you will pledge your sacred word never to reveal to a living mortal what I tell you to-night.' ' And if I make this pledge you will restore my boy to me ?' she asked tremulously. < Yes.' ' Then I make it,' she said, raising her hand to the stars in token of her affirmation. By way of defending his own conduct, in the revelation he was about to make, Helm repeated the, to her, old story about his claims through his mother to a share in the Clifford estate. Then he told of his longmade resolve to get bis share, or have his heirs get it. He hid nothing, but told all the details of the means by which he had made his wife sick, and half poisoned his own child that was left behind. He made no effort to defend himself—he knew that she would not believe him if he assumed cant —so he boldly told her all, and ended by saying : ' Your son is back in that house. Now I have kept my world. See that you keep yonrs.' ' And the child you carried off ?' she gasped. ' He is dead.' 'Dead!' ' Yes; dead years and years ago. If I told you to the contrary, I deceived you. Now I am telling you the truth.' She believed him. She could not see why he should deceive her in this, when he was making a confession in which he had not shielded himself after the first effort at defence. ' I will be hero,' he said, ' one week from to-night, and at the same hour. Do not fail to meet me.' She gave no sign that she heard him, but tottered into the house stunned and bruised beyond healing by these terrible blows. She managed to reach her room, in which burned a dim light. Ellen was sleeping calmly, with her rounded arm thrown over her beautiful head. The poor mother, white-lipped and with hopeless eyes, knelt down beside the bed, and inter locked her fingers, but neither word nor groan escaped her. [to bb continued.! A LIGHTHOUSE HEORINE. ' It's very hard!' said Annie Nairn, with a pout. 'All the other girls are dressing for Kate Stanbury's charade party, and I am here, all alone, like a wretched little mouse, with no pleasure, and no prospect of any.' Miss Nairn, to speak truth, was rather an exceptional young person. Her boudoir was a little square room of hewn stone, with a bull's eye window of glass, so high up that she had to climb on a stool to look out of it. Her prospect, once safely mounted on the stool, was o£ rolling green waves, with here and there a silver-breasted gull darting athwart the heaving surface ; and her sole companion in the circular tower of Lone Lighthouse was an old man of sixty-odd, who read ' Blair's Sermons,' and amused his leisure moments by working out an unlimited series of chess problems, which were contained in a dog-eared ' Chess Manual.' There he sat to-night, by the window, where the stormy red of the sunset streamed in like splashes of blood against the wall, musing intently over the black and white squares of the board he himself had painted on the deep window-seat, with the ocean dashing in sheets of foam at the foot of the lighthouse, and the wind shrieking around its iron-railed top. ' Uncle ! ' said Annie, timidly. ' Well ? ' He spoke without looking up from the board. ' May I go on shore to-night ? ' ' On shore ? what do you want to go on shore for ? ' he demanded petulantly. ' I haven't stirred out of this dismal place for a week ? ' pouted Annie ; ' and Kate Stanbury is to have a charade party to-night, and she has invited me.' ' Pshaw !' said old Moses Nairn, with one crooked finger hovering over an ivory castle, like " Fate " personified. ' But can't I, Uncle ?' pleaded Annie. 'No, you can't. Michael has gone to see his mother to-night,' shortly answered the old man, 'and he'll not be back before morning.' 'I could row myself easily enough,' pleaded the girl. ' I've done it before now, many and many a time.' ' 1 don't choose to be left alone,' said old Nairn. Annie opened wide her bright blue eyes. ' Why, uncle, you've been left alone here often,' said she. ' That don't signify,' snarled Moses Nairn. ' I'm getting older now, and I tell you I don't choose to be left alone.' ' I shouldn't be long, uncle.' ' Will you leave off teasing me ? ' suddenly demanded the old man. And Annie retreated, only to fling herself on one of circular stone steps without, and burst into tears. ' And Charlie Cotesworth is to be there,' she sobbed, ' and that young officer from Leesborougb ; and I did think bo much of Kate Stanbury's charade party.' And the shriek of sea-winds, and the thunder of breaking billows against the solid stone foundations of the Lone Lighthouse, was all the answer that returned itself to her piteous plaint. Annie leaned out of the narrow, slit-like casement, her dimpled face and reoVhrovn curls framed quaintly in by the jagged stone edges, and looked down to where the newlypainted boat, scoured by pondei-ous iron chains, rocked to and fro in the surf, like a nut-shell. | ' Half an hour to land,' said the girl to herself,' and half an hour back again, and j an hour to stay. I could enjoy b,}\ the best i o£ it, and be back before uncle could pos- ' sibly miss me. He thinks, because he likes chess problems and snuffy old books, that everyone else must. And he's eight-a,nd-

sixty, and I'm only eighteen; and ITB jnended all his stockings and ironed all bis shirts, and there's nothing on earth to do but to sit and twiddle my thumbs. I will go. Softly the little rebel crept up the stone stairs again, almost like a moving shadow, in the gathering dusk of the dim old towersoftly she brushed out the glistening spirals of the red-brown hair, and put on her prettiest dress and freshest ribbons, shrouding them all with a grey serge cloak, whioh made her look like a medieval nun. And before old Moses Nairn had studied out the * Problem sixty-two —white to mate in four moves,' to his satisfaction, the little boat was rocking far towards land, a moving speck upon the surface of the deep, with his niece resolutely leaning to the oars. As she drew the grating keel upon the shingly beach, and flung the chain over a huge wooden bulkhead to secure it, she turned and looked backward, where Lone Lighthouse reared its slender shaft against the deep crimson of the dying sunset. ' Uncle will be lighting tbe lantern soon,' she said, to herself. And away she fled, up the shelving shore, to the little settlement of houses, which was by courtesy denominated a village. Kate Stanbury's house was all ablaze with cheerful lights. They welcomed her with a unanimous cry of delight, and gathered around her, declaring that she had come just in time to help them out with ' Othello and Desdemona.' The lieutenant from Leesborougb wrote her name down for the first waltz, and Charlie Cotesworth whis* pered to keep at least three dances for him. ' We've borrowed Mrs Leslie's white satin wedding-dress for Desdemona,' whispered Kate Stanbury. ' Come up stairs quickly and dress.' The room whicii had been assigned to Desdemona, as a tiring chamber, was intolerably warm. Annie threw open the window, and looked out—looked out towards the sea. There, still outlined darkly against tho sullen red of the stormy western sky, Lone Lighthouse seemed to lift a warning finger to her, its crystal eye dim and dark as that of a blind man. She looked once again, more intently than before, and began to tremble violently. There was no light in the lantern at Lone Lighthouse. And when Kate Stanbury came up to tell Desdemona that the audience was waiting and wondering, she found the white satin dress lying in a crumpled heap on the floor, the candles guttering in their sockets, and the door wide open. ' Goodness me !' she ejaculated, tragically, ' what has become of Annie ?' With a strange foreboding of evil at her heart she had flown down to the beach, heedless of the lieutenant's waltzes and Charlie's disappointment, unfastened the boat, and was shooting out to sea with long, regular strokes. A storm was coming up. The red scowl of the sunset had been no false prophet, as it seemed, for the wind muttered low, and the distant sea-line was edged with trembling white-caps, while the nearer waves, breaking against the shore, made a muffled roar, like dTstant artillery, • and ther- was a curious lurid light in the piled-up clouds against the western horizon. But of those things Annie took little heed, as she rowed steadily towards the lighthouse —the lighthouse which looked so strange without its usual eye of fire. 'It is not dark yet—not quite dark,' she kept repeating to herself. 'Uncle may light the lantern at any minute. He has most likely forgotten himself over those chess problems.' And springing out of the boat at tho foot of the lighthouse steps, she ran through the shower of salt spray that made them so slippery at high tide, and, opening the heavily-nailed door, hurried up the winding staircase to the lantern-room. ' It was but the work of a moment to light | the huge lamp. The crystal reflectors grew radiant at once, and the long white banner !of light streamed out, like magic fires, athwart the sullen surge of the darkening waters below ; and then, with a long sign of relief, Annie turned to her uncle's apartment. The low fire was burning in the little coal stove ; there was no light in the room, but by the glimmer cf the red embers she could see her uncle's figure, still bent over the black and white squares in the windowseat. He did not turn at the click of the door-latch. 'He is asleep,' thought Annie. 'He often falls into such brief, heavy sleeps of late. I'm afraid he is not as well as he used to be.' iohe advanced to his side, laying her hand lightly on his, with a smile. ' Uncle!' she said, slightly raising her voice. But the shriek which she uttered, as she snatched it back, rent the air like a dagger. For old Moses Nairn's hand was cold as marble, and he himself sat there, with his head sunk down upon his breast, qnite dead. All night long she sat there, tending the light in the lighthouse, shuddering at the wail of the storm, and the war of the waves, and still more at the ghastly stillness in the room below. And when the morning broke, wet and windy, and she was herself reflected in the opposite glass, she perceived that the one tress of hair which drooped over her right temple, had turned as white as snow. By the next day's sunshine, a riohlyf reighted ship rode gallantly into port, with. half a hundred passengers, who would have been food for fishes if Annie Nairn had not stood valiantly to her post. But no earthly consideration could ever induce her afterwards to enter the dreary stone walls of Lone Lighthouse; and the silver lock, shining out from among the golden curls of hair, bears an eveilasting testimony to the night of terror which she passed among the winds and the waves, with Death for her only companion. And the new lighthouse-keeper has made a store-chamber of the apartment where vioses Nairn died of heart-disease. ' I've no superstitious notions,' said ho j ; but all the same, I'd rather occupy soniwuther ro -sm myself.' '_*""