A CORSICAN VENDETTA.

Evening Star, Issue 7337, 8 October 1887, Page 2 (Supplement)

A CORSICAN VENDETTA.

• ■ ■ ■' [By C A. Gt'NTER, the American playwright.] CHAPTER XL THE OTHER OXE. After using three matches to light his ttigar, in a monotonous, listless sort of manner, Mr Barnes takes his way towards his hotel, turning over in his mind the various possibilities pertaining to Enid's brother, and decides that that young officer must leave Nice. They couldn't fail to come together if Edwin stayed here, he meditates, Marina would be sure to discover him sooner or later. Though I could prevent his being assassinated, I have no doubt, still j it would make a very disagreeable compli- j xjatioa. Altogether, if he's the man I think he is, I must ship him off to-night. As he begins to plan the details of the affair, he finds himself in front of unpleasant duties at every point. I shall have to disclose to the chap that he ha 3 taken a man's life, and that from now on he must look to his own as carefully as the Czar of Russia guards his precious Imperial Welfare. And then, how much shall I disclose to Edwin ? I can't tell him his angel ot mercy will kill him on sight; he wouldn't believe me if I did. Then if by any chance he should love Marina " —here Mr Barnes emits a prolonged whistle and turns the problem over again in his mind, and, having by this time entered the Promenade des Anglais, which is now full of foreign visitors that have not as yet fled from this winter city, he suddenly finds his meditation ended and his problem solved in the pleasantest manner imaginable.

A victoria is coming towards him in the street; in it a young lady of radiant beauty, in th« freshest of white summer dresses, colored by a corsage bouquet of blush rosebuds and a sash of shimmering satin of the same delicate tint; making a vision whose loveliness attracts every masculine eye on the promenade, except that of the American, who is in deep brown study. Beside her sits a plain, round-faced girl, with a long lanky form; big enough to be sixteen, and dressed short enough to be eleven. Thi3 child is a mass of gaudy coloring, from her bronze boots and cardigan stockings to her blue hat and red feather; the parts coming between being clothed in a bright yellow dress and purple sash. As Barnes comes near the carriage, the young lady makes a sudden sign to the coachman, the horses arc pulled up, and a soft voice says in playful piteousness : "Are you not going to speak to me ?"

The gentleman addressed, who has a gloomy Bcowl upon his countenance, and is at that moment meditating that he has not seen Enid Anstruther for a whole day, and that twenty-four hours is a little eternity, awakes from his apathy with a start; the frown upon his face becomes sunshine; he takes off his hat and answers "Speak to you ? of course ! So long as I'm out of the deaf and dumb asylum !" Then, seeing that Miss Anstruther has a hand held towards him, seizes it.

His speech makes the gawky girl laugh and Bay : " Why, you're funny, ar'nt you ? You're the celebrated Mr Barnes, of New York." "And you, I presume, are the equally illustrious Miss Maud Chartris ?" " Yes, I'm the little girl," here she grins, " that you're going to give candy enough to to kill her. Enid told me. She's been looking all over for you; haven't you, Enid?"

This brings a wonderful color to Miss Anstruther's face, which Barnes thinks is very becoming. He watches to sec how she will parry the innocent's candor, which she does by saying promptly, in a very matter-of-fact way: " Yes, 1 have been looking for you; there is a note from me at your hotel." And then, with a sndden asperity of manner, she turns on the offender at her 6ide and discharges: " Maud, if you don't stop sucking the end of your parasol, Mr Barnes will forget he promised you the candy." "He dars'nt !" returns the Maud, with a grin of conscious power. " The other one tried to slip out of giviug me a bonbonniive, he said I should have, and you know how I fixed him."

"The other one," jars on Barnes, as well as on Miss Anstruther, who has become intensely interested in the coachman in front of her.

"How did you fix him?" mutters he savagely. " I—l got him to ask—"

Here his divinity's face becomes so distressed that Barnes cuts Maud short by saying " You run into that candy store, half a square down the street, and buy what you want, and I'll come in and pay for it!" A rush and Maud is gone ; she waits no second invitation.

"What did you make that rash offer for ?" says Miss Anstruther, innocently. "Because I wanted to relieve you of the innocent's candor," says Mr Barnes, lying glibly, with a laugh. " I'm rather afraid your diplomacy will cost you dear; you have no idea of her capacity for bonbons; but you have made her.your friend, and she is a vindictive and aggressive enemy. Now, why didn't you call upon me last evening? I was quite lonely !" "Lonely, with your brother here?" rejoins the American. " My brother had but hilf an hour with me. His ship was suddenly ordered to Gibraltar, and sailed at sunset yesterday." Barnes gives a sigh of relief; his problem is solved. Edwin Anstruther is out of Nice, so there can be no trouble for the present. While he is thinking this, Enid continues : "I could not ask you to call last night, because I was alone; though, had you come in, I should have pardoned your intrusion. But now Lady Chartris is here, and, protected by her matron wings, I shall be happy to receive you at any time—this evening, I hope. Oh, what a greedy girl!" This last is addressed to Miss Chartris, who comes to the carriage followed by the shopman, who is laden down with numerous packages of sweets of every kind, and is proportionately polite and cringing.

" The reason I took so much was because I've a hungry brother and sister ; the reason I took so littlo is because it gets stale. Thank you till next time, Mr Barnes, of New York."

" Don't you get enough to eat at home ?" questions that gentleman. " Not of marrons glac4s," replies Miss Maud with her mouth full, and as the carriage drives away she cries out "Hike you better than 'the other one.' What are you looking so cross at me for ?" The first is to Barnes, and the second to Miss Anstruther, who colors and laughs a little, leaving that gentleman savagely pondeiing over " the other one" ; which is a new distraction for him. " Who the deuce is ' tho other one,' and how did Maud fix him ? If she only fixed him so that he won't come to time again I'll make her a very handsome present." With this malicious reflection Barnes pays the candy dealer, and wonders if a poor man couldn't live on his bonbon bill through several long strikes. Going to his hotel, he finds a little note in her handwriting that makes the sun seem a little brighter to him as he reads. Thursday. Dear Mr Birnes,—Lady Chartris has arrived; so now I can ask you to call tbat I may thank you again. We shall be at home this evening after eight—Yours very sincerely, Enid A. Anstruther. Hotel des Anglais, Nice. His valet and baggage having arrived from Paris, Mr Barnes slips into a dress suit and feels a little the better in it, as men generally do, though most of them detest the trouble of the change. After dinner he woos wisdom by inspiration imported from Havana, and decides on two things—first, not to give any hint to Miss Anstruther of his suspicions in regard to her brother having fought his duel and killed his man—"she had better never know that," he thinks ; second, to make himself absolutely certain tbat Edwin Gerard Anstruther was the English officer who met Antonio Paoli on that morning in Corsica. This can be easily done, he imagines, by a little judicious pumping and a look at his sweetheart's photograph album; perhaps, also, he will see a picture of " the other one." This tarns has thoughts to a. different channel, and lie -wonders how long it -will be before he buys the engagement ring; and if " the other one ? "—Here he jumps up suddenly and marches straight for the Hotel des Anglais, for a dreadful idea has flashed through his mind: "What if 'the other one' is in Nice 1" The other one is certainly not present as Mr BacJes enters the pretty little parlor

whose windows command the Mediterranean on one side and the Public Garden on the other ; for (the season in the Riviera being near its close) Lady Chartris has almost the best rooms in the house. The lights are turned down, and lie thinks there is no one in the apartment. After a moment, a voice comes to him from one of the deep windows. He sees Enid in the moonlight that streams from without upon her, and gets another and new sensation. He beholds the girl he loves, for the first time, in full evening dress. A light gauzy robe seems to float about and envelop her, permitting some lovely views of her neck and arms, that are exquisitely fair, white, and polished, glistening and shining in the subdued light as if they had been stolen from the lost Venus of Praxiteles and given to the girl to complete and enhance the beauty of her face. She does not rise to meet him, but says : " Please sit down here by me in the window; the night is too perfect to spoil it by gaß. Lady Chartris will be here in a few minutes, and then I presume she will expect us to call up conventionality, in the form of the waiter, to light the chandelier!" Barnes says nothing, but audaciously walks up to his goddess and takes her hand, holding it perhaps a little too long, or pressing it, perchahce, a little too fervidly, for Miss Anstruther gives out a little feminine Oh !" and says rather wickedly " Am I to thank you for making this parlor a rose garden for me?'' Barnes looks around and sees an immensity of cut flowers all about the room. He has not sent them, and, though he curses himself for not doing so, he anathematises the man who sent them more; being satisfied it is " the other one."

"No!" he says slowly. "You must thank somebody else for these ; I am a man of business, and, shall I tell you the truth, have had more practical interests of yours to look after to-day than flowers." This is a much greater stroke of diplomacy on his part than he guesses. His only idea was to palliate, not being as attentive as "the other one"; but he has given the girl something to be curious about, and that curiosity linked to him. _ Miss Anstruther is now a blaze of inquiry. "For me? More practical interests? What do you mcau ? Isn't my luggage all right? Have I lost a box? Did I leave anything behind me in the railway carriage, or is it those awful mea?"—the last in a tone a little tremulous.

"None of these. You need fear the men no longer ; they were following me. At present, at least, I can tell you no more," says Mr Barnes, who sees he has made a lucky hit and does not propose to destroy it. "I suppose you have no idea who these flowers came from?" he has a little incredulity in his voice. " Oh yes, I have ! I think they were sent by—guess ?" " The other one !" he mutters in such a gloomy and morose tone that Miss Enid goes into a spasm of laughter as she gasps: " No!—they came from Edwin—my brother, of course !" Then blushing a little, she says, "There is no other one !"—and gets embarrassed as she sees Barnes's face gleam at her unintentional but most suggestive remark. But pulling herself together, finishes: "There is no one at all, and of course there can be no other one."

" Ah, then the sooner you get one the better 1" returns Mr Barnes, very tenderly, who has the theory that when a woman blushes at a thought, she generally thinks it; and wisely judges that his darling has been meditating about him in the position he wishes to assume, which is that of the impetuous lover. "What do you mean by that?" replies Enid, who hardly catches his drift, though she is a pretty quick thinker herself. His answer leaves no room for doubt.

" I mean,"—he says very slowly—" I mean vhat a beautiful hand you have for a wedding ring." The cool insinuation of this remark gives Miss Anstruther a chill. She hardly likes to say that she hasn't a beautiful hand, which her vanity tells her would not be true ; and if she admits that she has—what next? Americans area rapid people, and this is apparently the fleetest greyhound of the lot. He has" known her thirty-six hours, and has implied more than many men would after a year's worship. A bright idea strikes her. She crushes him by saying "That depends upon who would place it there !" Then, seeing that she has hit Barnes harder than she wishes to, she loses her head and palliates it by an impulsive " Oh, I didn't mean that—to you !" and finds himself in an awful predicament.

"Tome !" Barnes has got her hand, and might have proceeded to extremities and been foolish, for Miss Anstruther was a young lady whose pride would have resented so sudden an assault upon the citadel of her afl'eetions, and would have never permitted a surrender to a thirty-six hours' siege. _ But here a small voice, that is not conscience, breaks upon his ear. It says : "I am in the next window sitting quietly. I thought I would tell you, Enid, as you always like to know if I am near when you have gentlemen visitors."

The intense silence that follows is broken by Miss Anstruther saying sternly: " Maud, do not tell atrocious stories."

" It's true ! you know you didn't like it when ' the other one' used to come."

Enid rises in dignity, a flush of anger on her face, a tear of vexation in her eye, her mouth very firm but trembling with annoyance, as she says determinedly: " Until you can learn to respect me and the truth also you must leave this room ! " " I shan't!" replies Miss Maud, coming in from the window, "and if you go to bullying I'll tell him—" She gets no farther, for Miss Anstruther has thrown open the door and remarks : "If you do not leave the parlor and stay out of it all the evening I shall tell your governess—you know what! " this last very significantly. Miss Maud Charteris gives a piteous "Don't, please!" and bolts from the room in abject terror. " Miud over matter!" remarks Barnes.

" Yes," says Miss Anstruther, who rings the bell and orders the waiter to light the room, and does not return to the window. " I always keep one undiscovered crime of Maud's in abeyance over her head, and in desperate cases threaten to deliver her to justice. Were it not for that, I couldn't live in the house with her. And now will you do me a favor ?" " Certainly!" "Then tell me how much my railway journey has cost you ?" Some men would have replied " Nothing!" and never got asked for another favor. But Barne3, who is an American as regards business, and a gentleman as regards habit, pulls out his pocket-book and mentions the amount.

The girl fills his hand full of bills, and says simply, "I can repay you your money, but your kindness—l'll keep that, if you please, to remember you by. My brother doesn't r/ecollect meeting you, but asked me to thank you for him also" This is precisely the opening that Barnes wants.

"If you have a picture of him," he suggests, " I can tell you with more certainty." "Yes—here is my locket—that was Edwin's two years ago !" said Enid, with a little smile of pride, and hands him the article, which contains the face of a dark man of about thirty. '•Do you think he looks like me?" the girl asks, after a moment. "Not at all!" says Barnes, very much relieved, for he sees that this is not the officer of the duel. "He is as dark as night, and you are fair." " Impossible ! Let me see ! " She takes the locket from him, and exclaims : " This is not my brother !" The next instant her face flushes very red and her eyes beam with indignation; she turns to him and says: "This is a miserable joke of that fearful child! Maud Chartris has taken out my brother's face and inserted that of a friend !"

" Nothing more ? " says Barnes, rather pointedly, for he has become very jealous of the man in the locket. " If I had a—a lover dear enough to me to wear his likeness upon my heart I should not submit it to the gaze of others ; I should want it all for myself. Of course it was not necessary for me to give any explanation to you of the matter ! " "Of course not," mutters poor Barnes, humbly, who feels he is being whipped for Maud Chartris's fault. "You are sure the girl did it?" " Certainly ! Lord"—she checks herself

—"the person whose face was in this locket," for she has already removed the picture, 'Ms a gentleman.'" "Oh ! a lord is ' the other one,'" thinks the American, " it's lucky she's an English girl; if Enid Anstruther came from my side of the water I shouldn't have one chance in a thousand!" He forgets his anxiety for the brother in his interest for the sister, and, Lady Chartris coming in, the conversation takes another subject. Lady Chartris is fat and fifty, though she struggles for a youth that has gone from her into the distant past; she talks of her early widowhood, and of being a young woman and alone in the world, with only her babies. "This is my oldest," she says, patting Maud's hand, for she cannot reach her shoulder, that young lady having taken courage and followed her mother into the room.

"Ah ! a sweet child !" murmurs Barnes, sympathetically, for he has many_ good reasons for making the mother his friend—- " how old ?—eleven 1"

"Yes; nearly twelve," replies Lady Charteris. "How wonderfully you guess ageß." " Oh ! I knew she couldn't be older than that, by looking at you," says Barnes, and doesn't even blush at his remark. "A well-grown child for her age!" "Oh ! I was as big as I am now when I was thirteen !" says Maud, who has been waiting eagerly for her chance to speak. At this distressing contretemps a silence falls on the group, only broken by a somewhat malicious laugh from Mis 3 Anstruther, who has not entirely regained her temper. "Ten '. you mean, my little one !" ejaculates her mother. "You confound ten and thirteen. Your governess must give you longer lessons in arithmetic—l shall speak to her!"

At this prospect of increased tasks the youthful prodigy's countenance falls immensely. Here Enid takes occasion to mention that they think of going to Monte Carlo next day. " Yes, we are going to Monte Carlo !" repeats Lady Chartris, but doesn't invite Barnes to join the party. Whereupon that gentleman suggests that the ladies permit him to show them the beauty of the public gardens by moonlight, as this is their last day in Nice. Enid half assents, though Lady Chartris thinks it is rather too late, and the subject drops for five minutes), when Lady Chartris, in speaking of Americans, mentions the name of the Countess of Morington. " She, I believe, is an American; do you know her?"

" Pretty well," says Barnes, "she is my sister !"

"Oh!" remarks the widow, somewhat impressed, for Lady Moriugton is a very great swell in London. "I'm glad I have met one of your relatives ; but, as we are going into the garden with you, we had better put on our wraps at once." As the ladies leave the room to prepare for their walk, Lady Chartris suggests that Mr Barnes shall accompany them to Monte Carlo, and that gentleman is very happy to accept the gracious invitation, A few moments after they are in tho beautiful gardens, and, Lady Chartris being engaged in pursuiug the eccentric rambles of Miss Maud, Mr Barnes finds himself tSte-a-tite with Miss Anstruther, who is hanging on his arm.

"I went to that wretched child," says the young lady, perceiving her chaperon is not in car-shot, " and demanded my brother's picture. Maud confessed her crime, but declared she had lost the likenefs, and now I have none to show you ; but you could hardly forget Edwin if you had met him. lie is fair, like me !" "And very tall?" suggests Barnes, who remembers that Marina had called him a Saxon giant. " Not very tall for an Englishman, but tall for a Frenchman !" This description might be that of the officer of the duel. "Has your brother any marked peculiaritv ?"

"No! except that he is very noble looking." "That would be the description of any sister," replies Barnes. "Now, my sister, I have no doubt, thinks me very noble looking." " Does she ?" The incredulity of her voice and astonished expansion of her eyes are not complimentary ; but after a second Enid laughs, and says: "I don't think I am prejudiced. My younger brother, Arthur, is decidedly ienoble ; he bids fair to be a perfect pigmy !" Barnes can get no information in regard to Edwin that is absolutely satisfying, so he turns the talk into another channel and tries to bring it back to a more personal nature; but here he finds himself baffled and defeated. Miss Anstruther fights very shy, and is, as he expresses it to himself, " a very wary bird in matters of sentiment" that evening. Try how he will the girl twists romance into merriment, and suddenly remembers that they have lost Lady Chartris. After a short, fruitless search, Miss Enid suggests that her chaperon having probably returned to the hotel, she must immediately follow her. As they leave the garden, they pass two figures, walking together, whom Barnes salutes j one is Musso Danella, and the other Marina.

" I have seen that girl before," says Enid, "she is the young lady who painted thatawful picture of the duel in the Paris Salon." " Yes," says her escort, "I stood besido you while you studied it." " Indeed! I did not notice you; but perhaps that is excusable, as I hardly knew you from any other man then ! " "Let me prove to you I was near you," replies Barnes. " Are you very much in love with the gentleman who pitied in the minting ?" At this Miss Anstruther gives a merry little laugh, and cries " No, I hated him, he was so ugly ! " " Then why did you say you loved him ? You might raise false hopes ?" " What ? iu a man on canvas ?" cries the girl in a gasp of astonishment. " No—in his earthly representative !" At this extraordinary remark the girl opens her eyes and says " Yes—if he ever heard me!"

"All the same, you should be careful about such statements," continues Barnes in solemn pathos. " Young girls should be very particular. If he had heard you, the man might have broken his heart for you. Why did you do it?" The girl gives way to a strain of musical laughter at Barnes's tones —which are those of a camp-meeting parson—and then stuns him with these extraordinary words : " Why did I do it ? It was a ruse! But we are at the Des Auglais ; good night, Mr Barnes of New York !" Then she laughs again, runs up the stairs to her room, and looks at her beautiful self in the glass earnestly and sadly, and a little tear or two dims her bright eye as she says to her fair image : " You are lost to me ; you will soon be no longer my own—you will be his ! He's going to conquer me; I can see it in his eye ; lie's one of those horrid creatures who go about and make poor girls marry them, whether they want to or not!" And then she gives a little laugh and then a little sigh, and wonders if he is very wild, and then suddenly exclaims " The wretch ! if lie had dared to speak to mo to-night I would have crushed him—oh, if he should be only amusing himself!" Hero she commences to turn pale and choke, and goes to bed and has a nice, enjoyable cry, until the fear that he may see her "eyes are red next morning stops her, and she goes to sleep to dream of As for Barnes, ho goes home stunned with astonishment, and mutters " A ruse ? What kind of a ruse? A ruse for what?" and begins to think that women's minds are beyond the ken of masculine logic; and that Marina's partrait of him must be the curs&dest likeness ever painted ; and this makes him think how he can set his mind at rest in regard to Edwin Anstruther, which leads him to every savage thoughts of " the other one" which send him to bed in a bad humor. And so both he and the girl he adores arrive at the same result, and what is probably best for them after this day's experience, and that is—sleep. BOOK lII.—THE ENCOUNTER AT MONTE CARLO. CHAPTER XII. LA BELLE BLACKWOOD. The mind of Count Musso Danella was of that peculiar character that often sees & great deal in a very little. Educated in Padua, he had early become imbued with

that mediffival school of Pessimist philosophy that, as enunciated by that diabolical Florentine, Signor Niccolo Machiavelli, made middle-age Italy a nation of treachery and deceit. One of the cardinal principles of the faith being that every human action has its controlling human motive—generally a bad one.

Believing, then, that nothing is really unselfish, Danella wonders why Barnes should havo taken such an interest in attempting to persuade Marina to forego her vengeance. What difference did it make to the American whether there was one less Englishman upon the earth. But he said a word to save him— ergo, it made some difference. Problem: to discover what difference ? And, turning this in his subtle brain, the following facts startled him. It was not important enough for Barnes to visit Marina in Paris, for he could easily have found her there, to give her the message from the dead ; why was it important enough for him to do in Nice what he had not cared to do in Paris ? In other words, what has connected Mr Barnes so much more intimately with this affair in the last twenty-four hours ?

These considerations on the afternoon of the American's visit cause the Count to look over the detective's memoranda, who had followed him from Paris. Two facts meet him in the investigation. First, Barnes has fallen in love with Enid Anstruther. Second, Miss Anstruther mentioned in her conversation while standing upon the station platform at Toulon the English Navy. The Count saunters down to Mr Barnes's hotel, and, politely pumping the clerk, learns that no one whomsoever has called on that gentleman since he has been at Nice. He wanders up to the des Anglais and discovers that a young English, naval lieutenant has waited upon Miss Anstruther, and that, moreover, he is iier brother. He goes to the harbor, and is told that the British gunboat Sealark sailed for Gibraltar the evening before, Lieutenant Anatruther being one of ber officers. Arranging these facts in his mind, the question naturally shapes itself: " Was Lieutenant Anstruther of the English Navy the motive that caused Mr Barnes to try and influence Marina to forget her oath of the Vendetta ?" The American loves the sister, and a service to the brother would tend to assist his suit; besides—here the count remembers, with a start, that this English girl herself had been interested for some cause or other in the painting of the duel. He himself has seen her looking at it on two different occasions. Altogether, though the clue is not as promising as it might be—for Barnes may have been but curious to know how the affair progressed, and been perhaps drawn to see Marina by her beauty—still, in the absence of any other, it is worth investigating.

Consequently, the next morning the Count tells Marina, who is uneasy, feverish, and worried, and who shows it to his eyes that follow her every movement, that he is going to run over to Gibraltar by railway ; and, as it will be a very rapid trip, she had better take old Tomasso to look after her, run up to Monte Carlo, and seek to forget all trouble, until his return, in a little gaiety and dissipation. " I advise you, via belle, to play a little. The joys of rouge et nolr make some of us kill ourselves; but their excitement keep others alive. Do a little gambling. You are rich enough to risk a few twenty-franc pieces for health." "You are going to Gibraltar?" replies Marina, ignoring all else. "Is it that you have a hope ?" " Yes—a hope—a very little hope !" " Then go ! And if you find him, you will find mo strong enough to do my part!'' The paleness leaves her cheek, and she gives Danella a glance of gratitude that sets his blood on fire.

" I shall be back in a week, belkrina carisnima!" says the Count, and he takes the railway for Marseilles and Spain, while she and old Tomasso go up to Monte Carlo on the same train that carries Mr Barnes, Miss Anstruther, and the Chartris family. To the desperate gamester, Monte Carlo is like an opium dream, in its extremes of the joys of Heaven and the pangs of Hades. So is it with Barnes, though the stake he plays for is not generally wagered on the tables of the Casino ; but as the smiles of Fortune and women usually go together, a good many pretty girls have been lost and won on the roulette of Monaco.

The first evening at this principality of chance is almost a Heaven to Mr Barnes, and a fairy dream to Enid. .Afterdinner he takes her and the Chartris infant to the Casino and introduces them to the mysteries of roulette ; both girls win, Miss Anstruther gathering up enough gold to keep her in gloves for a year : while Maud, by the help of letting Mr Barnes pay all losses and pocketing all winnings, contrives to carry off a few weeks' bonbon money. Both could stay and wager their souls, such is their eagerness and delight. But the luck changing, Mr Barnes returns the infant Chartris to her hotel and carries off his divinity for a walk in the gardens. Here, on one of the terraces, they pass Marina. She is seated in a hopeless kind of manner, sadly watching the throng. Her dress, which is black as the night, makes her pale f.icc look even paler and sadder than it is. Old Tomasso, who still wears the picturesque costume of his island, stands near, sympathetically watching his loved mistress.

The gay crowd pass her by ; the music of the band floats around her; but the girl never changes her sad smile, and her mind seems to be far away. She recognises Barnes's bow, and appears for a moment as if she wishes to speak to him ; but that gentleman hurries Miss Anstruther on, thinking it safer thai the two young ladies do not meet.

Enid notices this, and says: "What do you run past that pretty girl for ? One would think she was not good to look at! " " Neither she is, when one has been educated to higher types !" This is emphasized by a very killing look from Barnes. "I do not see any higher type here ! In fact I've never seen a more beautiful woman. I'm afraid the trouble is not in her charms, but in your appreciation of them," remarks Enid, who has a way of generally taking the other side in most discussions. "She knows you. Her face interests me—she looks as if she had a history. Please introduce mc !"

If there arc two women in the world that Barnes thinks should not meet, Marina Paoli and Enid Anstruther are the two ; but as he can't give his reasons he can only procrastinate.

"Certainly, to-morrow morning, with pleasure !" "No ! To-night!" " What! and spoil my eveninq ?" a little tenderly. " Your evening should be ended by this time; I must soon go back to the hotel. There ! I see her now ! —This way—come ! She looks sad and lonely; let us try to make her a little happier !" Such a request is impossible to refuse without giving explanations that Mr Barnes will not and cannot give; besides his divinity's its has made us so tender that ho is very pliable at this moment. So ho walks up, and after exchanging a word with Marina, says : " Mademoiselle Paoli, let me present Miss Anstruther!" As he utters Marina's name, Enid's eyes begin to open, and she cries: " Paoli ? Were you in Egypt, Mademoiselle ?" " Yes, a year ago !" replies Marina with a repressed sigh. " Did you not spend some of your time in the English Hospital at Alexandria ?" " Yes !"—there is an expectant look now on the Corsican's face.

" And nursed my brother Edwin An struther ?" "Yes!"

" Then, darling ! you are the woman who saved his life !" and Enid goes up to the girl and gives her a tender kiss, putting her whole soul into her lips, in a manner that makes Barnes hungry for his turn to come; for it is the first kiss he has ever seen Miss Anstruther give; and the manner in which she does it is a beautiful little poem of sentiment.

At this salute Marina becomes deadly pale and almost repulses her, standing as if fighting back some mighty emotion. " Don't you remember Edwin ?" falters Enid, who still embraces the Corsican. "Remember him?" and Marina seizes the English girl in her arms and gives her a burning kiss that makes Barnes start and mutter to himself "She kissed the sister, but thought she was kissing the brother!" "What an impulsive dear you are!"

says Miss Anstruther, arranging her somewhat disordered toilet. " Where are you stopping here ?" "The Grand!" says Marina, as in a dream.

" How nice! so ami! we'll go up together and talk about him ! " Enid put her arms in Marina's, and they leave Barnes behind them, who follows in a very sulky mood, as he has no liking to play second fiddle to anybody in Miss Anstruther's presence. The next morning the two girls come down to breakfast together, a sure sign of friendship in women, and Miss Anstruther tells Mr Barnes they have spent half the night in talking about her brother. " She told me of the message he asked her to send me when he thought he was about to die. And I showed her his letters to me afterwards-all but one, that was a little too romantic about her!" "So this Corsican is the English girl you've picked out for your brother's wife ?" "Not at all! She cannot marry ! Marina is going to bo a nun !" "Anim/" gasps Barnes in a, helpless, stupid way. " That's what I said ! A nun! She tells me she will never marry ; that her life is consecrated!" " Of course ! Consecrated ! I forgot!" " Did you ? You don't seem as clever as you generally are. What are you going to do to amuse me this morning?" says the young lady with a pretty air of proprietorship, for she has begun to discover that she can dictate to Mr Barnes once in a while, and rather enjoys it. " You said you would teach me how to shoot a pistol." And so they take the little Chartris girl, who makes almost too effective a chaperon ; for nhe has ears and uses them, and a tongue and will use it if they give her anything to talk about; and they pass a very agreeable morning together, Enid winning a pair or two of gloves on some impossible shots she forces Barnes to attempt. She has not invited Marina to go with them, for she prefers the American's company to that of any girl's; though Marina makes an agreeable distraction. And the evening of the second day approaches that has a surprise in it, and much misery for them both. There has been the usual distractions of gay life at Monaco; a German student, having made love to red too constantly, being jilted, has blown out his brains; a Russian Prince has run away with an Austrian countess, and a Greek adventurer has had a wonderful run of luck and broken the bank. But the roulette ball runs round as viciously as ever; and this evening, though Barnes does not bet on his eccentricities, Miss Anstruther does with the ardor of a devotee and a woman, which means a good deal; for nearly all the fair sex are natural gamblers. There is a capriciousness in the fortune they woo that is like themselves, and it attracts them ; being one of the few notable' exceptions to the great rule of nature, that similarities repel each other.

The luck is a little against her, Mr Barnes notes, as he sees in the crush about ono of the roulette tables, squeezed between Enid and a Russian princess, a woman he knows too well, and who, he thinks, is unworthy to even breathe the same air as Mus Anstruther. The lady lookß up and recognises him pointedly; and, in that social republic, he responds by a slight bow. A moment after the cattle king from Kaneas, who had brought confusion upon him that day in the Paris Salon, stamps into the room, forces his way through the excited throng, and, standing behind the lady, backs up her bets with liberal atdor; and, she chancing to win, he cries out: " Hello, Barnes of New York; I say, this is squarer than three-card monte, and most as good as American poker. We'll have a game of that this evening after this is over, if it suits you ?" Mr Barnes declines to play poker. Miss Anstruther looks up, and remembers the cattle sovereign ; but, being deep in the mysteries of her system, which consists in betting on the odd numbers—believing in the old maxim—pays little attention to anything else ; and this time, being successful, grabs her winnings in an eager manner, as if she feared the croupier would defraud her of them. At this the lady at her side says something to her; and Barnes grinds his teeth together as he see 3 his goddess, in the joy of fortune, laugh and reply to her in a very pleasant off-hand sort of manner. After play is over, for Enid cannot be enticed away before, and her admirer has a chance of a word with her—in fact, is bidding her good-night at the Grand Hotel— Barnes suddenly says, " Do you like gambling, Miss Anstiuther?'' " I love it !" cries the girl. " Then I advise you to play no more !" "And why not? Do you fear I shall squander my fortune and blow out my brains like poor Von Waldow, the German student ? If I couldn't take care of my own, there arc trustees in England who grind me down to my allowance !" The remark about trustees is made with some bitterness.

" Certainly not! But the excitement affects your spirits ; you exult too much when you win, and despair too much when you lose !" " Oh, then I make a vulgar display of my passions!" " Not at all! " replies Barnes, keeping his temper, for he sees Enid has lost some of hers. " You know I do not mean to insinuate that; but to one who has known you as Ido " " Yes—three days !" He pays no attention to this remark, which Miss Anstruther throws in with a sneering emphasis; but goes on: " You do not seem exactly yourself. Remember, I speak to you as a friend !" "Of course ! unpleasant advice always comes irom friends ?" A slight interrogation can be marked in the lady's voice. "Besides" here Barnes becomes very earnest—"the society of the table is not exactly proper for a young girl like you. Did you notice the woman who sat next you—the woman you spoke to ? Of course, you did not know her face. It was that of the infamous La Belle Blackwood !" Barnes has lost his head, and left himself open for a tremendous return shot, and he gets it. " But you did ! Yes, and bowed to her, too, when you were in my company. Do you suppose I would have spoken to the creature unless you had guaranteed her by your boiv .'" " I!" murmurs Barnes, who had not expected this view of his conduct. " Yes," cries the young lady, who is now thoroughly angry and will give no quarter ; " and you know her address in Paris, and told it to the cattle scoundrel; and fibbed about it, in very shame, saying you had read it in the ' Figaro,' when I looked over every lino of that paper, and it wasn't there. Oh ! it is noble in you to reproach me with having brushed past her in a crowd." " Very well," says Barnes, who concluded that he hdd better not discuss La Belle Blackwood any more that evening. " Continue to play, but remember that I warn you, you will regret it before three days."

" Will I ? Not so much as you will regret insulting me." And planting this Parthean arrow in her worshipper's heart with a very savage glance in her eyes, Miss Anstruther rushes up the stairs and flies to her room.

As for Barnes, he walks out into the moonlight, thinks it the blackest night of the season, and says, in a horrified way: " If I have lost her! She's not an angel, but I want her more than all the angels in Heaven!" Then he mutters to himself: " If I don't win this battle she will despise me, and ' the other one' will get her !" This sets him to thinking deeply. He knows La Belle Blackwood too well not to kuow she will address Miss Anstruther again. She has that self-assertive diablery that loves to insult the world from which she is cast out, and had made her infamy very famous by several times furnishing the Parisian journals with piquant little paragraphs in which her name has been coupled with that of ladies of the grand-monde. Barnes makes up his mind that by no chance shall this happen to the object of his devotion, so he walks off to the Hotel de Paris and sends up his card to La Blackwood ; and, while waiting that Aspasia's answer, sees to his joy a miserable little French dandy come sneaking downstairs and go off into the darkness. 1 have b, card that'll fix Madam la Diable now, he ieflects, as he is shown to that lady's luxurious apartments. La Blackwood receives Mr Barnes effusively. **Ahl mon cher," she says, speaking be]

tween the puffs of a deliciously flavoured Russian cigarette, and half reclining in a languid feline manner in a sumptuous arm-chair, the blue satin of which is in admirable contrast to the delicate tint of her dress; for she is in a masterpiece of Worth's, and looks as fresh as a violet after all her years of dissipation—" Make yourself at home, my boy. Will you have a glass of Ckambertin, a cigarette, or both ?" " Neither, thank you," replies the gentleman coolly. '' Then take a chair. If you're not always thirsty you are always lazy." " Not at present. lam here on business. Unpleasant business!" " You ! Business !" The lady opens her eyes in supreme surprise: " You never did any business before in your life." "Perhaps not, but I'm going to do a stroke to-night. You addressed this evening j at the Casino a young English girl ?" "Ah ! The one with whom you are so much in love ! I can see you have always good taste ! Your charmer is here— alone?" This last question is put with such a leering insinuation that if Barnes had any thought of sparing the miserable creature one pang in the interview he throws it away. "No!" ho replies. "Had she been of your kind I should have nothing to say to you on the matter. She is under the charge of Lady Chartris; and you dared to speak to her publicly this evening." " And why not, if I cared to ?" "Because your addressing her was an impertinence!" "Was it?" says the lady, yawning politely in Mr Barnes's face; " then I shall be impertinent again to-morrow ! " " Excuse me, you will not!" " And why not, mon cher?" " Because you are going to leave Monaco to-morrow morning before Miss Anstruther gets up " " And what makes you think that, imbecile ?" says La Blackwood, who is beginning to gee angry, though she likes Barnes in a general sort of way.

" Because I am going to compel you to leave."

" You ? You are impertinently funny. Tell me how ? you idiot!" " Because, if you don't, I shall tell Ruggles that M. de Cravasae is here, and it won't take him long to find out who that gentleman is." "So you would betray me ?" she answers, for the cattle king's millions are at present an object to her. " But I shall not go, all the same. I love money a great deal, but I'll risk a break with M. Ruggles to make you unhappy, you miserable canaille of a canaille nation !" and she lashes herself into a fury, and calls Barnes and his—and her country too, for that matter—some very unpleasant names, for La Blackwood has the temper of a fiend when she allows herself the luxury of giving it an outing, which is pretty often. Mr Barnes stands before her and takes her invective in silence, but with a very ugly look on his face ; for he has played his card and lost. He had supposed the woman loved money more than all else, and he now finds she likes her wickedness oven better.

Seeing he makes no move to go, she finishes in these words : " You come to me, a priestess of vice, and prate of virtue; you, who call yourself a man of the world, which means the same as harlot in woman ! You wish to shield your innocent miss, who is innocent because she is not old enough to have learnt vice ; and to protect her dainty exclusiveness, you insult me ! Fool! you know I always keep my word; and I swear to you if she comes to the Casino to-morrow I will kiss her lips and if she resents it, which has the most to lose by scandal, your immaculate angel or ' La Belle Blackwood ?' And now, the door !" giving him an invitation to go with a very impressive gesture of the hand.

Barnes knows the woman will keep her word. To prevent Enid's going to the Casino involves an explanation that in all probability may cost him—what he dares not contemplate ; for he knows the haughty pride of Miss Anstruther. He almost staggers from the room. But as he goes out La Blackwood gives him a burst of mocking laughter, and cries after him " My kiss won't hurt your baby ; I wa3 innocent myself once." A flash of thought, and Mr Barnes comes back into her presence, and says shortly and in a hoarse voice, for he is very desperate now, and will spare no man or woman to save the girl he loves from any scandal or annoyance : " Do you know a man named John Marshall Spotts, of Cresline, Ohio?"

She gives a gasp ! " Do you know a woman named Martha Strowbridge Spotts of the same place ?" "My God!" " Within two weeks from this time there will be placed in their hands a portrait of you ; a description of you, and your life and career taken from the Paris jonrnals. Also a remark about that little scar upon the back of your fair neck. Yes, that one you put your hand to—the one you wear the lace to hide. Do you think they will know <La Belle Blackwood' then ?"

" Oh, God ! My mother ! They think ine dead ! It will kill her !" And this woman who has fought her fight in all her pride of folly and wickedness, falls on the floor, and writhes and grovels at his feet, crying between her panting sobs " Have mercy ! Have mercy !" "Then leave Monaco before nine o'clock to-morrow morning, or you know I will keep my word !" Barnes leaves the miserable woman, confident that he has won his battle, and going to the hotel mutterß a prayer— the first he has uttered for years—"That he may win his idol yet!" which, being of a practical mind, becomes very like a petition to Providence that Miss Anstruther may have an awful run of bad luck at the roulette tables, and so be brought to bow down to him and acknowledge him as her guardian angel once more. An event that is very likely to happen. (To be continued.)