THE SALE OF A SOUL.

New Zealand Graphic, Volume X, Issue 24, 17 June 1893, Page 568

THE SALE OF A SOUL.

/ STORY OF AMERICAN LIFE.

IN FOUR PART S — By C. M. S. MCLENNAN.

SYNOPSIS. The story opens on a Saturday night in a back parlour of Terence Fitzgerald’s bar. The beautiful daughter of mine host. Maggie, is asked to sing. The performance is interrupted by the entrance of two gentlemen in evening dress. One of them exclaims, addressing the singer. * You are superb,’ which excites the wrath of some of the low-class frequenters of the place. The landlord comes in, and the strangers go off with him. One of them tells Fitzgerald that his daughter is simply magnificent. and that her proper place is in fashionable Society. Chapter 11. shows how the bar-tender fights a slum admirer of Maggie’s who threw a glass at her. Prescott—the gentlemen who thinks the girl too good for her present social position—talks about her to Curzon, one of his club friends, who tries to reason him out of his idea, saying that the girl is happy where she is. and does not find her surroundings uncongenial. Prescott is. however, too much interested in the slender, elegant, and lovely Maggie to give up his plan of introducing her to society. Accordingly he again interviews her father, promises that his aunt, a maiden lady of the highest integrity and standing, shall chaperone the girl, and finally persuades Fitzgerald to allow his child to be made a great lady.

111. JjjwrgP T was at Mrs Bensingham-Jones’ large fancy Iressball. ‘A pantomime,’ laughed Dicky Pendleton, dressed as Gladstone, as lie woiked his way thiongh the jam to get at his particular Marjorie, who had just emerged from her white silk wrap ami furs, and stood near the door- - Tk? * way looking like a blush rosebud amid a buzzing F"- circle of masculine bees. • When the ladies jab their dimpled elbows nto your ribs, life is a perfect blessing,’ puffed fat little flney Travers, in an absurd Boy Blue rig up. * But hang tie if I think it a boon when a man grinds half through you. Confound it, Jim Manson, keep off my toes. And don’t >ush, don’t push.’ Pretty little Mrsßensingham Jones had achieved atremenous success with her dance. The occasion was one of imuense splendour, gaiety and excitement. Besides the irdicrously like imitation of Gladstone, there were Tore

adors, Robinson Crusoes, peasants, jockeys, birds and bipeds of every sort and description. A late comer stood in the doorway contemplating the radiant and rampant spectacle of whirling figures, and as the strains of the waltz swam and sighed on the warm, fragrant air he raised his head and swept his gaze over the flashing assemblage. Out of the gorgeous mass, a tall, straight, distinguishedlooking woman, dressed in soft gray, a woman of middle age, who seemed unmoved by all the excitement about her, came to his side and stood with him, looking, as he did, across the great room. ‘ Well, are they talking about her’’ asked the man after a moment’s silence. ‘ Yes, Bryce,’ answered the woman. * The effect has been just what you predicted. She is the sensation of the night!’ ‘ Is Curzon here ?’ * Yes; and he has met her. Shall you dance ?’ * No, I am going away at once.’ ‘ But shan’t you speak to Margaret? She was only just now asking if you were here ?’ Prescott pulled at his short moustache. ‘Was she?’ he jerked out; ‘oh, well, that doesn’t matter. How does she carry herself ?’ ‘ Nobly !’ ‘Of course she does. By Jove, there she is talking with Curzon. What a woman ! Is she indeed human, aunt? Surely she is unlike those others. See, how every eye is attracted to her.’ The new debutante was the subject of conversation everywhere. Mrs BensinghamJones took as much pride in her as though she belonged to her, which was very good of her, considering that her own daughter, with a neck like a tallow - candle, and no nose worth mentioning, was being shamefully neglected by the men, who were making a regular stampede all the evening in the direction of the new beauty. Very little was known about Miss Fitzgerald, but it was enough to be told that she was from out of town and the protfgfe of Miss Prescott. * She’ll make the match of the year, ’ said the women. * Gad, what shoulders 1’ exclaimed the men. The wondrous beauty that Prescott had discovered in Margaret when in her soiled calico gown she stood in the smoke of the saloon and sang* Shandon Bells,’was,naturally enough, intensified into an almost effulgent splendour now that she was arrayed in delicate finery and placed within an ornamental environment. Her flesh was as white as snow, her hair arranged with artistic grace, and the sculptural nobility of her figure wa>

set forth to thehighest advantage by the gown she wore. And her air was that of a young princess accepting the homage of the multitude as her proper due, but modest and gentle withal, and with no trace of plebeian arrogance. Indeed, the triumph of Margaret in her new sphere was made complete by a refinement of bearing and pro priety of utterance that were rare even at a fashionable dance. A critic of manners entering that ballroom and moving among the company must have said that the noblest born ot all, and the one of the nicest culture was the tall, lilylike Margaret, the child of the Bowery. Prescott, now that he saw the girl fairly launched into society, could hardly help feeling a sudden apprehensiveness of the possible consequences. The imposture of which he had been guilty was plain before him, and be knew that if he was discovered he would be censured by his friends, and perhaps ent as a cad. It certainly was all very irregular and reprehensible, this freakish performance of his. People would say he was insane, or worse, when they found him out, And, above all, it would disgrace his aunt, that simple, good lady who would tattoo her face to gratify a whim of Bryce’s, and who, after she once saw Margaret, agreed to share in the imposition proposed by Bryce, though not without experiencing severe qualms of conscience and grave misgivings. • Why, we shall be conferring a boon upon society, aunt,’ Bryce had said to her. ‘Do you think there could possibly be harm in giving Margaret to them ? They need her. She will glorify the neighbourhood. I would like to tell them frankly who she is, but you know how impossible that would be. There is only one way : She must be introduced as a young friend of yours from out of town.’ And Margaret was so brought forward at Mrs Bensingham Jones’ dance.

Prescott left the ballroom without speaking to Margaret. He went out into Fifth Avenue, and as he turned to walk down town his attention was attracted to the figure of a man standing under the lamplight on the corner and eyeing him with a half-eager, half frightened glare. The hard, pale face, with its thin mouth and sharp, black eyes, struck him at once as a familiar one, and he paused to take a second look at the man. As he did so, the fellow shuffled swiftly toward

him, and at closer range Prescott recognized Davenant, the young rowdy he bad punched in Fitzgerald’s saloon on his first visit there, and who had struck Margaret with the bar glass. ‘ What are you doing round here ?’ growled Prescott at him, fixing him with a savage look. • I came here ter see you. Treat me fair, and I’ll treat you fair. I’ll ferget yer blow—l want ter talk wid yer, that’s all.’ The presence of the man and his strange words irritated Prescott. He guessed at once that Davenant knew of Margaret’s presence at the dance, and he saw in him a dangerous enemy to him and his plans. * I don’t care to talk with you,’ he said. * Now go on about your business.’ • But I must tell yer sump’n about her. Yer’ve got ter hear it.’ • Nothing yon could say to me would interest me,’ rejoined Prescott. ‘ But this woula,’ snarled Davenant, and a hard, ugly look sprang into his eyes. • You’d better listen. I don’t know what your game is wid Maggie, but when I saw her wid yer lady frens I took it for granted yer wuz acting on the level wid her. Well, now, I don’t understan’ you doods, an’ perhaps it’s a regular thing ter go down inter the Bowery an’ adopt girls, but I thought yer usually wuz careful about the girl’s character.’ Prescott clutched the young rough by the lapel of his coat, and almost pulled him off the ground. * What do you mean by that, you sneak ?’ he muttered. Then Mr Davenant went spinning into the street, fol lowed by an annihilating enrse from Prescott. He picked himself up from the pavement, and, turning a baleful countenance to Prescott, hissed out all the vile names known to his vocabulary, and then, as he slunk away, muttered that he would square accounts within a very few hours. Prescott was enraged at the rough’s words relating to Margaret’s character, and with this anger there was a sudden sinking of the heart, as the realization came to him for the first time that he had never thought to question before the utter purity of the girl. ‘ Well, and what of it?’ he soliloquised ; *at all events she is no worse than a good many that are dancing there in the same room with her. I don’t care how yon look at it, she deserves the position I have put her in.’ As Prescott started down the avenue Gurzon was descending Sheriy’s steps. • Hello, Bryce, is that you ?’ he called. • I was going down to the Club to write a few letters that I want to get off to night. I say, old fellow,’ taking Prescott’s arm, •do you know society is tremendously indebted to your aunt for that beautiful Miss Fitzgerald ? Really, I never saw anything to equal her, and her dignity and tact are remarkable. When a man sees a girl like her he is apt to get serious over her prospects. Now, Bryce, you know Miss Fitzgerald can use this world as a plaything. Nothing is closed to her. It seems to me rather exciting to imagine what her record is to be. What do you think about it ?’ * What do I think about it ?’ responded Prescott, inwardly exulting at the victory he had gained over his old friend. * Why, Miss Fitzgerald will be the sensation of the season, and marry, I hope, the best fellow in the world.’ * Then she’ll marry you, Bryce,’ said Curzon. Prescott stopped short in his walk.

* Whit do you mean, Dick ?’ he said, in a half-angry tone. Curzon looked at him curiously. * Why, you’re not ent up, are you. Bryce,’ he asked, * because I want to think you the best fellow in the world ?’ •No; but your suggestion. Why, Dick’—laughing in a strained way as he realised he was displaying a wholly unaccountable irritation—* you ought to know me better. Marry her ! Why, I don’t propose to marry for ten years yet, if Ido at all. Besides, I shouldn’t know what to do with such a beauty. I should be uncomfortable with a wife that dazzled all creation.’

Then they walked on in silence, arm in arm, both gazing on the ground in front of them. They did not speak until they reached the Knickerbocker Club. Then Curzon asked Prescott if" be intended going back to the dance. ‘No,’the latter replied. * The crush there is too much for me.’

‘ Well, don’t go on another trip to the Bowery,’ laughed Curzon. •By the way, what has become of your goddess of the slums, Bryce? Is she still singing from the tops of tables to the fashionable gentry of Bleecker street ?’ Prescott forced a smile, and said nothing. * What a wild notion that was of yours, Bryce,’ went on Curzon, as they sat down and ordered whisky-and soda, * to lift that B twery girl into a higher sphere of life. I thought of it afterwards, and it struck me what a frightful thing it would be if you really could ring a girl like that in on people, and some fellow with blood in his veins and a lot of pride in his ancestry should fall in love with her and marry her. Wouldn't it be the worst trick ever played ?’ * I dou’t see it that way at all,’ said Prescott. *lf a girl is handsome, intelligent and good, what more does a man want? It would be a good job if that sort of trick could be played on some of those infernal fools in our set who are all the time marrying miserable specimens of girlhood for their money, or for position. I’m free to say that a little physical magnificence and common sense ought to be injected into the fashionable mob of this town, and to get those qualifies you’ve got to go into the by-ways.’ * Bit not into the Boweiy, my boy.’ ‘ Yes, into the Bowery, perhaps.’ * ’Pon my word, you surprise me. You’ve seen all sorts of people, Bryce, and you’re not a narrow-minded man, and yet you are allowing yourself to believe that culture and worth are incompatible conditions. Why, take the case of this lovely Miss Fitzgerald. There’s a girl who has always lived in a refined atmospheie, and has it hurt her ? Is she not a perfect type of young womanhood ? Could she possibly be more beautiful, more gentle, more sincere ? When such girls exist in your own world, Bryce, why should you look for accidental pearls among the swine?’ Prescott seemed agitated. He gulped down some whisky-and-soda, then tried to cover up his face with his handkerchief, and finally burst into a fit of uncontrollable laughter, mnch to the astonishment of his friend, who gazed at him with blank inquiry. * Pardon me, Dick,’ Prescott said at last. * I don’t know what I’m laughing at. It’s hysterics, I think.’ Curzon looked worried. He was beginning to think something was wrong with Prescott. To him the young man’s laughter was inspired by nothing at all, and it sounded insane. Then his fanatical opinions regarding society and the means of regenerating it were undoubtedly of a morbid character. What in the world had come over the fellow? he wondered. The fact that he apparently did not admire Miss Fitzgerald sufficiently to make any conversation about he- -<ls» struck Curzon as peculiar. He left Prescott and went to write his letters. The young man felt nervous, and thought a sharp walk in the cold night air would do him good. He put on his coat and passed out of the club. It was one o’clock now and the avenue was pretty well deserted. He struck uptown at a lively gait and was soon in a glow. On he went until he reached the Park, when he took the broad sidewalk that runs alongside this pleasure ground, and decided to keep on to 110th street, when he would cross to Third avenue and take the elevated road down town again. He met no one in this part of the town, not even a policeman. Presently he stopped to light a fresh cigar, and in doing so turned round to get his back to the wind. Suddenly he discovered a man advancing swiftly toward him. He looked closer, and saw the haunting face of Davenant again before him. In a paroxysm of anger he made straight for the fellow and clutched him by the throat. * You miserable little wretch,’ he said, * how dare you dog me like this?’

Davenant looked at him out of his wicked eyes and gurgled : * Let go my throat.’ Prescott shook him like a rat.

* Let go my throat, I tell you,’ gasped Davenant again. Then there was a flash, a sharp report, and as Prescott sank down with a groan Davenant, with a revolver smoking in his hand, glided across the avenue and into the gloom of a cross street.

When Prescott told the doctors in Bellevue Hospital that he had been shot while defending himself against a footpad his story was, of course, accepted without question A word from him would have sent Bill Davenant to Sing Sing, but Prescott had no intention of speaking that word. When Davenant learned from the newspapeis that his victim was alive and conscious he fully expected to be charged by him with theshooting, and he was the most astonished man in New York when he read that Prescott claimed not to know who bis assailant was,and that hedid not preserve any distinct recollection of his appearance. But he was by no means delighted even by this extraordinary conduct of Prescott, for he knew that it was done for the sole reason of shielding Margaret. Davenant was unable to make out just what method had been employed in putting Margaret up among the rich people, but he was enough of a fox to detect an irregularity, and Prescott’s silence in regard to himself showed that be did not want Margaret’s new friends to know her origin. This was a very valuable discovery to Mr Davenant, and he resolved to put it to good use at the earliest possible opportunity.

He thought it safe enough to hang about the entrance of Bellevue, and he did so each day, and on several occasions he saw Margaret in company with Miss Prescott go from her carriage into the building, but she never in any instance looked to the right or left, and to his great chagrin she apparently never knew of his presence in the neighbourhood. On the first day he had run after the carriage to the house in Washington Square, in order to learn where Mar-

garet lived, and though he loitered about for hours afterwards, she never once came to the window to look out. After vainly trying to catch her eye in this way, Davenant K repared a very grimy note as he drank his beer in one of is downtown haunts at night, and inclosing it in an envelope begged from the bar tender, he directed it to Miss Margaret Fitzgerald. The next day he went to the house in Washington Square and rang the front bell. A solemn English servant opened the door and almost overwhelmed the little rowdy with his haughty aud contemptuous stare. Davenant handed in the note and trotted down the steps. A moment later the doubtful-looking document was banded to Margaret on a silver plate. Its appearance was eloquent of its cheap and vulgar source, and Margaret, with a little smile at her own recently acquired daintiness, picked it up very gingerly and tore it open. From the pale pencil marks she finally deciphered the following : Maooik.— I no ware you liv an watdo it all mene anaway you aintgot no rite to liv dere an it aint strate you must give repli or you hav trobble i can maik wuss trobble than the odder nite an you mus taik care kum back to Bowery and we will be marrid.— Bill Davenant.

Margaret’s hand trembled as it fell with the note into her lap, and the blood left her cheeks. She had always felt humiliated by this man’s affection, and now she was almost overwhelmed with shame And she feared him now. Down there in the Bowery, where she could meet him on his own ground, face to face, she f-sit no dread of him, but now that she was in this new life he became a lurking danger, against whose treacheries she was unable to protect herself. She read the note again, and a meaning that she had not at first detected was revealed in the words : * i ean maik wuss trobble than the odder nite.’ The truth flashed over her and she started to her feet, trembling violently. *lt was he,’ she whispered. *He tried to kill Mr Prescott. Oh, the coward ! And Mr Prescott knows and will not tell. Ah, it is all a mistake, my coming here to live.

I only bring pain and danger with me. It is so wrong, so wrong. These people, he and his aunt—why should they have me, who knew this murderer, in their home ? My place is in the saloon where I was born and bred. 11 was weak, silly, selfish of nie to let them bring me here. lam a living lie, and he must despise me. And he was shot by Bill Davenant ! Ob, it is monstrous, and I am to blame foi it all. I must go back home, I must go back.’ As she strode nervously up and down the room the butler announced Curzon. Margaret composed herself as best she could and went downstairs.

* Isn’t it jolly about Bryce,’ said Curzon gaily, after greeting her. * He’ll gallop into good health now they’ve got the bullet out of him. By George, it fairly makes me boil when I think no one can find a clue to the identity of the man that shot Bryce. Think of such a dastard stalking about for new game. You know I’m not so sure that fellow was a footpad, after all.’ Margaret looked at Curzon sharply. * What makes you doubt it?’ she asked. * Oh, well, footpads are scarce, and they work in pairs as a general thing. Bryce can only say that his assailant was a small man. Well, isn’t it unreasonable to suppose that one small footpad is going to tackle a big, strapping fellow like Bryce? And what did the poor boy lose? Nothing. When the policeman found him he had his watch aud his money and his rings. Is a footpad going to leave his treasure behind him like that?’

‘ He might feel that he must hurry away after the pistol shot,’ suggested Margaret, who believed that was all that prevented Davenant from robbing his victim. * No,’ responded Curzon, * a professional would linger a few seconds if he saw that no one was in sight.’ As a matter of fact Curzon had a clearly defined theory about the shooting. He remembered leaving Prescott that night sitting over some whisky and soda in the Knickerbocker Club, and twenty minutes later he was shot just outside Central Park. What was he doing up there? Did he not go there to meet someone? And not that someone a woman ? And was not that woman the wonderful beauty of the Bowery saloon ? Here was an explanation of the whole

affair that seemed more and more reasonable to Curzon the longer he thought of it. He had it settled in his own mind that Prescott wascarrying on a serious affair with the Bowery woman. Bryce was blinded to the probable desperateuess of her character by his infatuation for her. His insane plan of introducing her into society was inspired, no doubt, by a demand made by her that this should be done. Perhaps the woman demanded marriage. They met by appointment and quarrelled. The woman’s fury overcame her and she shot her lover. It was all plain enough to Curzon What he said to Margaret was : • Bryce is an enigma to me of late. He seems filled with all sorts of strange notions. I wonder if he ever talked to you of his theory of having society adopt beautiful women from the byways. I really got worried about him a little while ago when he seriously spoke to me of introducing to his friends a magnificent creature from the Bowery, a Greek-like maid who was the daughter of a saloon keeper. It was pure madness in Bryce. 1 think when we get him out of the hospital you and I must take the boy in hand and get him interested in healthy, bright ideas. He’s been growing morbid, I’m afraid, though Pin bound to say he's the liveliest morbid individual I ever ran across.’ And so Curzon rattled on. He liked to talk about Prescott, and he liked especially to talk about him to Margaret. The emotions that had come into this good hearted, genial gentleman’s mind :in the past few weeks were many and most agitating. He saw in Margaret all the physical and mental virtues under the sun, and he never wearied of contemplating her when she was in the range ot his vision, and dreaming upon her when she was afar. And a hundred times a day he would say to himself : * Ah, what a wife she would make for Bryce ! And of course it will be so. They were made for each other.’ And he thought how happy he should be to call himself an old friend of Mr and Mrs Prescott, anil even went so far as to hear their children calling him Uncle

Dick. And then somehow a little shadow would drift across the sunshine of his thoughts, and if he was alone he began to brood over his own lonely life and advancing years, and blamed himself for wasting his youth like a selfish egotist. Margaret could not help liking Curzon, and when he called at her home or approached her out in society no one brought so bright a smile into her lovely face as he. She thought him quite the most interesting man she knew,and his graceful, manly admiration of her, his gay spirit and his sincerity, won her friendship at once. And peihaps she liked to hear him talk of Prescott. It was, at any rate, very strange how the conversation when they were together invariably drifted to that young man. After Curzon left that afternoon Margaret dressed for the street and ordered Miss Prescott’s carriage. She told the driver to take her to Bellevue. She was shown at once to the room where Prescott lay. He laid down the paper he had been reading, and both he and the nurse who sat by him looked somewhat curiously at her as she entered, Prescott tugging auxiously at his moustache till the nurse had left the room. With a sad smile she handed to him the bunch of roses that she carried, and then, as she sat iu the chair by the side of his bed, she said softly : *Mr Prescott, lamon my way down town. lam going back home to stay.’ Prescott involuntarily reached out his hand and took hers. * Nonsense, Margaret,’he said. * You mustn’t do that. What has happened ? Who has been talking to you ?’ * No one,' she replied ; * but it is wrong, it is terrible ’— this in a desperate tone—* and it will only bring shame and unhappiness on all of us. I don’t know why I ever consented to do it. Now—l am decided—aud I will return.’ A cloud came over Prescott's pale face. * It’s a little ungrateful of you,’ he said. * Ah, don’t say that,’ replied Margaret. * I'm not ungrateful. But I have thought it all over, anil—and—forgive me if I am not happy in my new life. I love it oh, it is beautiful, but I have no right to it, and that thought makes it bitter and painful. You have placed me where! am com-

pel lid obe ashamed of niy father and mother. Is that not io ilemptible in me ? And the secret cannot be kept. Yon kuow it cannot be kept, and I don't want it to be kept. I want to go home * Iler voice faltered and the tears welled into her eyes. Piescott was a little impatient. * I don’t see why you should feel this way,’ he said, after a moment. ‘Why won't you help me a little? All you have to do is to remain passive aud be admired. This may all be a crazy scheme of mine, but let it be so ; at least, now that you have started in on it for me, keep it up. You have nothing to lose.’ ‘Not even iny self-respect?’ she asked, looking up at him.

‘ Ab, well,' he replied, ‘ you must not look at the matter sentimentally. We are dealing with very unsentimental and worldly people. They ate mapirjvring all the time for far inoie iguoble gain than we. In my whole knowledge of society lieie I have t >und but one sentiment, extreme pride—pride in wealth and family name, and in nothing else. 1 have grown to detest the whole body of them, and it pleases me now to amuse inyself with them. I have taken their breath away, dizzied them—and I have done it with—’

He stopped, and she took up bis words : * You have done it,’ she said, ‘ with a girl from a Bowery saloon '

There was reproach in her tone. She was chilled by Prescott’s manner. It indicated such utter indifference to the < moti >ns that were so violently oppressing her. She was the creature of his caprice, of a caprice unrelieved by sentiment or affection, and he thought of it and of her lightly aud coldly. She had lent herself to the deceptive scheme at fir.t impetuously and confusedly. Now, in her quieter mo.tie ns the realisation of her mean position and of Prescott’s alm ist contemptuous attitude toward her struck like a knife to her head. She was unhappy, feverish, abased, and wante 1 to go back to the wretched saloon. Prescott saw the comiaetion of her brows and the yearning look in her eyes, but dil n >t understand their meaning. * Margaret, do take things more lightly,’ he broke out. ‘You are all right, I’m sure. My aunt wants you to remain with her now because she it fond of you. It is no longer any scheme so far as she is concerned. You are her protegee now, and no matter if society should find out your story they would have to take you if Aunt Louise insisted. Now, be happy. I’ve got my plans for you. You are going to be married some time to the verv best catch in New York. Perhaps we may even get an English duke for you. Why, Margaret, there is no end to the triumph that you are to have.’

Every muscle in the girl contracted, all her blood seemed to leap to her face at the last words of Prescott. He seemed to bs branding them into her brain. The humiliation that had been weighing her down before, now fairly crushed her to the earth. It was with difficulty that she kept from fainting. She rose to her feet and hastily tie I her heavy gray veil about her face to bide her emotion from Prescott, who noted her agitation, but did not guess its intensity. She stammered a few words of farewell and left the room, hurrying to her carriage and asking to be taken to Miss Prescott’s. A tumult of emotions tortured her breast. Little hard, dry sobs broke from her throat, and she held her temples with her hands as she swayed to and fro.

‘ Ah, what a fool I’ve been,’ she moaned, ‘ what a poor, miserable little fool. Il’s too hard, too hard. I was not to blame—a woman is not to blame for loving.’ She swiftly pressed her hand over her mouth to stifle the word. Then in a whisper : ‘lt is true. I love him—love him ; and lam nothing to him, nothing but a puppet. Why did he not let me alone, in the old dark life ? It was cruel, cruel.’ Epon reaching the house Margaret went immediately to her room. She had resolved to see Miss Prescott at once, and tell that lady of her purpose to return to her downtown home. She put aside her wraps, and was bathing her eyes when her maid came iu bearing a large bunch of white roses, which she placed on the dressing-table. Margaret sent the maid away, saying she would not need her at the moment. Presently she crossed to the dressing table and read the card attached to the roses. ‘Richard Curzon.’ She stood twisting the card listlessly in her fingers and contemplating the Howers. A strange light came into her eyes ; the colour faded slowly from her face, and she turned and looked at herself in the glass. As she gazed at her reflection a change passed over her. Her lips became set, her nostrils dilated and she clenched her fists viciously. For a moment she stood thus, and then her features and her form relaxed. She broke a rose from the bunch on the table and fastened it at her throat. And then, looking back at her image, she smiled, and murmured softly : ‘ I’ll not go home—not yet.’ (TO BE CONTINUED.)