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mm AND ARMS
By HUGH CONWAY.
Axttlur of "Called Back." "Dark Dayt,"
"A Fam?y Affair," Etc.
"that it should come to this."
We reached town on tLe Monday night
and slept at an hotel. Thursday morning
we were to start for the continent. Besides
the interview with Eustace Grant 'here
were many business matters to which I was
bound to attend. I bad to see my own solic
itor, and give him instructions about the
settlement which I wished to make on
Viola. I had also to make my will, a
matter which until now I had neglected; so
that the Tuesday and "Wednesday rromised
to be iully occupied. Viola also v jtd.cd to
pay a visit to her old friend, Miss Rossifcer.
The prim spinster ? ould never forg.ve her
if she passed through town without calling.
She did not press me to accompany her.
Perhapc, in the present changed and unex
pected state of affairs, she had much to
say to ber old friend which could not well
be said in my presence.
So I suggested she should go alone to her
old norm, spend an hour with her* friend
and meet me at Mr. Monk's at 12 o'clock.
In the mean times I would go to my own
solicitor's and arrange my business, the
purport of which I did not make known to
my wife. I hired a private brougham for
ber. placed her in it and stood at the win
dow saying adieu. It was the first time
since our marriage that we had been partol
for an hour. It was, moreover, her twenty
first birthday, and on her hand was a ring
which I had just given her?a ring the
value of which had startled her, for she had
not yet realised what it was to bo a rich
It teas the first time we had parted for an
As I wishad her g-iod-by I remembered
that my own busiuess would take some time.
' **If I am not very punctual, ycu won't mind
waitingr' I raid.
"No, I stall like it. Eustace will bo
there, and I have so much to say to him?
so much to ask him Don't hurry. Julian."
Ifanciei that Viola wished to sea Eus
tace Grant alone, if possible, in order to
persuade him, a? she had tried to persuade
that we ha I only to know more of each
to be like brothers. She could not
stand che gulf between two men who
rthe same woman. I thought it was
?be should see him. He, would make
I to harr- the ^impossibility of any thin;:
i friendship existing between us. Just
"as i was about to bid llio coachman drive
off Viola looked at mo with a little pout. I
knew its meaninp. I passed my head
through the carriage window. My shoul
ders insured strict privacy. Then a light
kiss fell upon my lips, aui a word of love
passed between us. I Imger on these- trivial
evidences of affection. It will soon be seen
I watched the carriago which held all I
loved join in in the broad stream of traffic.
Then I lighted my cigar, and, the happiest
man in England, walked over to my solic
My business took even longer than I ex
pected it would. There was miich to dis
cuss. Whafcstock could be settled as it stood
?what fchocid be sol I out?who wore to be '
trusteei?what was tojdiappen in the event
of Viola's death: was she to have power of
appointment or not? All sort; of questions
like this had to be ventilated. The conse
quence was that when I glanced at my
watch I foend it was nearly 1 o'clock. I
told my solicitor I must defer giving in
structions for my will until to-morrow. I
jumped into a cab and drove to Lincoln's
Inn Fields, No. 86, rendy to make the full
est apologies for my unpanctuality.
I went up stairs, found Mr. Monk's office,
and sent my name in to him by his clerk, 1
was invited to eater h - private room. Mr.
Monk was busy with mo papers.
"You will find yo ; friends in the nest
room, Mr. Loraine," he said. "I will join
you in a moment."
The clerk opened a gi*een baize door,
through which I passed, and found myself
in another office. In it, however, were r.o
signs of Viola and Grant I returned to
Mr. Monlr^ and told him they were not
"Then they must have grown tired of
waiting for you, and have gone for a strolL
There is a door which opens into the pa*
8aget No doubt they went that way. You
must sit down and take your turn at wait
ing, Mr. Lcraine."
1 waited half an hour, then determined to
go in search of them It was impossible
they had gone to look for me; so I went
down into the street and asked the driver
ot the brougham if he had reen the lady.
"Yes, sir; she went by about an hour
ago with a tall gentleman."
"I don't know, sir. 1 saw them hail a cab
and drive off. I didn't notice in which di
rection they went"
"Why in the world should they have taken
a cab, when the brougham was at the door?
I was very cross at the thought of Viola's
driving about London in a cab with Eustace
Grant; but, as the brougham was still wait
ing at No, 36, it was clear that they meant
to return. After all, the best thiug I could
do was to wait. As yet, not a thought of
the truth had ventured to invade my brain.
So I waited on the pavement outside Mr.
Monk's ofiice for at least an hour longer.
Still no sign of my wife. I grew norvous
and anxious. Surely some accident must
have happened?something that obliged her
to go straight to the hotel. But even then
Grant would have coma to let me know it
Still not a thought of the dreadful truth!
But whore could she be?
I jumped into the brc ugiium, and drove to
the hotel. No; Mrs. Loraine was not there
1 drovo to Miss Rossiter's. Viola had
been there in the morning, but had left
about 11:30 o'clock. I did not see Miss Ros
siter, who, I was sorry to boar, was ill in
bed. As a last resource, I drove to Grant's
house and asked for him. He was out
Had not been homo since the morning.
Quite uncertain when he would return.
; was now past 3 o'clock. Anxious and
I could do nothing but go back to
el and wait my wife's return. Still
ought of the truth,
nt thorost of the afternoon and eraa
ing passing from the hotel ? Miss EossitePs,
from there to Grant's lodgings, and from
Grant's lodgings back to the hotel Only
at one of these three places could I hope to
find tidings of "Viola. R-ipeatedly ns I had
called, it was not until nearly 11 o'clock
that I found Eustace Grant at home
But by now I was in a different mooX
ghall I be blamed for saying that this U>ug
an! uno?p'aine i absence of Viola's in com
pany, itsa.'UK: !, with Grant, brought a hor
rible dread which I scarcely dared to
breathe to mysilif Tiic news that Graut
was at last ut home lifted a weight from my
heart He would bi able to tell me when
and where ho part3l with Viola No doubt
ho ba 1 a message f < r me which would clear
up ev rything.
But aith ?ugh Mr. Grant was at home,
the servant informed mo that ho would S3e
no one to-night I made no comment on
this denial. I Bimply forc:d the door open,
and, putti ig the frig'dencl servant aside,
strode through the hall and entered the
sitting room in which Grant had, on tho
night when I first met him, interrogate!
me. It was empty. I threw myself into
a chair, and waited until some one made
my presence known to the man whom I was
bent upon s.-eiug.
No doubt he heard thenoiseof my forcible
entrance. In a minute the folding door,
which, as Is often the case in lodgings,
divided tho sitting-room from the be 1-room,
opened, and Eustace Grunt appearsd As
he diu so I caught a glimpse of tho bed
room from which ho emerged. An open
portmanteau, apparently half packed, was
lying on the bed, and thjre were other evi
deuces of preparation fcr a journey.
Grant advanced toward me, but ho made
no pretense of greeting me. He neither
offered his han I nor bad ) me good evening.
I rose and facod him.
He was pale, almost ghastly polo. His
brows were bent, and a (light twitch of the
nostril told me he was suffering from somo
great, though suppress.'!, emotion. . He
looked at me haughtily and angrily; but
whatsoever he had wherewith to reproach
himself, there was neither fear nor triumph
in his gnz\ 1 looked at htm and wondered
but I felt certain that he knew all about
Still, as thatabs3:ice might even now be
satisfactorily explainoi, I .resolved that I
would not, by evincing pr?mature distrust
or suspicion, 1st this maci triumph over me
So I spoke with forced composure:
"Mr. Grant, I have missed my wife
somewhere. Can you give mo tidings of
"I cannot," he replied, coldly.
"Where did you part with her? You left
Mr. Monk's with her in a cab. Where did
you leave her?"
"I cannot tell you, Mr. Loraine."
"Do you mean that you are ignorant of
"You have had my answer."
*dy blood boilol. "You mean you will
not, dare not tell me, you utter villain I" I
cried. "I will know, or I will kdl you!"
Th) table was between us, or I should
have sprung at his throat.
"I care nothing for your threats, Mr. Lo
raine," he siid, with galling contempt
"Wherever Mrs. Loraine may be, sbo is
there of her own free choico."
"Siic is here?in this house with ycul" 1
"Look for her?senrc'i everf cuploard
and cranny. I will ring; you shall bo con
ducted over the wholo building. Make it
public property that you are a j?alou'i hus
band looking for a faithless wife. No; that
shall not be done, for her 6ako. Wherever
she is, she is not here."
He spoke as if expecting me to boliovo
him. Strange to say, I did balicve him The
thought that bis nous-1 would be'the last
place in which he would hide Viola from
my search, no doubt conduced to this bo
liof. Bus now I could no longer doubt tho
horrible truth. This man, by some develish
craft, had torn my wife from me?had
takon away tho woman who, a few hours
ago, pressed a Judas' kiss on my lips, even
as she was going to m?>t her lover.
Stay! perhaps he lud killed her. Such
things have boon done before now by men
who fail to win the woman they love. Per
haps he had decoyed her away, and was de
taining her against her w?l Even now
she might bo longing for me to come and
All these thoughts whirled through my
brain,, and for a momont unmanned me. I
sank upon a chair, cold and trembling in
every limb. Grant stood like a statue.until
I recovered myself.
"You villain!" I gasped. "I will know?
I will see her! Tell ma where she is!*'
He leaned forward. Ho looked at mo
"Listen!'' he said, in a fierce voice. "In
this room I said to you, Tako bor, and
make her happy.' Have you done soP
I laughed wildly. Tf being willing to
shed ono's blooi for her can make a false
woman happy, she should have bsen happy.
Doos she expect to find bliss in a life of
shame with you?"
Hisoyes blazod. "You had better- go!"
ho said. "Go at once!"
I lttughoj mockingly. Now that I had
lost all hope; now that my one desire was
vengeance I could speak calmly.
"I shall stay Here," I said, "until you
leavo to join her. I shall follow and be
with you. Suroly a bridegroom car claim
the right of bidding his bride Got!speed!
Here 1 stay."
For reply Grant rang the bell "Leavo
the front door and this door wide open,"
he said to tho servant; "then go out of tho
Ho came toward me. I started to my
feet and struck fair and full at his white,
set face. Ho parried thj fierce blow, and
in a moment his arms were around me.
Although physical strength is an accident,
or ut tho most an inheritance, no mau likes
to confess that another is immeasurably his
superior in muscular power. S > it Ls with
feelings of keen annoyance that I am obliged
/to relate the result of that hand-to-hand
struggle. I was strong, and bad measured
my strength with many, but never with
such a man ns this. The moment wo closed
I felt that I should be conquered; tbet right
doos not always gain the victory. Grant's
arms were like bars of iron, the girth of his
chest almost abnormal; moreover, h>5 stood
two inches taller than I did. Had I been
told that any man could have lifted me
from my fe*t carried me through two open
doors, and finally thrown me staggering
into the center of tho roadway. I should
havo laughed tho idea to scorn. But Eus
tace Grant did all this, and shut and bolted
the outer door before I could recover my
Mad with the rage of defeat, I grasped
the railings and panted for breath. Icursel
Eustace Grant. I cursed my faithless wife.
I cursed myself and my impotence. Such
was my state that could I have obtaino i a
pistol, I would have waited on that door
step and shot the man who hail betrayed
me, as soon as ho emerged from his place of
safety?shot him dead without compunc
tion. Nor was my :nind any way soothed
by hearing the window thrown up, and see
ing my hat tossed oat contemptuously. I
was fain to stoop and pick it up, in order to
save myself from Incoming an object of
curiosity to passcrsby.
What was I to do? My mind at present
sould only grasp ono fact?that Grant had,
by some diabolical means, induced Viola to
leave mo and givo herself to him. For a
while my course seemed limited to one
issue: I must wait hero, outside bis house,
until at last he cam? forth. Then I must
dog his footsteps until they led me to the
feithless woman who had ruined my life
aud brought me to shame. I groaned at the
thought of what little more than twelve
houri had done. This morning I was the
happiest man in England; to-night I was
the most miserablel
So, for hours I walked up and down in
front of the house which bald the traitor.
I saw the light extinguisho 1. Once or
twice I saw the blind drawn. aside, and
guessed that Grant was looking out to see if
I had left my post. No, you traitor 1 you
villain I X am still there, and shall be thjre
until you came out. Then I will dog you to
the bitter end.
The hours went by, the dawn began to
break. Still?an object of curiosity, if not
suspicion, to the policeman?I kept my
post, and should have kept it for hours
longer, had it not all at once occurred to
me that so long as I was there so long would
Grant remain where he was. I must meet
craft with craft. Nevertheless, I must
perforce keep watch until I could find some
one to n'hem the task might be deputed.
At 7 o'clock I was able to gain admission
to an old-fashioned family and commerc al
inn which stood some short distance off.
Tho bay window of the coffee room com
manded a view of Grant's house. Here I
seated myself, and, having obtained a Lon
don directory, wrote and dispatched a letter
to a well-known private detective, request
ing that a clever, trustworthy man might
at once be rent to me Then, from the win
dow ot the hotel, I resumed my watch.
At 9 o'clock the man whom I had sum
moned arrived I told him what to do. He
was to wait until be saw Grant depart; He
was to follow him, and, having ascertained
his destination, was to telegraph to mo at
once. Then I loft the accursed spot, went
back to my hotel, and tried to sleep.
Ar I eDtered the room which Viola and I
had occupied I could almost persuade my
self that I had dreamed the events of the
last twenty-four hours. All her personal
effects were as she left them; her gloves,
her brushes, her toilet indispensables were
all there. Even her watch she hal left
behind her. She broke the spring at the
seaside, and there was no time to get it re
paired before wo started for the continent;
besides, I bad intended buying her a new
one in Paris. To-morrow?yes, to-morrow
would be Thursday?to-morrow we had
proposed crossing to France. HeavensI
what did it all mean?
Sleep, with my mind in this whirl, was
unattainable. Later in the day, more for
something to dothan in pursuance of any
hope, I went to Viola's old home nnd asked
if she had been there to-day. No, not pinco
yesterday morning. This the servant rather
wondered at, as Miss Rossiter war, very ill;
two doctors were with her now.
In my present frame of mind I cared
nothing for the old lady's illness; but I
knew that the motive which kept Viola
from her side when suffering must be a
6trong one. Yet, little a woman who
could leave her husband, as she had left
me, would reck for the ailments of a friend!
Curves on her false, fair facel
The hours passed somehow. At 3 o'clock
a telegraphic message was brought me. I
tore it open. It was sent froui Folkestone,
aud ran so:
"Followed him here. He left by Bou
logne boat "Was joined on pier by lady.
Tall, closely veiled, fair hair. Wore costly
ring cf diamonds. Seemed ill and upset.
Did not follow to France, having no in
structions to leave England."
The last the very last hope was gonj!
Viola and Eustace Grant had fl Sd together! I
ground niy teeth. I bit my lip; mitii the
blood came. I cursed 'the dotoetlee's
stupidity at not having followed them, if
needs be, half over th> world. Surel.' I hud
Riven the fool ample instruction-! For the
luture, I would trust no one but myself. 1
throw a few things into a portmanteau; I
rang for a time table. Was there a train I
could catch?was there a ste?t'w' which'
crossed to-night? Perhaps, at B.u'"guc, I
might get once more on the track of the
But before I had solved the doubt ntx/ut
trains and steamers, I had changed my
mind. Why should I follow.' JL.'t them go,
and my curse go with them. 1 will not take,
at present, one step iu rursuit I will have
vengeance, but vengeance by wailing will
be the more complete. S^e! she must love
this man madly, even as I loved her, or she
would not have done this thing. He, too,
must love her. Let my silence, my quiet
ness, lull them into false security. Let
them dream their dream of happiness, even
as I dreamed mine, Thon I will find them
and strike! For I swore that sooner or later,
by fair means or foul, Eustace Grant should
die by my hand!
I hate the task of describing what manner
of lifo I led during the next two years. I
hate tho memory of everythitrg connected
with that time. I wish it could be blotted
out from my mind. Two years which hold
no action, no thought of my own to which
I can look back with any pleasure. I must
writo of that wretched time, but I w ill make
its record ns short as possible
Nevertheless, I will 1? candid, and show
myself in as bad a light as truth compels.
I do not seek to excuse myself by saying
that many another in my place would have
acted as I acted. I hope there are few in
the world who have passed through such
grief and shame as mine.
At first without for a moment losing
sight of the vengeance which I meant to
take on tho traitor, Eustace Grant, I set
myself the task of forgetting tho false
woman who had fled Irom my side. I
vowed I would destroy the love I bore her,
and learn to look upon her with scorn and
contempt, as the basest of her sex. If the
thought of suing for a divorce entered my
hend I banished it at once. I cared not to
resume my freedom. So long as I was
bound t.i out- woman there was up chance of
my being cajoled and deceived by another,
if ever I could bo fool enough to love and
trust another woman as I hod loved and
Besides, I shrank from the exposure; I
shrank from the thought of being made a
public laughing stock, asamau whose wife
left him a fortnight after her marriage.
No; I would teach myself to scorn, loathe,
forget her?that was aid.
But how to forget? If I cursed her by day
I dreamed of her by night Then she came
tome, sweet and pure as I thought heron
the day when I made her my wife. I saw
her soft eyes, her graceful form: I hoard her
fresh young loving voice, and in my drecrna
was happy, for I could never dream evil of
her. But again and again, when I awoke,
and remembered w hat she now was, I sobb d
as few strong men permit the nisei ve.< to
sob, and then only in the dead of night,
when none can hear or see them.
I would forget! I swore I would forget!
So, ill search of forgetfulness, I plunged
into a whirl of fierce dissipation. I became
to all appearance ihe most reckless ot a
reckless set I gambled for large sum-. I
lost or won thou-nnds at a sitting; yet only
proved to myself that I was as indifferent
to money as 1 was to everything else save
the loss of Viola. Curiously enough. "I did
not ruiu myself at tho gambit; tui.le. On
the whole, I won largely, and co constantly
that my luck became a byword. My luck!
I smiled bitterly as men spoke of me as
I triod in every way to force the memory
of Viola from my mind. For a while?I
blush to say so?I drank to excess; perhaps
I hope I to kill m v.-elL In these and other
unworthy ways I passel half the year.
Then came the reaction?the loathing of
self?the disgust of the life I was leading.
I sickened , at the sight of my boon com
panions. Everything was weariness; noth
ing brought tho flush of excitement to my
cheek or carried mo for a moment away
from my grief. Suddenly I turned my
back upon all my pursuits. I went down
to Herstal Abbey, which was now at my
disposal, and, with as supreme a contempt
for mankind as evor my predecessor felt, I
buried myself even as he had done.
And people around said that eccen
tricity ran in families, and that young
Mr. Loraino was following in his father's
But why during these months had I not
sought the excitement of revenging myself
upon the man who had wronged mi! Why
had I not kept my vow of killing him when
his dream of joy was at its height? Simply
because I knew not where to look for Lim.
He and his no less guilty companion had
left no trace behind them?no clew that
might be followed until it brought mo face
to face with them. I had made inquiries,
and inquiries were still being made on my
behalf; but as yet I had not discover* 1
Grant's hiding place. He seemed to be a
man with, so far as I could ascertain, no
friends or connections. Miss Rossiter, with
whpm it is possible he or Viola might have
corresponded, died two days after tho elope
ment. . Her brother I found, but ho could
give me no intelligence. Mr. Monk, the so
licitor, acting, he said, on instructions, re
fused to give me any. So I could do noth
ing but grind my teeth and long for the
hour when my path might once more cross
Eustace Grant1 a I was fatalist enough to
believe that, sooner or later, this must hap
I lived on in the dreary solitude of Her
stal Abbey. Each day found me more
cynical and misanthropical; but each day
I renewed my vow of vengeance. Its ac~
complishmont was the only thing in lifo to
which I could look forward. When Grant
lay dead at my feet, life for me would be at
an end. So the months passed. If tho orig
inal Julian Lor-tine could have seen me as I
sat hour after hour brooding In his chair,
ho would have thought tho son of his adop
tion well worthy of his choice.
So the long months passed. Spring, sum
mer, autumn, winter camo and went, mak
I ing little difference to me. Once or twice 1
forced myself to quit my seclusion and pay
a visit to London or Paris in the nope of
finding distraction and forgetfulness. My
efforts availed nothing, and I returned to
my home more moody and miserable than
when I left it
I had, for tho sake of occupation, per
formed a task until now postponed.
I went through my reputed father's letters
and private papers. I found nothing that
in any way bore upon myself, except a
written account of the shipwreck and my
birth on the barren roc'.:. It was signed by
the narrator. Although tho existence of
this paper made no difference to me, I put
it away under lock and key. Yet for all I
' I put it away ?nder lock and key.
cared, the whole world might know that
Julian Loraino was not my father. Such
trivial things as accidents of birth were
now matte? of indifference to me.
Tho other papers I burned. I did not read
one-half of them. They clearly showed
what manner of man was Julian Loraine
before ho bought Herstal Abbey and settled
down to the lifo of a recluse. My life, I
told myself, was spoiled?spoiled by a
woiran's treachery 1 And yot I could not
bring myself to hate her. No?let the truth
be known?I loved her even now?loved her,
although she was living in shame with my
enamy. I hungered, I craved for a sight of
her face. The touch of her hand would
have thrilled mo ?s of old. Although I told
myself that were she at my feet praying for
pardon, I would spurn her and cast her
fromme, I knew that I lied. I knew that
if Viola came to me?if my eyes once more
met hers?I should throw all manhood's
prido to tho winds, and?such was tho
strength of my passion?tako this faithless
woman to my heart and hold nor there un
til, as I told myself bitterly, somo fresh
lover robbed mo again.
Such being my true feeliug, picture my
emotion when, ono morning. Ifound a letter
lying on my table?a letter addressed to nie
in Viola's handwriting! I tore itopen with
a cry of delight; I pressed it to my lips.
Had not her fingers touched it? Then I
rend. It was but one line:
"If you knew all, you might forgive."
"If I knew all!" What more was there
to know? I knew that she ho/1 left me
without a word or a sign of warning; that
she had fled, accompanied by a man who
had loved her passionately long befuro I
ever set eyes upon her; that they ware,
somewhere or other, hidden from pursuit.
Heaven! what more could I wish to know.
"Forgive!" Yes?shamo on my weakness
for say ing so?I could forgive. I could do
more; I could persuade mysolf that this
strong-willed man had forced her to fly with
him, perhaps half against her wish. I could
behove that she was unhappy, that she was
penitent, that she loved me still. I could do
mope than forgive, I could take her?I
should be force! to take her?again to my
heart; even to trust her, and be proud of
her glorious beauty. Yes, I could do tt.is
?after I hai s-een Eustace Grant lying life
less at my Let. Weak as I was, it could
not 1? untU then!
Where was he? Where was she? Were
they together? I turned again to the etter.
It gave me no information as to the writer's
whereabout;. The paper and the envelope
were plain; the latter bore the London
postmark. It was creased, which told nie it
hid been sent under cover tp bo posted in
London. Sent to whom.' The receipt of
this scrap of paper worked a great change
in me. If I had ever been approaching that
I state in which a man accepts tho inevitable,
I it lifted me out of it
i It spurred me on to make fresh exertions
I to discover the retreat of the fugitives.
I That letter?the letter written by her?I
j carried next my heart dny and night
I False as my wife had been to me, I lov ;d
her; and there wore times when I recalled
her sweet face, an 1 marveled how evil
could have lurked boneath such a mask.
I left Herstal Abbey nnd took up my
quarters in town. There I should be ready
to start on the moment I heard where
Giant was to be fouuJ. But, somehow, l|
was beginning to think that our meeting
would bo brought about by pure chance.
London is tho place where all chance meet
ings occur. There are few Englishmen who i
do not visit the capital, either at shorter or I
longer intervals. Something must bring i
Grant there; so I waited and hoped.
Chance, pure chance, brought about
what I longed for, but not in the way I ex
pected. Idid not stumble across my foe in
the street; I did not hear a chance mention
of his name and so hit upon some cue >vho
knew him. I found Eustace Grant iu this
This year a book, which at ones took the :
public's fancy immensely, made its appear
ance. It was but a novel, yet a wprk the
depth and research of which, combined
with its pathos and humor, arrested all
readers' attention. People were curious to
know who was the author. The title page
bore one of those names which strike every
ono a* being a nom do plume. Perhaps the
book was net the less read because a certain
aniruil of mystery was kept upas to who
bad really written it
Sometimes, not often, since that crushing
blow had ;al len upon me, I read what hap
pened to come in my way. This particular
book was one which came in my way. I I
began to read it, and am bound to say that
the opening chapters were writteu by so
masterly a hand that I at once experienced
MOM thing of the general interest which the
tale bad called forth. But before I had j
read it hmf through, my interest and ex- I
citement wore such as no author has by his 1
merits ever awakened in any reader. I
gave a fierce cry of triumph. I threw the
book from me as if it were a reptile I bad
found Eustace Grant I
For one chapter of that book contained
an account of the hero's journeying through
a part of Switzerland, and the account was
the same as Grant bad given his auditors
on tho night when I first met him, and
hated and mistrusted him Several of the
most'amusing and out-of-the-way incidents
which he then related, and which were
sufficiently droll and strange to impress
themselves on my memory, were in these
pages once more narrated. Eustaco Grant
was tho author of the successful book. I !
thanked my memory, which had in a second 1
brought his adventures back to my mind;
and memory brought back more than this.
It brought back Viola, listening with
smiles on her face to her guardian's (as she
called him) amusing recital. It brought
back the days when I wooed her; the day
when I told her my love; the day when she
was mine, as I thought, forever; the day,
the black day, when she fie l?-when for
hours and hours I waited and would not be
hove the truth. It brought hack the last
two wretched years of my life. It brought
back all of which Eustace Grant had
robbed me, and I laughed the laugh of a
devil when I thought the time was at haud
when ho should pay me for his act
I trod bis book under my foot. Hypo
crite, who could write of honor, virtue and
truth, yet act as he had acted 1 Well, his
time has come at lastl
But now to f"nd him?to know where I
must go, to stand face to face with him!
The next morning I called on tho publish
ers of tho boot I told them I had reason
for lwlieving that its author was an old
friend of mine. "Would they tell me his
They could not They believed ho wrote
under a pseudonym; but they knew him by
no other. I asked if tbey could show mo a
letter of his. Certainly. A letter was
bandod inc. I placed it side by side with
the letter which Grant had written me just
before my marriage, and which I had for
tunately preserved. I compared the hand
writing; then returned tho author's letter
to tho publishers.
??Thank you," I said. "I find I am mis
taken. My friend is not such a fortunate
man as I hoped to find him." Thon I went
my way. Mistaken! No,'I was not mis
taken ; but I feared lest, in writing to Grant,
his publishers might mention tho fact of
my having made these inquirios. No; every
doubt was now sot at rest The t.\o letters,
were written by tho same- man?written by
Eustaco Grant. As .Hooked at tho second
letter, I had impressed the address upon
my memory. It was dated from St. Seurin,
a place which, upon inquiry, I found was
little moro than a fishing village on the west
coast of Brittany.
Thoy had not fled very far thenl Tho
nearer the better I Every hour which must
pass before Eustace Grant and I meet will
be grudged by me. In forty-eight hours
wo'mar be face to face!
That evening I left London. My prepar
ations for the journey were soon made.
Among them was included tho purchas-3 of
a pair of double-barreled breech-ioading
pistols, which carried heavy bullets and
were warranted to shoot straight as a line.
I had already learned that in a hand to hand
struggle my foe was my superior. I laughed
as my fingers closed lovingly on the han
dle of the weapon which placed ns on an
So I started to end Eustace Grant's
dream as suddenly as he had ended mine!
TO 1JE CONTINUED.
1 will now devote my entire at
With an experience of ten
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call for "SOHENTRUE'S
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Remember that "FAIR
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and BEST QUALITY is my
Motto, and don't forget that
whatever you may need In the
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will be sure to get it at
Headquarters for Lamps,
rpiIKEE TIIOROUIIBRED JER
JL sey Bull Calves.
One Thoroughbred Jersey Heifer Calf.
One Grade Jersey Cow, two weeks in
milk, with or without Calf.
One Thoroughbred Registered Jersey
Bull 22 mouths old.
Two Registered Ayrcshirc Heifers.
All of the above Cattle are of excellent
strain and will be sold cheap.
K. N. CIIISOLM,
Maivh 18 Rowesville, s. C.
ADIAL LATHKOl'. V. M. WANNA MA Kllll.
Orangebiirg, S. C. St. Matthews, S. C.
j ATIIROP& WAXXAMAKKK.
ATTORNEYS AT LAW.
Okangeuukg, s. c.
Office Up Stairs Over the Postollice.
AS THE SEASON IS NEAR AT
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GENT'S, YOUTH'S AND BOY'S
Our trade in
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For Ladies was never better. Every pair
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