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This text has been proofread but is not guaranteed to be free from errors. Corrections to the original text have been left in place.
Title: All For Love of a Fair Face or A Broken Betrayal, an electronic edition
Author: Libbey, Laura Jean, 1862-1924
Publisher: George Munro's Sons
Place published: New York
Date: 1885
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 ALL FOR LOVE OF A FAIR FACE OR,  A BROKEN BETROTHAL BY  LAURA JEAN LIBBEY. COPYRIGHT, 1885, BY GEORGE MUNRO NEW YORK: GEORGE MUNRO'S SONS, PUBLISHERS.17 TO 27 VANDEWATER STREET. Advert at the front of Libbey's "All For Love of Fair Face or A Broken Betrayal" ALL FOR LOVE OF A FAIR FACE.
CHAPTER ILove steals into every heart
Some time in life; it is the will of Heaven.  Shelley.IT was seven o'clock on a warm June evening. The shadows of early twilight were just beginning to gather over the hills and vales of southern Maryland as the shriek of the evening express train which had been due at the station of Dunwold
some twenty minutes previous sounded shrilly in the distance.A young and lovely girl paced impatiently to and fro on the platform, keeping well in the shadow of the building, casting anxious glances in the direction of the on-coming train, then back fearfully at a large stone building standing like a grim sentinel on the brow of an adjacent hill.Another moment and the panting train had dashed up to the station.With a little glad cry and another fearful glance at the stone With a little glad cry and another fearful glance at the stone house on the hill, the young girl sprung swiftly up the steps and stood timidly in the door of the car.Several young gentlemen, who had settled resolutely back in their seats and turned their heads and stared out of the window when a fleshy old lady entered the railway car a station below, took but a single glance at the slender girl in the doorway, dressed in a natty suit of navy-blue trimmed with white braid, and at the pretty, dimpled face half shaded by the sailor hat that was crushed down over her brown curls, and immediately each young fellow spring to his feet with a flush, a smile, and a bow to proffer the pretty young stranger his seat.No-less than five of them! No wonder the young girl was slightly embarrassed and bewildered.The train gave a sudden lurch forward, and she took the seat nearest her, with a very demure "Thank you, sir," and a drooping of the white lids over her brown eyes. Placing her luggage in the rack overhead, he took the unoccupied seat beside her, mentally wondering who she was, where she was going, and why such a pretty young girl was permitted to travel alone, and at night.Meanwhile the train rushed on through the fast-gathering darkness, and as the lights from the large stone house on the hill vanished from the her sight, the young girl hid her pretty face in her handkerchief, and the slender form shook with emotion like a quivering leaf in a gale.A thrill of intense pity stirred the heart of the young man seated beside her. His fair, handsome face flushed, Ah, if he could but do something--say something to comfort her!In his great sympathy, his eager curiosity to know the cause of her grief, and his impulsiveness, he threw prudence to the winds."You are in trouble," he said, kindly. "can I, a stranger, help you in any way?"He was amazed at the face she raised from the folds of the snowy handerkerchief; it was fairly convulsed with laughter, and the merry brown eyes were sparkling with suppressed mirth.She saw the look of wonder and astonished in the handsome  face turned toward her, and again the brown curly head and sailor hat were half hidden in the folds of the snowy handkerchief with a burst of laughter."You must excuse me, sir," she faltered, at length, blushing as red as a rose, "I am sorry that I disturbed you, but it was very funny I--I could not keep from  laughing; indeed, I could not keep from laughing; indeed, I could not though I tried my best."He looked down into her face, and saw that she could not be over sixteen or seventeen years of age at most. And he judged, too, that she was a school-girl, from the two books, English Grammar and history, she held tightly ,clasped in her little, slim white hands.Of course he was more than anxious to know What it was that amused her so. Her answer had piqued his curiosity; but he was too thorough a gentleman to venture to inquire.Perhaps she read the question in his eyes, for she went on, with all the thoughtlessness of a school-girl:"As the train moved out from the station at Dunwold, I saw lights flashing hurriedly from room to room in the large stone house on the brow of the hill; then I knew that my flight had been discovered. It's a boarding-school. They would not let me come home to spend the vacation, but I would not 
 
stay at the school"--this with a defiant toss of the brown curls and the roguish dimples deepening in the rose-pink cheeks--" so I ran away. I'm going home to take them by surprise. I can imagine the terrible anger and consternation on the
principal's face as those lights flashed from window to window. I knew she was searching for me, and I safely whirling away beyond her reach, so I couldn't help laughing, it was so very funny," she added, apologetically. And, as though the
explanation quite excused her mirth, without waiting for his reply she turned resolutely toward the window and stared for an hour or more in utter silence.This, evidently, did not quite suit the young gentleman beside her."What a pity it is that I'm going only as far as Allendale," he said to himself, regretfully. "If she were not going much further, I might see her safely to the end of her journey--she would never know." And again the thought occurred to him that she was decidedly too young and pretty, and by far too innocent, to be traveling at night alone."Are you going much further?" he asked, at length.The young girl started and turned around."I'm going to Allendale," she said.He could scarcely repress a start of pleased surprise."Allendale!" he repeated; "why, that is just where I am going. I have not been there for a year or more." He longed , to make certain inquiries, but prudence restrained him. "She would not know them," he argued with himself. Yet he asked, abruptly, "In what part of the village do you reside, may I ask--in the valley, or on the hill? I used to live there, but I do not remember having met you there.Her answer literally took his breath away."My home is at Strathmore Hall, on the hill," she answered, " and the reason that you have not seen me is, 1 suppose, because 1 have not lived there for many months." He was listening with an intensely interested face, and she went on, heedlessly: "Major Strathmore, the master of Strathmore Hall, has been my guardian ever since I can remember. He sent me to school at Dunwold, and I have passed all my vacations with my aunt, who lives near Dunwold. Last year she died, so I had nowhere else to go when vacation came, unless I went to Strathmore Hall. My guardian wrote me I was to remain at the school this vacation, but I would not do it. I wanted to come home and see the fire-works on the Fourth. The housekeeper says they are glorious," she continued, enthusiastically. "They are on a grand scale for two reasons--

one is to celebrate the fourth, of course, and the other is because it is the birthday of the major's son, poor Harry Strathmore.""Why do you say 'poor Harry Strathmore'?" asked the young man, flushing hotly, then turning a shade paler."If you live in Allendale you ought to know why," returned the girl. Then with a glance of curiosity she asked: "Do you know Mr. Harry Strathmore, sir?""Better, perhaps, than any one else," he answered, with a touch of bitterness in his voice. " Yet why do you speak of him as poor Harry Strathmore'?" he demanded , somewhat haughtily, his fine, keen blue eyes flashing."Because I feel very sorry for him," returned the girl, slowly. "I cried when they told me the story how his father sent for him the evening after he returned home from college, how the major stormed and raged at something he had done, and, vowing he should never forgive him, turned him out of the house.""Do you know --did you learn what the quarrel was about? Did Major Strathmore ever say anything to you about it?" asked the young man, with intense interest.She shook her head. "He will not speak about his son," she said. "His cousin, Miss Violet Kensington, has been at the Hall a long time, trying to win the major's forgiveness for his son, but his heart is like marble; he harshly forbade her to mention the name 'Harry Strathmore' in his house under pain of banishment."The young man sighed heavily, then his fine blue eyes lighted up again with a sudden thought."Major Strathmore's heart can not be altogether hardened against his son. You say he still continues to celebrate his birthday?"The young girl laughed. "As Mr. Harry is on the fourth of July, the old gentleman declares that is the national celebration he is honoring, and that not a rocket should go up or a salute  be fired in honor of the son who dared defy him, There is a terrible secret and a dark mystery connected with poor Mr. Harry."Again the young man's face paled, and the hope died out of his blue eyes; for a moment he was silent, then he turned his fair, handsome face toward her."I hope you will not think me impertinent if I inquire your name," he said, with a winning smile; "and, as this poor Mr. Harry's friend, to thank you for speaking so kindly of such a scapegrace and thinking and thinking so well of him.""If you are his friend why do you call him a scapegrace behind his back?" demanded the girl. Her brown eyes flashed resentfully, and she looked him straight in the face."Oh, did !?" he answered with a confused laugh. "I really was not aware of it; pray forgive the expression."She was slightly mollified."You have not told me your name," he said, hurriedly, as the train slackened and stopped suddenly at the Allendale depot, and he gathered up her books for her."My name is Theora Chester, but every one calls me Theo--only that, because I like it best.""Thank you," he said; but Theo noticed, with a thrill of disappointment, that this young man, quite the handsomest she had ever seen in the short sixteen years of her girlhood, seemed to have no inclination to give his own in return. Theo's pride was piqued.So, when he held out his white hand to assist her to alight from the car, she busied her two little hands in the draperies of her dress, affecting not to see his offer of assistance, and, sprung down the steps lightly without his aid.The young man smiled at this dash of spirit; he knew quite well what prompted it.He was five-and-twenty, and at that age nowadays young men are worldly wise, or, at least, we gather the impression that they are."Shall I see you as far as the park gate?" he asked."No, sir," replied Theo, with dignity; "I am much obliged to you, but 1 can do very nicely without you."He raised his hat with a bow, which Theo admitted to her girlish heart was perfectly princely. Yet, without deigning him another glance, Theo wheeled around and walked proudly along the path that led down the valley and over the hills to Strathmore Hall.There was no moon, not even the friendly light of the stars to guide her, and Theo's heart quaked with a strange, undefinable fear for a moment, and she really did wish that she had said "yes" to the handsome young stranger who had asked so courteously " to see her safe to the park gate," although the stern warning of the principal so oft repeated still rang in her ears, "Never let me hear of any of the young ladies of this school making or cultivating chance acquaintances; remember, new acquaintances should be made only through the formula of an introduction of some common friend."Yet all the same, a pair of laughing blue eyes and a handsome face had disturbed the peace and quiet of Theo's life.The world would never be quite the same to her again.Poor little Theo! if she had been versed in the ways of romantic fate and love, she would have known that her heart had gone out to the handsome stranger at first sight.Yet, with the dawning of love in a girl's heart , tragedy of life begins, for love is either a blessing or a curse.The handsome young stranger watched the slim girlish form disappearing in the darkness."It will be as well to follow a safe distance and see that no harm befalls her," he told himself, putting the thought into execution. "Major Strathmore's ward!" he mused.,"Is this the irony of fate? I should hate her, 1 suppose; but I don't--quite. I am startled, bewildered."Then with a little reckless laugh that certainly had no mirth in it, he quickened his pace remembering that he had charged himself with the duty of seeing the young lady to the gate of Strathmore hall.Yes I suppose I should hate her, but I don't quite," he repeated. "I have great reason--I--"The sentence was never finished, for through the trees a quick, sharp cry as of some one in distress floated back to him. His heart gave a quick throb; he knew it was Theo's voice.CHAPTER II.Theo had sped quickly along upon leaving the depot, choosing the shortest route to Strathmore Hall, which led through the valley by way of the bridge.The wind moaned through the trees, dying away in low, fitful sobs over the hills. Theo quickened her pace, her footfalls making no sound on the grass-grown path.She reached the bridge in safety, and when she had traversed half its length, the moon struggled out from behind the net-work of black clouds which had enveloped it, and shone down for a moment upon the sleeping earth.And in that moment, by its dim light, Theo saw, standing scarcely ten feet from her, the figure of a man.He was leaning both arms on the railing, gazing down into the rapids below. And the dark, swarthy face, turned partially toward her , although young and rather dissipated looking, was singularly handsome with a coarse kind of beauty.Theo stood quite still, wondering whether it would be best to pass him or to retreat and go around by the other road.While she stood there irresolute, he glanced up and saw her; then it was too late to retreat, and Theo advanced.He watched her with an evil smile on his face--a terrible smile--that, brave as she was, made her shudder."Great Caesar! what a little beauty!" he ejaculated, and she recognized him by his voice at once. He had been Major Strathmore's secretary up to a month or so previous. He had been discharged, and had left vowing bitter vengeance upon
all connected with the house of Strathmore. He recognized Theo quite as readily as she had him, and sprung quickly forward. "Why, 1 declare, it's Theo!" he cried, grasping one of her white hands. "This is a most fortunate adventure for me, by Jove! Little Theo, and grown a thousand times prettier than ever!""Let go my hand! cried Theo, angrily. " How dare you even presume to speak to me, Frank Hawthorne?""By the right of old acquaintance," he replied, with a reckless laugh; "besides, you're just the one I wanted to see, Theo.""Let go my hand, or 1 shall call for help!" cried Theo. "Rest assured, Major Strathmore shall hear of this and punish you for it as you deserve!"He laughed derisively."You wouldn't put on so many high and mighty airs if you knew what I know, my proud young lady. You had better make friends with me, for I always had quite a fancy for your pretty face, little Theo."The strong hand clasped hers more firmly. The black subtle eyes were gleaming down into her own terrified ones, and the dark face was bending down nearer her own.It was then that Thee uttered the quick sharp cry the stranger had heard as he stood under the trees, as she attempted to wrench her hand free from the detaining clasp of the ex-secretary."You contemptible coward!" she heard a voice cry; and the next instant, her enemy was stretched upon the bridge. "You scoundrel, to terrify and insult a young lady! Upon my word, I have half a mind to throw you over into the rapids."And looking up, Theo saw the indignant face of the handsome young man whom she had first met on the train.Again he raised his hat and bowed to her, and Theo never

remembered in what words she thanked him for his timely assistance.Her enemy had regained his feet, and stood glaring at the fair-haired stranger in a perfect fury of rage.So it's you, is it that I have to thank for this interference? We shall meet again, then, then you shall answer to me for this."Without deigning a reply, Theo's protector drew little trembling hand through his arm and led her from the bridge.They walked on in silence. A few moment later they had reached the gate of Strathmore Park."Won't you come  in so that my guardian my thank you for the assistance you have rendered me?" she asked.He looked at the gray ivy-covered stone mansion with wistful eyes for a moment, then shook his head."I think not," he said."Then you will come to-morrow?" she asked, sweetly.A rather embarrassed smile swept smile swept over his handsome features."I can not promise to do so," he answered, "much as I should like to."Theo's pretty face flushed with pique and resentment."Good-night and good-bye then," she said holding out her slim white hand.He bowed courteously over it for an instant, then turned and walked rapidly away in the direction of the bridge; while Theo fairly flew up the broad stone steps and through in low French window hat opened on the porch.It was only "the edge of the evening," and she knew the family would be assembled in the drawing-room, and a moment later she burst in among them like a veritable whirlwind.Major Strathmore sat in his favorite arm-chair by the center-table, his head buried in his hands, an unmistakable frown on his stern , set face.Violet Kensington, his niece, sat at the piano, running her white, jeweled fingers over the ivory keys, taking sly, furtive glances now and then at the telegram she had received late that afternoon, and which she had carefully secreted in the pocket of her dress.A very pretty girl was Violet; she was eighteen, neither blonde nor brunette.Violet was just that type that love with all their heart or hate with all the passionate depths of their nature. Her eyes were gray, keen and penetrating, while the long lashes, and
 
the hair that waved low upon her white forehead, were black as a raven's plume.Her mother, Mrs. Kensington, sat near her, idly turning over the leaves of a late number of the " New York Fashion Bazar," scanning the handsome pages, intent upon finding a stylish pattern to make up Violet's new wine-colored silk walking suit.Theo burst in among the trio like a veritable whirlwind, and in an instant the major found two soft white arms clinging to his neck, and a gay, laughing young voice was crying out:"There wasn't the least bit of use in your writing that horrible letter that I wasn't to come home this vacation, guardy; I wouldn't stay at school--1 ran away, and here I am; aren't you glad to see me, really now?"But before the flustered, surprised major could find his voice to reply, Theo had darted off to greet Violet, and to plant the shadowy excuse of a kiss upon Mrs. Kensington's angry, ruffled brow, much to that lady's annoyance."Theo," began Mrs. Kensington, sharply, "how dared you disobey the major's express orders that you were to pass the summer vacation at your boarding-school? I am amazed--shocked! Of course the major will send you back at once!"That was a very unwise speech--she saw it the moment after it was uttered. If there was one predominating peculiarity in  Major Strathmore's character, it was his anger at being dictated to. No one had a right to presume thus far; it was quite his own business as to what he intended to do.It had been the major's intention to pack Theo straight back to school again, bag and baggage, bright and early the next morning, but he changed his mind instantly."Pray be kind enough to leave the management of my affairs to me, Mrs. Kensington," he said, haughtily. "Theo shall remain at Strathmore Hall and share the pleasures of the coming season with your daughter Violet."Theo looked delighted. Violet looked blankly and helplessly at her mother. Mrs. Kensington's brow grew black and stormy, but she had the grace to wreathe her mouth in smiles."My dear brother-in-law," she said, sweetly, "your decision is always the wisest and best; but it rather changes our plans, you know. We had arranged to take Violet to Long Branch.""What has that got to do with Theo?" demanded the major. "You can take Violet to the sea-shore--Theo shall stay here.""I did not know but what you intended Theo to accompany us to long Branch," murmured Mrs. Kensington, "and that step would have been quite unwise, in my opinion; for a girl in Theo's position, who will one day be a governess, or something of that kind, should not be introduced in society as a friend of our Violet--in time we might regret it."She spoke in a low tone; but Theo, who was standing across the room, room, heard every word of it , and the girl's cheeks flushed a burning scarlet, and tears of anger and wounded pride sprung to her brown eyes.It was the first time a thought of the future--the great, barren, desolate future--flushed across her mind.From the moment the storm-clouds of poor, hapless Theo's tragic life commenced  to gather.An hour later Violet and Theo bade each other "good-night."The next afternoon Violet and her mother were en route  to Long Branch. The major had been attacked by his old enemy, the gout and had to abandon his plan of accompanying them at the very last moment.It would have been  far better for Violet if she had not left Strathmore Hall on that eventful June day.But then we must blindly follow the hand of fate wherever it leads, whether for weal or for woe.Strathmore Hall was quite dull after Violet's departure. major Strathmore, who was decidedly irritable, was confined to his room , and the cross old housekeeper was no companion for a bright restless girl like Theo. She almost wished she had stayed at school. That afternoon , taking a copy of Tennyson's poems with her, she sauntered down to the beech-shaded brook that skirted Strathmore Park, and throwing off her broad sun-hat sat down beneath the trees to read and dream over the quaint romantic love idyls; but a fair, handsome face danced between her and the printed page."I wonder if I shall ever see him again?" sighed Theo, wistfully, and at that moment she raised her eyes and saw standing with indolent, careless grace, leaning against a tree, the object of her thoughts--the handsome, fair-haired stranger she had met on the train.CHAPTER III.Theo started to her feet with a cry of dismay, and the prettiest of confused blushes mantling her pretty, dimpled face, while her brown eyes shone with a glad welcome.The young man came forward, lifting his hat with indolent, careless grace."Good-afternoon, Miss Theo," he said. "1 fear I have startled you; if so I beg ten thousand pardons.""You have not startled me," said Theo, blushing rosier than ever. " I--I--was just thinking about you, wondering if you would come to the Hall so that I could present you to Major Strathmore, that he might thank you for rendering me
such timely assistance the other evening on the bridge.""One needs no thanks whatever for doing one's duty," he answered, carelessly. "Please do not consider yourself under the slightest obligation to me, Miss Theo."A swift look of annoyance crossed the brightness of Theo's face for an instant."He wants to be coaxed to come to the Hall, but I shall not do it," she thought, with resentful defiance; "he ought to be glad that he has such an excellent reason for presenting himself at Strathmore Hall."They spent an hour loitering beside the brook. To Theo it was the brightest and sweetest of her young life.If Theo had but noticed it she would have seen that her companion was interested only when she spoke of Strathmore Hall or its master.He listened with wistful eagerness to every detail of the major's illness, and the departure of Violet Kensington and her mother for the sea-shore. But here Theo made a strange mistake, inadvertently mentioning Coney Island as the place to which they had gone instead of Long Branch.After that eventful morning it was no unusual thing for Theo to meet the handsome, fair-haired hero of the bridge adventure as she rambled through the woods that skirted the quaint, pretty village. It was always by accident, never by appointment.Let it be thoroughly understood, dear reader, that our hero was far too honorable to think for a single moment of winning the admiration or liking of the innocent, dreaming child whose acquaintance fate had decreed that he should make in so romantic a manner.When they met but a few words of greeting were exchanged; he would make earnest, wistful inquiries after the health of Major Strathmore, then walk away, leaving Theo to her own reflections, which were always romantic day-dreams in which a fair, handsome face and a pair of blue eyes held a prominent part.Once he chanced to mention that he intended to stay in

Allendale until after the Fourth, in order to witness the gorgeous fire-works which she had told him were to celebrate the " glorious day," also the birthday of Harry Strathmore, the major's discarded son.Theo never dared to think of the cold, dark days when she should see him no more.At last the Fourth dawned, bright, clear, and golden. All the shops and stores in Allendale were closed, all sane the bakeries and the ice-cream places. The village maidens dressed in their best had gathered en masse, on the green lawn to dance around the May-pole with its gay, flaunting ribbons, and coquet with their beaus; quite ready, when the shades of night gathered, to view the fire-works which the master of Strathmore Hall always furnished, and which were to be exhibited from the piazza of the Town Hall.And on this day there was one young girl gazing out upon the festivities with a pair of tear-swollen eyes and a very rebellious heart. Of course, as the reader has already imagined, it was our Theo.She had come to grief in this way: Early in the afternoon she had donned her prettiest white muslin dress, and with a cluster of scarlet roses in the bodice of her dress, and her broad straw hat pushed back from her dark curls, she was flying hurriedly down the broad corridor, when the door of Major Strathmore's room suddenly opened and she was confronted by the major himself.Where are you going?" he demanded, in a harsh, stern voice."Only out on the lawn, guardy," she answered, awed a little by his strange manner. "I want to secure a goal place to see the fire-works after dusk.""You shall not step out of this house!" thundered the major, his beetling brows darkening. "Every curtain must be drawn and the house darkened," he went on  furiously, "for this is the anniversary of a bitter day for me, for twenty five years ago to-day it gave me the on who has brought down upon his rebellious head a father's curse,!"Theo longed to ask what this unhappy son had done to evoke such anger as this in his father's heart, she dared not.Go back to your room and take off your finery ,"he commanded, and there was a look in his eyes that warned Theo he was not to be trifled with; so, with two bright spots burning in her cheeks, and tears of bitter disappointment and anger springing to her eyes, Theo wheeled around without another

word and retraced her steps, while the major re-entered his room, closing the door after him with a decided bang.For hours Theo sat at her window peering out from behind the closed blinds."Because he could not enjoy himself why should he prevent me from enjoying myself as 1 like?" she thought, ruefully.As the darkness drew on apace, a mischievous idea entered the little dark curly head lying so disconsolately on the window-sill.Why couldn't she slip out for a few minutes and view the fire-works?--the major would never know of it until she went to him on the morrow, and, with her white arms round his neck, confessed her willful disobedience, begging him to pardon her under promise that she would never again so offend him.Could he find it in his heart to be very angry and refuse her? Theo thought not.Besides, there was another very important reason urging her decision, and that was perhaps she would see the fair-haired stranger there. He had said he intended to stay to witness the celebration of the Fourth from the Town Hall; he was going away the next morning, and she might never see him again.The last reason decided beautiful, capricious Theo; and, feeling sure of being able to win the major's forgiveness, she caught up her hat again, and, smoothing her disordered curls, tying them back with a bit of crimson ribbon, Theo stole 
noiselessly from the house.A tall figure, walking nervously up and down among the dense shadow of the beech-trees, gave a start of surprise as the white figure flashed past him in the moonlight.It was Major Strathmore, and he recognized Theo at once.His dark, anger-distorted face was a study."So she has a will of her own and defies me, too, it seems," he muttered. Then a strange gleam came into his eyes.Pulling his hat down low over his face, he turned and walked in the direction Theo had taken.Theo, in her fancied security, had made straight for the Town Hall, and, quite unluckily, the young man who had charge of the fire-works espied her, and, recognizing her as Major Strathmore's ward, insisted upon her accepting a seat 
upon one of the flag-draped balconies, where she could have an unobstructed view.On the opposite veranda sat ten pretty, white-robed young girls, who were to begin the celebration of the evening, just 

as a salute was fired from the guns, by singing that rousing old national song to which every heart responds:
"The star-spangled banner, Oh, long may it waveO'er the land of the freeAnd the home of the brave."No wonder Theo gladly took the proffered seat offered her.Bonfires blazed on the lawn in all directions, throwing a reddish-golden glare upon the throngs gathered with upturned faces before the Hall, in eager, excited expectancy, and lighting up with weird flickering shadows the background beyond.But in the uncertain light, amid the vast throng. Theo saw the face she was looking for. The handsome, fair-haired stranger was standing a little apart from the rest, leaning carelessly against the trunk of a tree. Theo saw him, and her heart throbbed with a keen pleasure that was almost pain.He did not turn his glance in the direction where she sat, and Theo was not at all sure that he saw her.Rocket after rocket went off, breaking into a shower of crimson, purple, and golden stars against the dark barkground of the sky, followed by stars, wheels, crosses, and crescents, amid the joyous cheers of the crowd watching below. There were instantaneously followed by green, red, and yellow lights that lighted up the weird scene like a glimpse of fairy-land for a single instant, then died away, leaving the throng in total darkness for a moment.During each flash of light Theo had watched the graceful figure leaning carelessly against the beech-tree --watched until the darkness hid it from her view again.Then the last volley of rockets, six in number, was fired, which was to disperse the gathered throng . There was a deafening report, and a million golden sparks flew heavenward in a burst of crimson and purple glory.But, simultaneously with the rousing cheers , which died  in every throat, terrible cries rang out upon the night air. In an instant the horrified spectators realized what had happened, A shower of sparks from one of the rockets had been turned aside by the rising wind, and had fallen among the folds of the flags on the little balcony where Theo sat.In a single instant it was enveloped in flames, which cut off all retreat. The Town Hall, a mere shell of a wooden building, ignited in a single instant, and the entire structure was wrapped in a winding-sheet of flame.It was at this moment of horror that Major Strathmore, who

had made slow progress on account of his lame ankle, came
upon the awful scene.In a moment he saw and realized all. With a mighty cry of horror he raised his eyes to the girlish figure standing out in bold relief against the background of fire flame.Her lovely white arms were stretched out in an agony of supplication to the throng of upturned faces. Terror and despair were written upon every feature of the beautiful childish face turned toward them. They saw her lips move, and they knew it was a prayer for help, although the fierce crackling of the flames drowned her piteous voice.Major Strathmore would have sprung forward to save her, but strong arms held him back. To venture there was madness.All this had occupied scarcely a moment, and, as is so often the case in great emergencies, the crowd stood by petrified with terror, unable to move or act.Major Strathmore's voice rang out like a bugle-blast over the great hush, broken only by the hoarse, fierce crackling of the fire-fiend:"Five thousand dollars to the man who saves that girl! 1 am a rich man; I will double it--ay, quadruple it! He shall have half my fortune and my blessing!"Before the major's clarion voice had uttered the first word, the stranger leaning against the tree had taken in the terrible situation, and, tearing off his coat, sprung to the rescue of the beautiful girl.In a flash he had scaled the net-work of clinging trellis-work, that swayed to and fro beneath his weight. Higher and higher he climbed while the throng watched him from below, with hushed breath and white, upturned faces. Steadily he climbed the dizzy height; his fair, handsome head was on a level with the balcony now."Oh, God! would he gain it or miss it?" was the wild inquiry that rose from every heart.Mothers knelt down and prayed for the daring stranger; strong men wept as they had never wept in their lives before.One white hand had grasped the balcony now; and as poor, hapless Theo realized that succor was at hand, she took one step forward, falling fainting at the feet of the man who had periled his life to save her.In a moment he had sprung over the rails of the charred, burning balcony, and clasped the form of the fainting girl in his arms. But the crowd below dared not a cheer, or scarcely

breathe, for the perilous descent was a thousand times more dangerous, with his burden , than the ascent had been. Would the trellis-work bear the double burden, or would it break and cast the noble rescuer and his lovely, helpless burden headlong down into the fiery furnace from which he had sought to save her?1t was a thrilling moment, and those who witnessed the scene never forgot it. The flame-wrapped branches, strained to their utmost tension, bent to and fro; yet, through the flames, step by step, the stranger made his way, and when a few feet from the ground, the tough vines snapped asunder; but the stranger, clasping his burden closer, leaped to the ground amid rousing cheers and women sobbing thankful tears--and, striding forward, he laid his burden in Major Strathmore's arms, crying out:
"Do not thank me until you know who I am. Look into my face and see before you, father--your son, Harry Strathmore!"CHAPTER IV.WHEN Theo Chester opened her eyes to consciousness she found herself in her own room at Strathmore Hall, with the old housekeeper bending anxiously over her, and, like a flash, the events narrated in the preceding chapter recurred to her. She remembered standing, terror-stricken, upon the flame-wrapped portico, frantically calling for help; she remembered seeing one form dash through the petrified throng, and in another moment he had sprung to her side, while, with the gladdest cry of joy that ever fell from human lips, Theo had held out her arms to her rescuer, then staggered blindly forward, the darkness of death seeming to close in around her, and as he clasped her safe in his strong arms, she fell back against his breast in a dead faint.Theo listened with breathless interest while the housekeeper, Mrs. Mills, told her "how gallantly the young man, who had periled his own life to save her, had removed his straw hat and bowed low to the throng who cheered him, with tears in their eyes, as he placed her in Major Strathmore's arms.And then the greatest surprise and wonder of all came to light; the young man who had saved her was Major Strathmore's discarded son, handsome Harry!In spite of the terrible anger in which he had turned poor Harry away, under the circumstances he could not refuse the overtures of a reconciliation. "And now Harry is domiciled

in his own suite of apartments at Strathmore Hall, bless his dear heart!" added the housekeeper.To Theo the story seemed more wonderful and more beautiful than the pages of a romance."You see, dear," continued the housekeeper, wiping the dimness from her glasses, "the old adage that 'truth is stranger than fiction ' is perfectly true.""You must thank Mr. Harry for me for saving my life," faltered Theo, burying her face in the pillow."He knows you're very grateful; he don't like much fuss over anything. Besides, I don't like to disturb him now; he is asleep; he has been sitting up all night with his father. The excitement of the fire was too much for Major Strathmore; he
took straight to his bed when he came home, and the doctor looked pretty serious when I asked him how his patient was."Theo sprung from her couch with a little distressed cry, and would have flown to the major's room at once, but the housekeeper put a detaining hand on her arm."You must not go until you are sent for, Theo," she said; "the major would not like it; and besides, in his waking hours he wants to talk alone and uninterrupted to Mr. Harry--it's only natural, you know."For a week Theo and Harry Strathmore met constantly.Theo lived in the sunlight of his kind, handsome face. And when she saw a small, irregular scar upon his hand, and the housekeeper told her it was a scar he had received at the fire, in very pity Theo could have knelt and kissed that hand, and the fair curling hair, too, which was slightly burned over the temples on his broad forehead.When a young man reaches the standard of a hero in a romantic, impulsive young girl's thoughts, it is very easy to judge what the sequel will be.It was so with Theo. In a beautiful, childish, thoughtless fashion her young heart had gone out to her hero, handsome Harry Strathmore.That week was brought to a close by a startling event which changed the currents of three lives.It had been a stormy day, and a dark, stormy night settled upon the heels of it.Such a terrible night had not been known among the hills and vales of Southern Maryland for years.Giant trees swayed to and fro on the hill-side like reeds in the gale, and the howling winds died away in a low moan in the valley below.The solemn hooting of the owls in the turrets of Strathmore

Hall, and the  creak of the shutters, mingled with the torrent of rain that beat against the window-panes, made the room in which Major Strathmore lay seem a thousand times gloomier.For hours the major had lain in an unconscious state, his burning, staring eyes fixed intently on the wall; and the doctor, who watched at his bedside, feared that he would pass away without one word to the son who, tired out with days and nights of weary vigil, had flung himself down on an adjacent couch to snatch a few moments of needful sleep.It wanted an hour to midnight, when Major Strathmore stirred on his pillow, and looked anxiously around."Send my son to me; leave us alone together," he murmured.An instant later Harry Strathmore was kneeling beside his father's couch, and the doctor quietly withdrew to an adjoining room as he had been bidden, leaving them alone together.A half hour passed. The storm outside had redoubled its fury, and beat upon the panes with greater force, and, as the doctor restlessly paced the luxurious room back and forth, was it only fancy, or, over the fierce battling of the storm outside, did he hear Harry Strathmore's voice cry out, excitedly:"Ask anything else of me and I will gladly do it, father; but this that you ask me 1 dare not do. 1--"The rest of the sentence--that is if it were not an hallucination of the doctor's morbid fancy--was drowned in the wild howling of the warring elements outside.Fifteen--twenty minutes passed, then a violent summons from the major's hand-bell brought the doctor at once to his bedside.Harry Strathmore knelt in the same position, his face buried in his hands. The major was lying back upon his pillow, the livid hue of death gathering over his features. He motioned the doctor nearer with a convulsed motion."Bring the housekeeper to me quickly," he gasped.A few moments later the housekeeper, Mrs. Mills, bustled into Theo's room, flushed and excited.The girl was sitting at the window. Although the hour was late, she had not retired."Oh, my dear little Theo!" she cried, breathlessly, I have brought you the strangest message in the world! 1 have just come from the major's bedside, and from Master Harry, and the message l am charged to bring you is this: Will you promise to marry Harry Strathmore?--if so the betrothal must take place at once, at the major's bedside. He is dying, Theo; his moments are numbered. You must think

quickly. Remember," she added, warningly, "a betrothal is a solemn thing, child--almost as solemn as a marriage vow. Decide wisely."The young girl had risen to her feet, her beautiful brown eyes dilating with a strange expression, her face paling and flushing, her bosom heaving with great mental excitement, her little white hands clasped convulsively over her throbbing
heart. It had all been so sudden, so unexpected, Theo was dazed, bewildered, utterly speechless for a moment."Promise to marry him--Harry Strathmore has asked me to promise him that!" she faltered. "Did he tell you to tell me so?" she asked, trembling so that she could hardly stand."His father spoke for him. Poor Mr. Harry was so flustered he could do nothing but keep his pale face hidden in the bed-clothes," she explained. "You must make up your mind quickly, Theo," she said, laying her hand on the bowed curly head. "The major won't last long, and he wishes to witness the betrothal.""Oh, Mrs. Mills," cried Theo, clinging to her, and sobbing hysterically, "what would you do if you were in my place? I am so young I have never even thought of such a thing as marrying any one!""I should look into my heart and follow its dictates," responded the motherly old lady, smoothing back the girl's disordered, tangled curls. "I would never betroth myself to a man I did not love, for a betrothal is quite as solemn in the
sight of Heaven as the marriage tie which follows. My advice would be, never betroth yourself to handsome Harry Strathmore unless you love him, for marriage without love is the greatest curse the human heart can know! You are young, Theo, and I am old," she went on. "Life is an open book to me--to you it is a sealed one, for old age only is ripe with the pitfalls of experience; and I tell you solemnly the words that will come back to you many a time in the years of your
after-life. Never marry a man to whom you have not given all the love of your heart, and unless, my dear child, you are quite sure that he loves you.""But do you think that Harry Strathmore really loves me?" queried Theo, between her sobs. And in a quick, gasping voice she falteringly gave the old housekeeper every detail of her meeting with handsome Harry, the major's discarded son, together with each and every subsequent event which had transpired up to the time he had so bravely periled his life to
save hers.Old Mrs. Mills was silent and thoughtful for a moment."Ah, me, the wisest of us sometimes make the most grievous mistakes."She folded poor, pretty, motherless Theo closer in her arms.Yes, surely, the child must have won his heart. No man would have faced certain death in the raging flames, from which strong, brave men shrunk back appalled, unless the one whom he sought to save was as dear as life itself. That quite convinced her, even though he had not spoken of it to Theo in so many words, until this thrilling hour in which he sent that message to her.Theo's lovely dark eyes were raised to her face, as though the words that fell from her lips meant life or death for her."Yes, 1 believe that he loves you, Theo," she answered, slowly, "and that he would make you a good husband 1 feel equally sure."Those words settled Theo's fate."Then, if you think best, it shall be as he wishes," murmured the girl. "I will promise to marry him, for 1--oh, I love him, and I have loved him from the very first."A half hour later Mrs. Mills entered the major's room leading Theo by the hand --Theo in a dress of clinging, spotless white, with pale, snowy blossoms in her brown curls and on her breast."Thank God!" murmured Major Strathmore, his eyes, which were fast glazing over with the film of death, brightening weirdly.A strange, nervous dread filled Theo's beating heart. Oh, if Harry Strathmore would but come to her, clasp her trembling hands in his own strong ones, she would not have such a strange sinking of the heart! Why did he sit there with his head buried in the counterpane, which was not more white than his own face?The housekeeper touched the young man's arm."Miss Theo is here, sir; she is ready."Mechanically he arose and took his place by her side, but the hand that touched Theo's was as cold as marble, and the lips beneath the drooping, golden mustache white and set.Theo had always heard how happy young girls were in the moment they were plighting their troth to the lover to whom they had given their heart; but Theo could not tell whether she was very happy or terribly frightened.Slowly and solemnly the impressive words of that death-bed betrothal were uttered. In life they were pledged each to the other, and, that within the coming year the marriage-bond should make them one.And in the strange silence that ensued, Major Strathmore's and his son's eyes met for an instant; then Harry Strathmore turned abruptly away, and Theo, who was watching her handsome lover's face, and wondering why he had no word for her, saw his face grow white, hard, and stern."Leave me alone!" cried the major. But to Thee he whispered, in a low, gasping voice: "Come back to me within the hour, child. I have a startling confession to make. I could not die unless 1 had told you; I could not rest in my grave, my poor Thee, who has been so bitterly wronged, unless you were righted. You shall be righted!"Alas for the strange complications of cruel fate! The low, faintly articulated words had been unintelligible to Theo's dazed ears. She quite believed he was murmuring a blessing over the little white hand he held clasped so tightly.She kissed him, and, with tears in her eyes, slowly quitted the room.At that instant the furious peal of the door-bell resounded through the house, and over the fierce blasts of the storm a woman's voice, young, shrill, and piteous, could be heard inquiring for Harry Strathmore."My God!" cried the young heir, turning pale as he heard that voice, "it is she!"CHAPTER V.THEO fled to her own room with swift-winged feet. She heard Violet Kensington's voice in the corridor below, and she knew that Violet and her mother had returned, in response to the telegram which had been sent them apprising them of the major's dangerous illness.She would not go to Violet now and tell her of the strange event which had just transpired; her heart was too full. Once in her own apartment, where she was safe from observation, Theo drew off the betrothal-ring Harry Strathmore had placed on her slim, white hand and covered it with passionate kisses, her pretty, dimpled face flushing rosy red.She laughed as she remembered the quaint superstition that "it was an unlucky omen to remove a betrothal-ring until the marriage-day dawned.""Nothing could ever change my heart toward him, unless it was to love him more and more--my handsome hero, my noble lover! And to think that he loves me as well and as truly as I love him is the sweetest assurance my heart can know," she mused.There was no sleep within the walls of Strathmore Hall that night; each member of the family was waiting a summons from the sick-room.Theo wrapped a fleecy white shawl about her shoulders, and sat down at the open window to watch the beauty of the night, and to indulge in those fanciful dreams so sweet to young girls.Harry Strathmore had asked her to marry him, and, she had pledged herself to do so; yet he had spoken no word of love to her. In her simple, childish heart, Theo, who knew so little of the world, quite believed this must be the usual fashion of wooing--young men probably never spoke of love until after they were betrothed.Perhaps that wooing was best; but a longing came over her to hear her handsome lover whisper low, tender words to her --to see his blue eyes brighten as she approached--to have him speak the words, "I love you, Theo."With a beautiful girlish blush at her own sweet fancies, Theo gathered the white, fleecy scarf closer about her shoulders, rose, and hastily quitted the room, walking quickly and with noiseless footsteps in the direction of the library, that she might be near at hand in case the major should call for her.In the meantime, in the western wing of the spacious old mansion, quite a different and thrilling scene was transpiring.When Mrs. Kensington and her daughter had entered the house, on Violet's being told she could not see Harry Strathmore just then she had gone up to her room.Mrs. Kensington was more diplomatic, however. She had gone at once to the major's bedside, and there she learned of the event which had taken place but a few short moments previous.A shriek of amazement, chagrin, and bitter disappointment trembled on her lips. Theora Chester--that beggar, that upstart--betrothed to Harry Strathmore, the man who but one short week before, with all his great prospective wealth, had been almost as good as engaged to her daughter Violet! Oh, unlucky summer trip! Oh, why had she taken Violet to the sea-shore and left that girl here, with her dark, alluring eyes and pretty face? How should she break the terrible news to Violet, whose life-long dream had been to reign supreme as the mistress of Strathmore Hall? And, to make the matter worse, the girl loved Harry Strathmore with all the passionate ardor of her nature, and she had quite believed the attachment was mutual.She never remembered what excuse she made to leave the major's bedside, or how she gained her daughter's room.Violet sprung to her mother's side as she saw her standing, white and trembling, on the threshold. She knew at once something had happened."What is the matter, mamma?" she cried. "Is the major dead?"There was no love or anxiety in her careless tone--simply curiosity. Mrs. Kensington shook her head; she was afraid to tell her. The girl stood still a moment, her gray eyes dilating, her face blanching."He hasn't made a will leaving anything to that hated Theo, that should belong to Harry and me, has he?" she asked, breathlessly."No--it is worse than that," answered her mother."Is it about Harry?" she asked, searching her mother's face with those strange, burning gray eyes."Yes; I have heard something about him which I dread to tell you, Violet. You love him so well the shock might kill you.""Tell me what it is; I can bear anything but suspense. Is he ill? If so, I will go to him; no one has more right than I have.""It is not that," replied her mother; "it is something quite different. He is well; but--oh, how shall I tell you that which must wreck your whole life--lay your hopes and your love in ruins?""You frighten me, mamma! It were better to tell me at once than keep me in suspense," returned Violet, in a low, unsteady voice."Listen, then, my poor child," returned her mother, pityingly. " During the few weeks we have been away, this girl, Theora Chester, whom we left at Strathmore Hall a poor, miserable, dependent creature, has stolen your lover, Harry Strathmore, from you, and less than an hour ago they were betrothed to each other at the major's bedside. It would have been a marriage had the girl, been a year older."A low, bitter, lingering cry fell from Violet's lips--a cry terrible to hear. Then she turned, and, with a quick motion, attempted to fly from the room, eluding the hand that was outstretched to detain her."Violet!" cried her mother, warningly, "what would you do? Remember you must do nothing rash; for you and 1, much as it hurts my pride and yours to remind you of it, are

here upon your uncle's charity. If you raise a scene we shall be turned out into the street. Oh, Violet, do nothing rash!""Let me alone!" screamed her daughter, fiercely. "Do you think it is in my nature to stand calmly by and see that girl take the lover away from me who has sworn a thousand times or more that he loved me and me alone? I--I would kill her first! Betrothed they may be; but he is not lost to me until the marriage knot is tied.""Be wise and prudent," again urged Mrs. Kensington. " I feel this as deeply and keenly as you do, but I must cover the bitter anger in my heart with smiles. It will be hard to do, but I intend to go to Harry Strathmore and Theora to-morrow morning and congratulate them.""I, on the contrary, will upbraid him!" stormed the wrathful beauty. "Ah! fatal was the hour when I pleaded with Major Strathmore to forgive his son and not disinherit him. I thought it would all be mine in time--all mine and Harry's."Major Strathmore lay in his dimly lighted chamber alone. He had requested to be left thus an hour or more, in anticipation of Theo's return. The doctor had given him a strong cordial, and retired within an inner room.Slowly the moments pass. They seem like ages to the pain-racked sufferer on the silken couch."Why does Theo not come?" he murmurs. "Great Heaven! what if she should come too late? I dare not think what the consequences would be! It was well I did not use my strongest and greatest reason for urging this betrothal. I knew best. Theo--poor little wronged Theo--shall know the secret of the oak-bound chest; and, when I am laid to rest where the terrible anger of men or the scorn of women can not harm me, Theo shall tell my son all, if she thinks best. Then he will know why it was best that he should marry Theo instead of that plotting, planning, avaricious Violet Kensington."A quick step broke in upon his confused thoughts. A form glided up to his bedside."Theo--little Theo!" gasped the major, with a glad, gasping cry. "Thank God, you have come before it is too late!"Violet was just on the point of exclaiming, angrily: "It is not Theo, the miserable beggar who has cheated me out of my lover; it is I--Violet." The next sentence he uttered froze the words on her lips. The room was dark, and the dim eyes of the man lying

back among the pillows were closed. He could not bear the gaze of the girl's startled eyes upon his face as he told her what he had to say."Turn down the light, Theo--lower still--and turn your face away while I whisper to you the terrible secret that has weighed down my soul so long--the dark confession which must be whispered to no ears but yours, as you are most vitally
interested. Even my son does not know. Are you listening closely, Theo? and are you sure we are all alone?""Yes," whispered the guilty girl; "go on."It was strange that he did not notice it was not Theo's voice. But he did not; his faculties were dimmed by the shadow of death.Never dreaming of the terrible deception being practiced upon him, he spoke quickly, laboriously, and Theo s secret, which he would have guarded with his life, stood revealed to her cruelest foe--the one of all others who would show her no mercy.Violet listened as if petrified, and as the last word was spoken she uttered a piercing, shuddering cry.CHAPTER VI.EVEN" the cry that fell from Violet Kensington's lips failed to betray her identity, yet she could not have repressed it if her life had paid the forfeit."Forgive me, little Theo," murmured the major.Those were the last words those white lips ever uttered. He fell back upon the pillow--dead.Quick as thought Violet snatched the key, which was attached to a slender cord which he had said she would find around his neck, and, hiding it in the pocket of her dress, fled precipitately from the chamber of death.She could not go to the old chest now; she must wait for daylight to search among the d"é"bris  of the tower.She turned, walking hastily in the direction of the library, without stopping to arouse the house with the startling news. The major had breathed his last--let them discover it when they would.The sweetest thought in her revengeful heart was the knowledge that Harry Strathmore did not love Theo, and that the betrothal was at the major's instigation.She had shrewdly gleaned that much from his words.Theo would have been too artless to have read his words aright. Not so Violet.As long as there was no love between them, the plan slit had marked out for herself would be easier to accomplish.She knew Harry Strathmore's firm principles and his fine notions of honor, and she knew him well enough to know that, even had he hated Theo, he would carry out to the very letter the vow he had taken upon himself at his father's, bedside.Then, through Theo lay her only hope of breaking that solemn betrothal. Fate had put the weapons into her own hands; she knew how to use them.She reached the library door, and paused hesitatingly on the threshold; for there, seated in one of the cushioned arm-chairs, with his fair, handsome head resting negligently on his arm, was Harry Strathmore himself."Harry!" she cried, piteously--her great love for him rushing like a mighty torrent over her heart--"oh, Harry! they have told me what has happened. Oh, my love, look up and tell me that it is not true! If you tell me that we are indeed parted forever, I shall go mad! Oh, Harry, my love, say something to comfort me, for my heart is breaking!"Harry Strathmore raised his white, haggard face from his hands and looked at the girl whom, up to one short hour ago, he had intended to make his bride."Don't unman me, Violet," he cried; " I need all my strength."He had risen and clasped her in his arms. But his arms fell suddenly away from her; he remembered that he was the betrothed husband of another. His love for Violet Kensington must ever remain but a memory of the past.Neither of them saw the crimson-velvet hangings of an inner apartment thrust asunder by a little white hand, and a white, startled face peering out at them.It was Theo. She had fallen asleep in the little curtained alcove, where she had gone to await a summons from the sick-room. The sound of voices awakened her and, drawing the hangings aside, she had glanced out, intending to acquaint whoever it might be of her presence.But the sight that she saw rooted her to the spot. The curtain fell from her nerveless fingers, shutting her from. their view, and she could not have uttered a word to have saved her life. The sight of Violet Kensington in her lover's arms had been a shock and a terrible revelation to her. The man whom she had loved with all the depth of her girlish heart--the man who within that very hour had plighted his troth to her--did not love her. He cared nothing for her; he was Violet's

lover. Why, then, had he asked her to marry him instead of Violet?Her beautiful, love-dream had received a terrible blow. Her idol was shattered. Now she knew why Harry Strathmore had spoken no word of love to her. He loved Violet-not her; while she, Heaven help her, had given all the worshipful love of her heart to Violet's lover. Like one in a terrible dream, she heard every word they uttered, but all power to move or cry out seemed suddenly to have left her."Violet," he was saying, "do not unman me with your tears. 1 have no right to kiss them away now, for I--  Oh, Violet, my love! do you realize what has happened? A terrible gulf lies between us now. I, who up to one short hour
ago never gave one thought to any one but you, am now the betrothed husband of another.""Why did you do it, Harry?" sobbed the girl. "Surely no one could have forced you to utter words you were so far from feeling.""I can not tell you why I did it," he answered. "You would not understand, even if I were not bound by a solemn pledge never to reveal why. I feel sorry for myself--more sorry for poor Theo," he went on, slowly, "for there will never be any pretense of affection between us. 1 can never love her."Violet Kensington knelt sobbingly on the low hassock at his feet."Oh, Harry!" she cried, tremulously, raising her strange, mesmeric eyes to the young man's pale face, "should we allow this girl to come between us for a mere whim on your father's part--you and I, who love each other so well? It were better far such a betrothal should be broken."Harry Strathmore shook his head despondently."Violet," he said, slowly and hopelessly, "we are pledged to each other as solemnly as vows can bind us; death alone could break them. Not that I wish poor little Theo's death," he added, hastily, "even though she has ruined your life and
mine. I tell you the simple truth--while Theo lives you are lost to me, my darling. Do not look at me with that awful despair in your eyes, my Violet. There may come a day when I can exlpain this to you. Oh, if you but knew why 1 bartered away my love, freedom and happiness--why it was wrung from my lips--you would pity, but never censure me. I--"The sentence died on his lips. A low, quivering cry of mortal pain rang through the room. The velvet curtains of

the alcove were pushed aside with a white hand trembling like an aspen leaf, and Theo staggered into the room and confronted the lovers.Violet Kensington sprung to her feet, white with wrath, her eyes fairly blazing as they rested on the pale face of the beautiful young girl who had come between her and love, luxury and a princely fortune."So you have been listening--playing eavesdropper--spying upon us, have you, Theo Chester?" she cried, with withering sarcasm. " Well, I am not surprised. A girl so lost to honor as to maneuver for a wealthy husband the way you have done, by using your influence with his father to force the son into an unwilling engagement, because he could not well refuse when that father lay on his death -bed, is capable of anything. But it must be one bitter drop of disappointment in your cup of triumph to know that the man you have so cunningly entrapped does not, nor never will, love you, for his heart is mine--do you hear, Theo Chester?--his heart is mine!"Her eyes glittered; her cheeks and lips flushed scarlet with excitement. Harry Strathmore's presence alone saved her from raising her hand and striking the girl.For once in his life Harry Strathmore seemed to have been stricken dumb. Theo's sudden appearance rendered him almost incapable of thought or action.To him Theo turned, holding up her hands as if to ward off Violet's scathing, burning accusations."Mr. Strathmore," she cried out, "oh, believe me, all that she accuses me of is false--all terribly false! I would have died sooner than--than have tried to entrap you into a betrothal with me!"There was a piteous quiver in the beautiful childish voice, and the soft, brown, appealing eyes raised to Harry Strathmore's pale, disturbed, handsome face were drowned in tears. He would have interrupted her, but she held up her hand with a quick gesture. "Hear me out ,"she cried. "I have only a few words more to say; but it must be to you alone, Mr. Strathmore--I could not speak before her.""Violet," whispered Harry Strathmore, pointing to the drawing-room, "kindly retire there for a few moments while the child speaks. If it pleases her best to speak with me alone, I must not oppose her wish.""Child!" sneered Violet Kensington, gathering up her silken skirts. "She is woman enough to plot deeply to secure the heir of Strathmore Hall, as you have seen;" and

with this parting shot Violet flounced out of the room; but when the heavy oaken door was closed behind her, she sunk down on her knees, and, without the least compunction or delicacy of feeling, applied her ear assiduously to the key-hole; but she could only hear a chance word now and then. She must know--she would know--what Theo Chester had to say.That was the most awkward moment of Henry Strathmore's life. He placed a chair for Theo, but she waved it away with a gesture of superb pride, as a young queen might have done, and stood before him like a statue carved in marble, her face
wofully white and the despair of death in her deep dark eyes."Oh, Mr. Strathmore," she broke out with a piteous sob; "you must believe that 1 never thought of--of--marrying you up to an hour ago, or I should go mad with very shame. Poor guardy never mentioned such a subject to me in all his life. I thought when you sent Mrs. Mills, the housekeeper, to tell me you wished me to marry you, I thought--oh, Heaven pity me, I thought you--you loved me just as dearly as I loved you! Yes, I believed that with all my heart."The words she had uttered had fallen upon Harry Strathmore like a thunder-bolt; he was literally speechless; the words that fell so thoughtlessly from her lips in her intense excitement were a startling revelation to him:"I thought, oh, Heaven pity me, I thought you loved me just as dearly as 1 loved you!"He looked up into the beautiful childish face. Theo loved him; he was fairly dumfounded with surprise; Theo, whom he had considered but a beautiful, willful, capricious child, had given her heart to him--she loved him, and he had never dreamed of such a possibility, even while he wondered that she had consented to such a strange betrothal; but had concluded that she had been lured by the wealth he was to inherit.He had never thought of associating love with Theo. No wonder he was startled at the revelation that in the excitement of the moment sprung from her overcharged heart to her quivering lips."Oh, if you had but left me to die among the flames! for it was then that my heart went out to you, and 1 quite believed that, because you periled your own life to save mine, you must love me," she went on, pantingly, still holding up her little hand to enjoin silence, her beautiful face pale as the white buds that still clung among her dark curls. " If 1 had but known you were Violet's lover, and that for some unknown

reason to me you were forced into this betrothal, I would have died sooner than have entered into it. Oh, I never knew that lips could breathe vows that the heart was far from feeling. Heaven forgive you for pledging yourself to love me, and me only, at poor guardy s bedside, when you knew that every word you uttered was false! You could not, for your heart was Violet's. That solemn betrothal vow binds us to each other until the death of the one sets the other free, and you must hate me for it. I am going to give you back the freedom you bartered away. I will not spoil your life and Violet's."She turned and attempted to pass him, but Harry Strathmore put out his hand and caught the slender girlish figure."How could you set me free, Theo?" he demanded; "what are you intending to do?""l am going out into the bitterness of death," she replied, freeing herself with a shudder from his detaining clasp, "I am going to set you free!"And with the swiftness of a storm-driven swallow she sprung through the open door, out on to the lawn, down the path to the dark flowing river that lay but a few rods beyond.CHAPTER VII.In an instant Harry Strathmore had sprung to his feet."Theo!" he called out, sharply, "come back--what would you do?"Only a heart-broken sob floated back to him, and he noticed with horror that her flying feet headed directly toward the dark river that lay but a few rods beyond.The words she had uttered came back to him with an awful shock: "Only death could break the bond that binds you to me, Mr. Strathmore! I will not come between you and Violet; I am going to set you free!"Surely poor, beautiful Theo did not intend to court death in the dark, rapid river! The thought brought him to his senses as nothing else could have done, and with fleet footsteps he followed that flying, white-robed figure, calling upon her to stop.But if Theo heard those passionate cries, she did not heed them.She reached the brink of the dark rapids. Pausing an instant, she held up her white arms to the night-sky."It was all a cruel mistake," she murmured, with gasping sobs. " He did not love me; it was Violet whom he loved.He hates me because I came between them and parted them, and I couldn't bear that. I must die and set him free!"And with a quivering, piteous cry that pierced Harry Strathmore's heart like an arrow as it floated back to him, poor little Theo flung herself from the rock on which she stood down, down into the seething abyss below.The next instant Harry Strathmore had reached the spot.To follow would have been madness. A fall upon the sharp, jagged rocks over which the maddening waters rushed and foamed meant instant death.For a moment he stood there as if turned to stone, and looked down into the mad waters, sparkling and curling under the pale light of the moon--the waters that had but a moment before closed over that beautiful, dark head and white, childish, despairing face.Horror had almost robbed him of his voice, deprived him of his strength. With an awful cry he staggered back from the rock and rushed toward the Hall, crying loudly for help and lights.Poor little Theo, the lovely little creature to whom he had plighted his troth scarcely an hour before, lying dead--drowned in the dark waters, and for his sake!She had believed that he hated her, and she found death easier to bear than that. Oh, the shame and horror of it!Poor, pretty Theo had not laid a trap to entangle him into an engagement, as he had so stormily accused her in his own heart of doing as he parted from her an hour since in the sickroom. He knew it now, for no scheming girl who coveted his
gold would have taken her own young life rather than endure his scorn and pitiless contempt, and that, too, when success had been hers.Poor little Theo! He had driven her to a suicide's doom, and the child loved him with all her heart."Help! Lights!" he cried, hoarsely, wildly rushing up the broad marble porch two steps at a time.To the servants, who rushed out in answer to their young master's wild cries, he told in a few gasping words what had happened.There would be no question of saving her now, they told him. Her death must have been instantaneous. They could only get the drags out and search for the body. This was quickly done.It was a perilous task guiding a life-boat over those mad eddying waters, but steady hands bent to the oars.Rigid and still and ghastly white, Harry Strathmore sat in 

the boat beside them watching it all--sat like a figure wrought in marble, sat with the ghastly white despairing face of a man whose thoughts were torturing him to madness.Every rush of the waves that beat against the boat, every stroke of the oars as they struck the water, seemed to cry out: "This is your work! You cried out for freedom , she has given it to you; she has given you your heart's desire--she has set you free!"The drags were dipped, splashed and trailed through the inky waters, only to come up tangled with weeds and river drift. No set, white, childish face, framed in rings of wet brown hair, with white buds clinging to it, no slender white-robed figure, came up with the drags from the river's depths.An hour passed in useless search, while their hearts grew sick within them. The dark waters refused to deliver up their prey. It was useless to search longer; the body was certainly imbedded among the huge rocks, and could never be extricated unless it should become loosened by the swift-flowing tide.With a bitter, despairing cry, Harry Strathmore walked slowly back to the Hall, entered the library, and threw him-self down m one of the cushioned arm-chairs, his heart heavy with the bitterest remorse. So the servant found him who came to break the news to him that the major had passed quietly away. But one look into that handsome, haggard face, and he' paused on the threshold under the impression that Harry Strathmore slept."I will not awaken him," he muttered" he can do no good, for the poor old major is beyond. all earthly aid. An hour's sleep, after all his weary hours of watching, can do Master Harry no harm."He turned and left the room as quietly as he had entered.A few moments later the door opened main. This time it was Violet Kensington. He knew her quick, firm tread, and raised his troubled, haggard face."Have you heard what has happened, Violet?" he asked. "Poor little Theo has flung herself into the river; she is owned; she did it to set me free!"To the last day of his life Harry Strathmore never forgot the shock of horror it gave him to hear the triumphant cry that broke from Violet's red lips:"Dead, is she, Harry? Was there ever such a fortunate stroke of fate for you and me? I could scarcely believe it was true when I heard it, and I said over aid over again to my-

self, 'The obstacle in Harry's path is removed! How glad he will be!'"Harry Strathmore started to his feet, white with horror. Could it be that he had heard aright?  Great Heaven! could  the lips he had kissed with love's alluring rapture utter such words as these? Was her heart marble, that she could speak of poor little Theo's untimely death like this?"Violet," he cried, sternly, "do you realize that you are speaking of little Theo's death as though you were glad?" "And so I am glad," asserted Violet; " are not you?""Heaven forbid!" cried Harry Strathmore, shuddering. "Oh, would that I could put life into that still heart again, I and brightness into those dim dark eyes! I would suffer a life-time of pain to do it."Violet Kensington wreathed her white arms round his neck, tossing back the damp, fair clustering hair from his burning brow with her cool white hands."You have forgotten that, if she had lived, she would have come between you and me and happiness," she murmured, in her low, sweet, cooing voice that had always sounded like the sweetest music to Harry Strathmore's ears. Now it sounded strangely discordant, and the vague wonder flitted across his mind. whether indeed it would be happiness with Violet, after all. The chances were that, if Violet had remained silent then, the whole course of her after-life would have been different.  A slight incident--a word, a look, or even a gesture  have been known to change the mightiest love into abhorrence. Love comes to the heart swiftly, and it may take wing just as swiftly, and is often but a fickle, transient guest. But, feeling so sure of Harry Strathmore's love and blind adoration, Violet went on, hurriedly:"Yes, I am glad she has made away with herself. How we would have hated her, if she had lived to spoil our lives! She was a designing, artful little minx. No wonder she drowned herself when she found out that we knew--" "Violet, remember you are speaking of the dead!" exclaimed Harry Strathmore, sternly. "Do not say another disparaging word of poor Theo, if you would retain the respect in which I have always held you."Violet took a step backward, and looked at his pale, angry face."One would almost imagine that you were as much in love with the pretty little beggar as she was with you and your glittering gold, and that you had just discovered that the 

smoldering love existed, when her untimely taking off awakened it into life."She had put the idea into his head, and he caught at the thought with a strange eagerness. Was the great pain in his heart the quivering throb of love? Merciful Heaven! had his heart gone out to Theo, and he unconscious of it?He fell back in his chair with a deep groan, covering his face with his trembling hands. As in a glass darkly a consciousness of the truth came home to him too late. He loved little Theo with all the mad, passionate ardor of his heart. The mighty thrill that stirred his pulses as he saw her standing on the flame-wrapped balcony, and bade him peril his life to save her, instead of pity, as he had thought it then, was love--love, too, that had prompted him to follow her to-night down to the banks of the dark river--love that bemoaned her loss, and cried out to him that his life was ruined and blasted now that Theo was gone ; and the bitterest drop in his cup of remorse was the knowledge that Theo had loved him so well, and that she had died for him!Violet Kensington had charmed and bewitched him with those dangerous smiles and lovelit eyes and tremulous sighs and low-breathed words, that had led him on in the glamour of a delusive love. He had been drawn skillfully on into breathing vows of love, he hardly knew how. He had seen only the sweet side of Violet's nature before; now she stood revealed to him, a vindictive, dangerous woman--one capable of the most desperate, relentless hate--one who could glory in an innocent rival's death--the loss of a human life, if it removed an obstacle from her path. He was surprised, amazed, cruelly disappointed with her."You do not speak--you do not attempt to deny it!" screamed Violet. "I believe you did love the girl, and, if that be true, I glory in the fact that she is dead! Never trifle with my love, Harry Strathmore," she added, in a voice of prophetic warning, "for, if you do, 1 shall take a terrible revenge upon you--but we must not quarrel, Harry. Smile on me again. We will forget Theo, and be happy."CHAPTER VIII.WHILE Harry Strathmore and Violet were having that spirited discussion, which was little better than a quarrel, in the library of Strathmore Hall, quite a thrilling event was transpiring on the river road scarcely five miles distant.Daylight, cold and gray, was breaking through the leaden

clouds of night as a little boat shot rapidly through the dark waters, making for a group of heavy willows that skirted a dense tract of uninhabitable land known as the Marshes. Its occupant, Frank Hawthorne, the ex-secretary, hastily secured the skiff, and, raising a small, unconscious figure that lay in the bottom of the boat, strode rapidly through the reeds and brambles toward a small frame house that was almost hidden from view by the luxurious wild creepers that covered it.
There was no sign of life about the dilapidated structure, but notwithstanding this, Frank Hawthorne gave a low, peculiar whistle and an impatient, imperative knock at the door.A moment later, and there was a sound of shuffling feet from within, the door was opened ever so slightly, and a tall, angular woman peered out."Oh, it's you, is it, Frank Hawthorne?" she exclaimed, in surprise, and with a touch of anger in her voice. " What in the world brings you to the Marshes, and at this time o' the morning? It's three years since you set foot here before. You didn't know or care whether your old aunt was alive or dead."She stopped short. He had pushed past her with an angry exclamation of annoyance and a muttered imprecation, and she saw, with amazement, he held in his arms the inanimate form of a beautiful young girl. No bonnet covered the little
head, but in the meshes of her hair white buds were clinging; and the strangest and most mysterious part of the whole affair was, her dress and long curling hair were dripping with river water, that trickled from her garments to the floor in tiny pools."Never mind talking now," said Frank Hawthorne, striding into an inner room with his unconscious burden. "Let us see if this girl is alive or dead; I rescued her from drowning. You women understand such things, Aunt Dorcas. Why don't you set about trying to revive her?" he asked, impatiently."I'll set about it as soon as I can get you out of the room," grumbled Dorcas Lane. "I don't suppose she would appreciate the situation if she opened her eyes and found you staring at her."He turned on his heel and quitted the room. For an hour or more he paced the outer room excitedly."I can bear the suspense no longer," he told himself. "If Theora Chester lives, my fortune is made; if she dies--"The sudden opening of the door of the inner room interrupted his meditations. It was Dorcas Lane."1 guess the girl will live," she answered to his look of

eager inquiry. "It has been a close call, though; the work of resuscitation was hard. I have given her a strong cordial, and under its influence she has dropped into a deep sleep."Bravo!" cried the young man. "This is the best day's work that you have ever done. I'll pay you handsomely for it. A golden prize has dropped into our hands. If she lives, our fortune is made. If! Aunt Dorcas, she must live!""But who is she?" questioned Dorcas Lane, eying Frank Hawthorne, sharply. "1 wouldn't be at all surprised to find out that you had abducted the girl! You're none too good to do it."The young man threw back his head, displaying a handsome set of white teeth as he uttered a short laugh."Upon my word, you haven't the best opinion in the world of me, it seems; well, in this instance your surmise proves in-correct. I was boating in the location of Strathmore Hall, when suddenly I was attracted by a piercing cry, and the next moment a white-robed figure fluttered down the path, and with suicidal intent, of course, plunged from the rocks down into the river, scarcely three feet ahead of my boat."As she touched the water I caught her; another instant and she would have been drawn down by the undercurrent to certain death upon the sharp rocks that lay beneath."The moment I looked into her face I knew who she was --Theora Chester, of Strathmore Hall, the major's ward. 1 had drawn her into the boat, and a few rapid strokes sent us into the shadows of the draw-bridge."A few moments later there was an exciting search for her body; I could have called out to them from the shadow of the bridge that the girl was safe and secure, but I would not. A sudden plan had entered. my head, its execution with your help will be comparatively easy, and it will make me a rich man for life.""But who is she?" again questioned Dorcas Lane; " some heiress, I suppose."Again Frank Hawthorne laughed that peculiar laugh, showing his white teeth beneath his black curling mustache, and leaning forward, fearful lest the walls might overhear the strange secret he had to impart, he whispered a few startling
words into his aunt's ears, words which nearly took her breath away. She started back with a white, scared face."You must be mad!" she cried; "how could you possibly have discovered all this?""When I was Major Strathmore's private secretary," he replied. "One night, some ten years ago, he had kept me

writing letters until a late hour, when suddenly there was a sharp peal of the door-bell in the vestibule below. The servants had retired long since, so, turning to me the major said irritably, as he dictated hurriedly a few sentences, 'Make haste and finish that letter, I will answer the bell myself.' He had forgotten to close the door after him, and a moment after he had opened the door below I heard a sharp cry, and the major uttered in tones of the greatest horror, 'My God, Theora, how came you here?'"1 stole to the baluster and peered cautiously over. The midnight visitor was a woman young and a beautiful as a dream. 1 fairly held my breath as I gazed enraptured upon that wondrous face; she had a strange kind of beauty that made it the most marked--eyes of melancholy velvety darkness, and hair that glittered like gold under the light of the chandelier."Major Strathmore's face was as pale as death, and he drew her quickly out of the house. It was storming heavily too. He hitched up a horse and carriage at once himself, and took her away again, driving like one mad. I was petrified, amazed. While 1 was standing there gazing about me in utter bewilderment, my eyes fell upon the major's safe; he always kept it securely fastened, and the key attached to some other one hung by a silken cord about his neck. Now it stood in the lock, the safe door stood open."In a moment I was beside it, but I could not discover that it contained anything of particular value. In disgust I tossed the papers back, and shut the door to with a bang. The spring-lock snapped. Then I discovered 1 had not put back   an old memorandum-book of accounts, and, fearing lest it should be discovered, I thrust it into my pocket, and threw it into my trunk when I reached my room. Major Strathmore returned the next morning, but he did not notice there was anything amiss with the safe or its contents. There it lay long years--this memorandum--in my trunk."The day the major turned me from the Hall because he found me opening one of his private letters, I came across this old book. I would have thrown it into the fire, but something on the fly-leaf caught and held my attention. It was these words, in the major's handwriting:"'I must not forget to destroy the dangerous papers that are hidden away in the old chest in the attic. I must overcome my reluctance, for procrastination is the thief of time.'"That night, when all the household at Strathmore Hall slept, I stole to the attic to find out the mysterious secret of the old iron-bound chest. I forced the lid, and found a bundle of papers lying in an ebony box."Across the back of the papers I read these startling words."And again Frank Hawthorne lowered his voice and whispered the words into Dorcas Lane's startled ear."While I read on in the most intense surprise, a step sounded on the stair--a cautious step. I dropped those papers, that I would have given a small fortune to have finished reading, and fled precipitately. Major Strathmore stood on the threshold."For days and weeks I have hung about in the vicinity of Strathmore Hall, to steal in unobserved and reach the attic again. The next time I will take the papers with me."I see my way to a glorious fortune, but the proofs must not be wanting. And I see a way, too, to crush the proud. haughty spirit of handsome Harry Strathmore. It was his turn a little while ago, but now it is mine, and I will crush him with a vengeance--and all through the girl that lies in yonder room, if she lives. If she dies, we are lost."I would have been fool--madman enough to divulge what I know to her one time when I met her on the draw-bridge--for I had been taken with her pretty face and her gay, dashing ways--but she spurned me; and the next moment I saw the reason why. She was in love with the man I hate with the deadliest hatred--handsome, debonair Harry Strathmore, with his fine ways and white hands."Ah, if my fine, proud, dainty young lady knew what you and 1 know, there would have been war between them to the bitter end.""How do you propose to benefit by this affair, I should like to know?" pondered Dorcas Lane.Frank Hawthorne gave a light laugh." I shall marry the girl Theo Chester," he said."But you say she loves this Harry Strathmore," said Dorcas. "In that case she would not have you.""'A bird that can sing and won't sing must be made to sing,'" quoted the handsome schemer. "Theo shall marry me whether she will or not. She must be mine at any cost."CHAPTER IX.FOR weeks Theo hovered between life and death. Her condition became so alarming during the first week of her Stay at

the house on the marsh, that Dorcas Lane was obliged to send her nephew for a physician in all haste.Frank Hawthorne gnashed his white teeth in impotent rage."A doctor!" he cried, aghast, "why, that would ruin us. Here 1 am trying to keep the girl carefully out of sight that her rescue may not become known, and you want to send for a doctor to spread the startling discovery of her existence here. It can not be done; there's not one of them 1 would dare bind to secrecy as to who the patient was whom he should find here.""Without a doctor she will die," predicted Dorcas Lane. "As to revealing her identity, pshaw! can't you say she's your sister or something of that sort?  You're not obliged to go to Allendale where the girl is known; there's a little village up the river; go there for a physician."Frank Hawthorne grasped eagerly at the suggestion, and the frown cleared from his face.After all, there couldn't be much danger in such a course as that; Dorcas would remain constantly at the bedside, giving Theo no chance of exchanging a word with the doctor.He waited for the shades of night to gather, then put his plan into execution at once.The little village of Rosecliff boasted of but two physicians. One was away; Frank Hawthorne was obliged to make use of the other. He would have been better pleased if he had not been young and handsome.Frank Hawthorne regretted too that he had not said it was his wife who needed his assistance, instead of his sister.Silently the young doctor followed his companion into the skiff which lay in waiting, and they pushed out into deep water and down the stream, Frank Hawthorne steadily plying the oar for half a dozen miles or so.Dr. Melville watched the dark, shadowy banks on either side as they swept quickly past them, with a strange sensation in his heart. Where was this dark-browed stranger taking him? Why was he so silent?He was no coward, this fair-haired, handsome young doctor, but as the boat swept along he could not help but remember that there were perhaps more thrilling events in the lives of doctors than any other class of men in the world--events
that might have been romantic if they had not ended in cruel tragedies.He remembered the story of the "Mad Philosopher," that old tale handed down to us from the German--the philosopher who for years made way with doctors in so mysterious a 

manner that the cruel crimes were never traced to him until  after his own death, when he left a half-written book, explaining that doctors should never be permitted to exist, as they interfered with God's wishes by curing the sick, when they should be left to the will of Heaven; and further explaining that he had been patiently engaged in exterminating them for years.And Dr. Melville remembered, too, the story of the aged doctor who had been called upon to attend an injured outlaw. They had bandaged his eyes, but at the very entrance to the rendezvous where the wounded chief lay, the bandage became loosened, and thus he became acquainted with its locality. He paid dearly for the terrible mishap. From that night he had never been seen again. What his fate was none could tell.Young Dr. Melville's suspicions were strengthened when his companion headed the boat for the group of willows that fringed the Marshes."This way," said Frank Hawthorne, briefly, and the doctor silently followed. After a long, tedious walk through almost impenetrable brambles they reached the frame house In the clearing.In order that the doctor might not be able to find the path that led to it himself, Frank Hawthorne had led him around by a circuitous path three times the actual distance."What kept you so long?" demanded Dorcas Lane, meeting them at the door. "She's in a high fever, and is delirious--growing worse every minute. You'll have to do whatever is to be done pretty quick," she said, motioning him to follow her into an inner apartment.A coal-oil lamp from a bracket on the wall shed a pale radiance over the meagerly furnished room, and its full light shone clearly upon the face of a young girl lying upon a rude couch in one corner of the apartment.Walter Melville could scarcely repress the cry of surprise that rose to his lips, and his bachelor heart throbbed quickly.It was the most beautiful face he had ever beheld.He laid his cool white hand on her forehead, and as it came in contact with that dimpled cheek and soft rings of babyish curls his heart gave another throb; then he knew what had happened to him--he had met his fate. He had seen the one beautiful girlish face that he could love."Why don't you set about doing something for her, doctor?" demanded Dorcas, eying him with a glowering light in her eyes, not at all pleased at the rapt admiration with which he was gazing on Theo's face, and muttering to herself that

Frank Hawthorne was a blind fool to bring a handsome young man like this to doctor the girl; "ten to one he will fall in love with her pretty face, and then we shall have a deal of trouble with the pair of 'em."Her words, however, had aroused the young doctor's' thoughts from the chaos into which they had been wandering in delicious reverie, recalling him to a sense of duty.An hour later, under his skillful treatment, Theo opened her eyes for the first time to consciousness and, as it happened, Dorcas had left her position at the bedside for one brief moment in quest of a spoon.The bright brown eyes flashed wide open, gazing with astonishment into the blue eyes of the young doctor who bent anxiously over her."Who in the world are you? and what are you doing here?" gasped Theo, starting up in affright, then falling back upon  her pillow through sheer weakness, but still gazing at him with those great, velvety, wide-open eyes."I am your doctor," he answered, with a quiet smile. "You have been very ill. I shall try to get you well very soon providing you keep perfectly quiet.""Ill!" repeated Theo, in wonder. " How did it happen?" then like a flash memory returned to her. She reached out her hand and clung to him with a piercing, piteous cry of anguish. "Oh, I remember!" she cried, wildly, incoherently. "I struck the dark water and it closed over my head. Did you save me?""No, but some one else did," he replied, thinking it best to humor this strange vagary."Why did they do it?" sobbed Theo. " Oh, I wanted to die. The world is so hard and bitter. Nobody loves me; every one wishes that 1 would die, then I would be out of their way.""Not every one," said the young doctor.How he longed to take one of those little white hands in his firm, strong ones, and tell her if she died the bright world would never be the same to him again;' but he only said, very quietly:"It is very wrong for you to wish for death; it comes to the most of us altogether too soon.""It couldn't come too soon for me," sobbed Theo. "No girl in the world was ever so wretchedly unhappy as I am!""Why are you unhappy?" he asked, wistfully, more with a yearning to do something or say something to comfort her than from idle curiosity.But Theo did not answer him. She lay sobbing upon her pillow, in a way that made his heart ache for her."You must not do that," he cried, gently, but firmly. "You will have the brain fever if you do!"He drew the hands away from the pretty, tear-stained face, and at that moment Dorcas Lane entered with a spoon.Theo looked up at the unfamiliar face with a little cry--this tall, unwieldy figure in a blue serge dress and gingham apron was not Mrs. Mills, the housekeeper, nor was she any one of the servants connected with Strathmore Hall."Where am I?" cried Theo, again, glancing first at the woman's face and then at her surroundings.At a glance Dorcas Lane saw that during her momentary absence Theo had regained consciousness, yet she answered, hastily:"You're at home, to be sure, dearie."Theo was about to make a quick retort, but the woman's hand came down quickly over her red mouth."Hush!" she exclaimed, sternly; " don't speak a single word; your head's flighty--don't speak, I say!"Theo was too weak to combat the pressure of that strong hand, and the doctor, who was adjusting his medicine-case at the other end of the room, was not noticing what was transpiring.A few moments later he was standing on the threshold, ready to take his departure. Frank Hawthorne awaited him with growing impatience."I will come to-morrow, madame, and see your--you --daughter," he said, touching his hat; and there was a lingering hope in his heart that she would correct the remark by saying:"The young lady in yonder room is not my daughter!" But Dorcas Lane did nothing of the kind."There will be no need for you to come here again --we'll pay you for what you have done; leave medicine and directions how to give it--we'll pay you for that, too--that's all we ask of you."A strange flush mounted to the young doctor's brow, and his fine blue eyes clouded."You will find there is still great need of a doctor's services," he said.Then, glancing in at the meagerly furnished room, a sudden thought occurred to him:"1f it is a question of money that prompts your decisions,

permit me to say I will come without extra charge until she has fully recovered.""It appears to me you take a great interest in the girl," said Dorcas Lane, her eyes flashing fire that alone should have warned him."I do," admitted young Dr. Melville, blushing like a school-boy."Then you sha'n't come again!" cried Dorcas Lane, and the door was closed in his face with a loud bang.I will come again! I will go through fire and water to look upon that lovely, girlish face again!" the young doctor thought to himself. "She shall not prevent me from seeing her--I am determined!"CHAPTER X.AT Strathmore Hall strange events were transpiring. A sudden coolness had sprung up in Harry Strathmore's heart toward Violet Kensington. It had come about in this way:Since the night of the major's death, when she so boldly declared her hatred for poor, hapless Theo, he had seen Violet's disposition in a new light; and the event which happened a week subsequent turned the remnant of respect he had for
her into the deepest loathing and disgust.He had been walking in the garden late one moonlight night, when the sound of low, familiar voices fell upon his ear, and, glancing around, he saw, to his astonishment, Violet Kensington and Frank Hawthorne, his father's ex-secretary,
walking up the gravel walk together.  In his right hand Frank carried a small ebony box.Harry Strathmore was too much amazed to utter a word to acquaint them of his near presence, even it the words that fell from Violet's lips had not held him spell-bound."You ask me if I am glad Theora Chester is dead," she was saying, "and I answer yes. If she had lived to come between me and my dearest plans, I would have been tempted to kill her with my own hands! There is nothing under heaven that makes a woman so desperate as to be thwarted in love. Do you think I could have borne to see Theora Chester the mistress of Strathmore Hall, the most magnificent place
in the county, courted, admired, sought after, while I was turned adrift on the world with the paltry ten thousand dollars the major--the mean old thing!--left me in his will? No, no; the girl should never have lived to triumph over me like
that--never!"From that time on, Harry Strathmore never glanced at Violet's white hands without shuddering. Great Heaven! how near he had come to marrying this girl who could talk so calmly of taking Theo's life, whether in jest or earnest! He was glad no regular engagement existed between them. He would not have married Violet now to have saved his life. There is no hatred so bitter as love turned to loathing and disgust.When they were quite out of hearing, Harry Strathmore threw himself down on the grass beneath the beech-trees with a bitter laugh. So this was the end of his love-dream, was it? His idol was horribly shattered. Dainty, pretty Violet, with her sweet smiles and coaxing ways, was at heart a regular scheming virago, who would scruple at nothing--even human life, if it stood between her and her triumph. He was appalled with horror at the thought. And in that bitter moment he remembered poor little Theo's pure, unselfish love for him--the love that chose death that it might bring him the happiness he sighed for--freedom.He hid his face in his hands, and groaned aloud. But it was too late now for vain regrets; his heart had gone out to Theo too late! The beautiful lips were cold that had uttered the words in all childish simplicity and girlish innocence, "I thought, when they sent for me to promise to marry you, that you loved me as dearly as 1 love you, Mr. Strathmore."How the memory of those words smote him! All the tender words of love and regret would never make that still heart throb with joy."No human voice could e'er be heard by the still, cold ear of death.""Poor little Theo," he murmured, as he strode down to the river-bank and gazed thoughtfully and with deep sorrow on the moonlit water, beneath which he believed Theo lay in all her sweet young beauty, " my great yearning love for you has come too late."Ah! if he had but known that at that very moment, Theo, alive, and scarcely five miles distant, was sobbing herself to sleep on her rude couch.Many an hour Harry Strathmore spent on the shore of the river, silently contemplating the dark water, and many who passed the handsome young fellow by as he stood there in his navy-blue suit, and straw at pushed back from his fair hairs thought of the lines:
"Down beside the flowing river,Where the dark-green willows weep, Where the tender branches quiver,There a gentle maiden sleeps.In the morn a lonely strangerComes and lingers many hours,Reader, he's no heartless ranger,For he strews her grave with flowers."To Violet Kensington this strange revulsion of feeling on the part of her lover was maddening. In vain she tried to woo him back to his allegiance, but the spell was broken. He shrunk from her, and avoided her whenever it was possible.Yet, Violet Kensington would not be discouraged."The course of true love never does run smooth, mamma," she would say, in answer to her mother's earnest inquiries as to the existing state of affairs.Even to herself she would not admit the alarming truth that Harry Strathmore's heart had grown cold toward her.One golden afternoon matters came to a crisis. Harry Strathmore had suddenly given out his attention of leaving Strathmore Hall for the present and traveling abroad.Violet Kensington heard the report with pale cheek and bated breath. She would go to Harry and ask him at once if the report were true.She wrote him a little pink-tinted perfumed note, requesting him to see her in the drawing-room an hour after luncheon."I have heard that you are going away, Harry," she wrote, "but I will not believe it. My doubting, aching heart must be set at rest by a denial from your lips." She signed the note, "Your loving Violet."Harry Strathmore put the letter into his pocket with a sigh. There was a time when these pink-tinted notes in the same delicate chirography had set his heart beating strangely, but now only annoyance gleamed in his blue eyes.He had half an hour yet to the time appointed by Violet in her note, and he spent it out-of-doors with his lawyer, who had run down to Strathmore Hall to find out the young heir's wishes concerning the estate while he remained abroad.He was an old friend of the major, and stood on terms of the greatest intimacy with the son."I have pleasing news concerning you, Mr. Strathmore," he said, as they walked down the broad path toward the arched gate together. "I wonder if I may congratulate you?""What is it? I do not know of anything concerning myself that calls for congratulations.""You are modest," declared the lawyer, "but I have certainly , heard, and on good authority too, that you are about to be married.""I can only say that I was not in the least aware of it, Mr. Banks . "The lawyer eyed the young man keenly."Pray pardon me," he continued; "do not think it is from mere curiosity that I ask the question. Is there really no truth in the report?""None whatever," responded Harry, promptly."It is strange," said Lawyer Banks, musingly. "I had the information on such good authority, too, that you were to marry Miss Violet Kensington."There can be no better authority on the subject," said Harry Strathmore, laughingly, "than myself; and I tell you frankly I do not intend to marry that lady.""Well," admitted the lawyer, "your word is all the authority needed."A few moments later they parted, and Harry Strathmore turned to walk back to the house, but in the path before him stood Violet, her hands clutched tightly over her heart."Harry," she said, in a low, vibrating voice, "I want to tell you that 1 overheard all that you said to Lawyer Banks. Is it quite true that you do not intend to marry me?"He tried to laugh to hide his embarrassment, but it was a failure."There has been no question of an engagement or marriage between us, has there, Violet?" he asked, gravely and with dignity."No," she admitted, "but 1 have always looked upon you as my lover. You have told me you loved me a thousand times, and that led me to believe that you would one day ask me to become your wife."He looked greatly distressed. He was a thorough gentle-man in word and deed. How could he tell her that his heart had changed toward her since that day she had expressed her-self so freely in regard to poor Theo's untimely death, even glorying in it? How he hated the ungracious words that he must speak! Yet it must be done; he must speak plainly to her. The words he must utter, "I have ceased to love you," seemed to him most unmanly; he loathed the idea; yet the sooner they understood, each other the better it would be for them both.And he told her, in the gentlest words he could command, that his heart had changed toward her; that if an engagement

had existed between them, were it ever so slight, he would have fulfilled his part of the contract to the very letter; but as nothing of the kind existed, she was free as air, so was he.The words died away on his lips as he saw the marble pallor of Violet Kensington's face; her eyes glowed like purple fires."I am a victim to the fickleness of a man's love," she cried. "You did love me once, and you would have been mine but for the girl who came between us, Harry Strathmore," she went on, "and I hate her for it--hate her even in her grave; for I believe in one mad moment, as she stood before you pleading her cause that night, your love turned from me to her. Is it not so?" she panted.He was too honorable to deny the truth, and he bowed his
head in assent."1 knew it," she cried, with a hard, bitter sob. "But it is not too late, now that she is dead, to--to--care for me again."He could not help feeling touched with pity and distress for the humiliation it must have cost this proud girl to speak such words as these."If you ever marry, I could curse the woman who wins your love!" she cried out.  "She shall suffer for it, for my vengeance shall fall upon her head, just as surely as yonder sun shines.""Calm yourself, Violet," he answered, gently, taking her burning hands in his. "I shall never marry--never. I was plighted to Theo living, and, now that we have been parted by my own cruel coldness down here, I shall fulfill that pledge up there.""You will wreck your life and mine for a foolish vagary!" she cried. "Theo is dead. Why can you not forget her? Harry," she cried, with a spasm of pain in her voice, " pause and think before you give up such a deathless love as mine."He shook his head with a sad gesture."1 am grieved, pained to tell you, Violet," he said, "but the memory of Theo comes between us."The next day a thrilling event happened.CHAPTER XI.WHEN Dr. Melville had left the house on the marsh, Dorcas Lane, contrary to his directions, had given Theo a strong sleeping potion; therefore, the noonday sun was shining into the room before the girl opened her dark, wondering eyes.Again her gaze encountered the dark, unfamiliar face of Dorcas Lane."Will you kindly tell me where I am?" she asked, piteously.This time an answer was not denied her."You are in good hands," replied Dorcas. "Frank Hawthorne saw you take that mad leap into the rapids, and he saved you, and brought you here. I am his aunt. I have been taking care of you for some time past. You were very ill; we thought you were going to die. Why did you jump into the water?" asked Dorcas, curiously.Theo would not answer her; she turned her face to the wall with a bitter groan."Frank has been here every day to inquire about you and leave delicacies. I promised him that he should see you to-day," pursued Dorcas. "You ought to thank him, at least, for periling his life to save yours.""Mine was not worth it," sobbed Theo; "but if you think best, 1 will see him and thank him for his bravery."Frank Hawthorne smiled as this message was delivered, and tossing aside his cigar, and giving his luxuriant mustache an additional curl with his white fingers, he followed Dorcas into the sick-room.He had made quite a toilet for the occasion. His well-proportioned figure was set off to excellent advantage by the cutaway coat and immaculate white duck vest, while his crisp, curling hair and sweeping mustache, together with the white straw hat and ebony walking-stick he carried, gave him quite a jaunty appearance."Lord! what a fool a man will make of himself to please the eyes of a bread-and-butter school-girl," muttered Dorcas, as she beheld him; then she led him into Theo's presence.She was sitting in a large willow rocking-chair by the open window, though still extremely weak. She wore the white mull dress she had worn from Strathmore Hall that night, and which had been freshly laundried by Dorcas for this very occasion."To think that 1 should owe my life to him," thought Theo, as she beheld him standing smilingly on the threshold; "and I have always disliked him so ever since I have known him."He advanced, still smiling, taking a seat by her side--too near to quite please Theo.Out of sheer gratitude for the great service he had rendered her, Theo held out her hand, and a flush of anger rose to her 

face as he raised it to his lips, pressing a kiss upon it, murmuring how delighted he was to see her looking so well after her terrible accident and ordeal of brain fever through which she had passed."I must thank you for saving a human life, Mr. Hawthorne," said Theo; "but all the same I wish you had left me to my fate.""Why?" he demanded, drawing his chair a trifle nearer her. "You are young, and--beautiful: life should hold golden pleasures in store for you--unlimited joy."She shook her brown curly head sadly.Joy! what joy could there be for her, now that the dazzling gleam of love that had shone upon her heart like a radiant meteor had set in eternal darkness?Life--all the future years--would be but a sorry pilgrimage  to her without Harry Strathmore's love!"There may come a day when you may have wealth and love, Miss Theo," he went on, eagerly; " then you will rejoice that I did not leave you to your fate.""I may never have wealth," said Theo; "if I ever should, 1 shall reward you for what you have done for me."She stopped abruptly, for the change that came over his face startled her; the light that flashed into his eyes electrified her."You have it in your power to reward me now, beautiful Theo!" he cried. Then for a moment a dead silence fell between them. "You have the power to reward me now, beautiful Theo," he repeated. "Give me this little hand for my own--the little hand that I rescued from the cold clasp of death. I love you, little Theo!" he cried. "Pardon me if 1 am brusque and abrupt; have pity on me if my words and
actions do not please you. Love will be my redemption, love will make me all that I should be. Oh, Heaven help any man who loves a woman as I love you!"He had caught hold of her little white hand again, and she was too dazed and bewildered to withdraw it from his firm clasp.She was quite stunned by his wild, reckless impetuosity, too much surprised to utter one word of interruption or draw her hand away. Passionate words like these terrified her.All that she knew in her bewilderment was that she was sitting in the willow rocker by the open window, propped up with pillows, and that Frank Hawthorne, the man whom she had always disliked so cordially, and yet to whom she owed such a debt of gratitude, was kneeling at her feet, clasping her hands, and telling her he loved her. She tried to check him,

but it was impossible. He stopped only from sheer exhaustion and want of words, and then Theo found her voice."Hush!" she cried, her anger getting the better of her resolve to try to feel grateful toward him. "I can not understand why you speak to me in this way. 1 may as well tell you the truth: I am trying my best to feel kindly, even grateful, to you, but you are forcing me to dislike, even fear you!""Do not say that, Theo!" he cried. " I must speak to you or die! I love you, little Theo! Will you be mine?""Are you asking me to be your wife, Frank Hawthorne?" she gasped."I am, indeed, so brave," he replied. " You will not refuse, Theo?" he said."I do refuse!" she cried, her brown eyes blazing. "I have been trying hard to respect you, but you will force me to even forget my gratitude toward you. I have heard all the strange tales they tell of you at Strathmore Hall, and I consider words of love from you an insult. I would sooner fling myself back into the rapids from which you saved me than listen to words of love from you. I repeat they are an insult."She had stung his pride. He sprung to his feet with blazing, wrathful eyes, and for a few moments they looked at each other steadily."Have a care, Theora Chester! he said, hoarsely. " The words you have uttered to-day will live in my heart until the day I die!"He gazed at her steadily--the lovely, frowning, averted face, the scornful, curling lips, and anger-dilated eyes, and as he gazed, the love which had filled his heart changed to deep, undying hate. His love died a violent death; her scornful words had killed it."My love an insult!" he repeated, with a harsh laugh. "While I live I shall never forget these words.""I do not wish you to forget them, Mr. Hawthorne," she answered, proudly. " I wish you to remember always every word I have said, that such a scene may never be repeated.""You shall have your wish!" he cried; " every time I look in your face they will come back to me, and I will bring them back to your memory word for word, and they shall pierce your heart like sword points. Now, Theora Chester, hear what I have to say: I would have won you for my wife with love and fair means had it been possible; but now that you have made it impossible, I tell you plainly that you shall marry me, Theora Chester. You have treated me with

harshness and contempt, and 1 swear that I will use my power over you without mercy. 1 will humble your pride to the very dust; my love an insult indeed! You shall rue the hour in which those words fell from your lips.""What power do you pretend to have over me?" flashed out Theo, spiritedly. "I am only a young girl, and very ignorant of the ways of the world, I admit, but 1 know this much: in the United States of free America, no man can force a girl to marry him against her will!""We shall see what we shall see within a week, my scornful beauty," he answered, picking up his hat and cane. "You shall be Mrs. Hawthorne within twenty-four hours, depend upon that. I shall go for some one at once to perform the ceremony.""You are trying to frighten me," she said; " I defy you to put your threat into execution!""1 may as well tell you that it is far from my intention to bring a minister when there are such commodities as justices of the peace to be had.""But no justice would marry a young girl against her will!" cried Theo, proudly, her red lips curling scornfully."A hungry country justice of the peace is not such a fool as to throw away a tempting bait of one hundred dollars for a girl's foolish whims," he replied;" unlike ministers they are not likely to be troubled with qualms of conscience, and the beauty of the matter is, they can tie the marriage knot just as securely, my beautiful Theo. I know of a certain justice whom I helped to count into office when I was one of the canvassers, and he wouldn't dare to go back on one of his friends; men stand by each other in many an affair unknown to the general public. Au revoir, my charming Theo," he said, standing on the threshold and raising his straw hat jauntily from his dark curls with a low bow. "When I return 1 shall hope to hear that you think more kindly of your husband that soon to be, and have succumbed to the inevitable with smiles instead of tears.""Never!" cried Theo, fairly trembling with rage; "I tell you solemnly I shall never marry you. Remember my words, 1 will die first!"CHAPTER XII.THE door closed after Frank Hawthorne with a bang, and Theo sunk back in her willow rocker again, with a white terrified face." Marry him, marry him ! I would die first!" Theo burst out indignantly, clinching her little white hands until the delicate finger-nails bruised the tender' pink palms."When he returns he shall not find me here, she told herself. She sprung to her feet, but a low cry fell from her lips as she realized how weak and dizzy she was.She groped her away to the door and turned the handle nervously; but to her great consternation she found that it was fastened upon the outside.The next moment the door opened, and Dorcas Lane stood on the threshold."What do you want?" she asked, sharply."I am going away," said Theo, simply. I thank you gratefully for all that you have done for me, and if the time ever comes when I can repay you, I will do so with pleasure; until then, farewell."She attempted to pass Dorcas Lane, who still stood grimly in the door-way, but that person caught her arm in a firm grasp.You're not to leave here, my young lady, that's Mr. Frank's express orders," exclaimed Dorcas, forcing her back into the room."Are you against me, too?" cried Theo in bitter indignation. "You are Frank Hawthorne's aunt. I see there is little use in appealing to you. What your motives are in attempting to keep me here, and to encourage a marriage between your nephew and myself I can not comprehend. I am quite as much mystified as indignant. If I were an heiress I should think it was for my money; but as I am only poor, penniless Theo Chester, your object is beyond my comprehension," exclaimed the girl, passionately."Ah, if she only knew," thought Dorcas Lane. "If she but dreamed why Frank Hawthorne is so anxious to secure her for his bride how amazed she would be, to be sure."She had advanced into the room, relaxing her hold upon Theo's white, slender arm, and at that moment, swift as a flash, Theo sprung through the open door-way; but quick as thought Dorcas had grasped the skirt of her dress, and in the slight scuffle which ensued Theo fell back in her arms in a dead faint, her head coming in contact with the casement as she fell.Dorcas laid her charge quickly on the bed and commenced applying restoratives, rubbing the girl's cold, white hands and blue-veined temples vigorously; but an hour passed and despite Dorcas's strenuous efforts Theo did not revive."There will be the very mischief to pay when Frank comes back and finds this state of things," she muttered; " and there can be no wedding if she's like this."She thought of the startling revelation Frank Hawthorne had made concerning the girl, which he had whispered into her startled ear after having sworn her to eternal silence; she remembered his closing words:"Take great care of the girl, Dorcas, watch her as Aladdin watched his lamp; for she is to you and me what that lamp was to Aladdin. And the day that sees me her wedded husband will make you rich for life. If she dies there is an end to our golden dreams, remember that."A strange fate had been playing directly into the schemer's hands.On the night which followed his thrilling revelation to Dorcas he had haunted. the grounds of Strathmore Park as usual, waiting patiently an opportunity to make his way into the Hall and up into the tower unobserved.As he watched, a woman's figure passed quickly before the window in the tower; her face was turned directly toward him in the moonlight and he knew that it was Violet Kensington."What was she doing there?" he asked himself; " could she suspect--" the cold prespiration stood out in beads upon Frank Hawthorne's forehead. If any one should by chance examine and take possession of those papers concerning Theo, which he knew that the iron-bound oak chest contained, the great scheme which he had concocted would be laid in ruins. He almost held his breath when a moment later Violet Kensington crossed the moonlit porch, gliding into the grounds with the identical black ebony box in her jeweled hands.She went straight to the Heron's Pool, a dark sheet of water that skirted the park, and was about to consign the casket into its depths when it was snatched from her hand; and wheeling swiftly around with a low cry, she found herself face to face with Frank Hawthorne, the ex-secretary."What do you mean by such an outrage?" exclaimed Violet Kensington, white to the lips, yet with a ring of terror in her haughty voice."Because I know its contents," he replied, coolly. "Why should you wish to destroy it, Miss Kensington. Let me answer for you. You have discovered the import of the papers!" he exclaimed; " and you would consign the proofs of Theory Chester's strange secret to these silent waters.""Well!" exclaimed Violet, effecting a cool bravery she was

far from feeling. "What if your surmise be correct, what then? I ask; the girl is dead, therefore the papers are useless.""To you, perhaps, but not to me," Frank Hawthorne answered. " I shall therefore take charge of the box and its contents. You will not dare to betray me, Miss Kensington. You would not have these papers exposed to public knowledge for a small fortune, 1 fancy."Violet Kensington staggered back against one of the beech-trees, vainly attempting to stay the wild throbbing of her heart, she knew she was in his power, and would be from that moment until the day she died, and she knew too that she must temporize with him--it was the only way.She came nearer and laid her beautiful white hand on his arm, raising her lovely face to his in the clear white moon-light, and giving him the full benefit of those dark, velvety, alluring eyes that the hearts of men rarely resisted."Mr. Hawthorne," she said, in her low, thrilling voice, sweet as the notes of a nightingale, " for my sake throw that box into the Heron's Pool, and when I am once Harry Strathmore's bride you shall name your own reward. I will settle the half or the whole of the dower upon you which I shall receive. You are young and kind of heart; you can not see a woman pleading to you with tears and sobs as I am pleading now, and refuse to grant her request. The contents of that fatal box can not concern or interest you, as this girl Theo is dead; why, then, will you refuse to grant my prayer?"In vain he expostulated. Violet argued and prayed.He hesitated a moment and she thought he was lost."You have conquered," he said; " the box shall be the own into the pool."As they passed along through the patches of alternate dense shadow and mellow white moonlight, as it sifted through the overarching trees, Violet did not notice that he slipped the contents of the casket into his pocket, and that it was but the empty box which he tossed into the black waters of the pool in answer to her prayers and pleadings.It was while on their way to the pool that Harry Strathmore had beheld them walking together and talking so confidentially, much to his intense surprise.But we must now return to Theo, whom we left lying white and rigid upon the cot in the lone house on the marsh, while Dorcas Lane bent over her, applying restoratives to rouse her from that lethargic fainting fit.Was the girl going to die after all,. and the golden prize slip

through their fingers at almost the very hour of success? Dorcas asked herself, her nervousness increasing. No, it should not be; she must live. She would increase the strong potion that had been left by the doctor for such an emergency at this--yes, she would double it--quadruple it!And, without waiting to secure a glass, she poured half the contents of the vial the doctor had left, between the girl's white lips.The result of the overdose was alarming! There was a violent contraction of the girl's muscles, the face grew livid, then turned to the hue of death. There was a short, sharp struggle for breath, a violent spasm, then the muscles suddenly relaxed, and Theora Chester's heart ceased to beat."Oh! good Lord, good Lord! what have I done?" cried the woman, in mortal terror. "Oh, I have given her too much: and instead of bringing her out of her swoon, it has killed her!"In vain she redoubled her exertions to chafe the cold hands and blue-veined temples. They grew cold, with the clammy chill of death beneath her trembling touch.And thus, an hour later, Frank Hawthorne found her, when he returned to inform her that he had found a justice who would be willing to perform the ceremony the following `day, and that in the meantime she must keep a strict watch on Theo's movements.His intense rage knew no limits."Dead!" he exclaimed, bending over the beautiful, inanimate form, and placing his hand over the pulseless heart. "How did it come about, woman? No prevarications, I say--tell me at once, how you have managed to wrest the golden prize from my grasp by letting it slip through your fingers. I could curse you for it!" he cried, fiercely, and with a terrible groan.And in a trembling voice, Dorcas Lane told him truthfully just how it had happened--to bring the girl out of her lengthy swoon, he had given her an overdose--it had brought her death instead."Fool ! most accursed fool!" cried Hawthorne, smiting his breast with his clinched hand, in his mad rage--" her death ruins me!"He picked up his straw hat, and strode toward the door; but Dorcas Lane intercepted him."Out of my way, woman," he cried; " never let me look upon your face again!"" What shall I do with the girl in yonder, Frank?" she

asked. "Surely, you are not going to leave her like this on my hands, are you?He crushed out a jeering, horrible laugh from between his white teeth."Do? Why, do what you please with her," he cried."But, surely," cried Dorcas, aghast, "you--"The slamming of the door behind him cut her words short.Frank Hawthorne strode away from the house fairly raging with his terrible disappointment. He little knew of the thrilling event which was to transpire ere he saw Dorcas again.CHAPTER XIII.THE following week there was to be a grand ball at Strathmore Hall, and to use an old stereotyped sentence, the "élite of the county were to be present, for on this night the genial young heir was to bid farewell to his many friends; on the morrow he was to go abroad.Violet Kensington stood before the mirror in her own elegant room on the night of the ball, clasping a rope of pearls interspersed with diamonds about her white throat; but their gleaming whiteness and brilliant, sparkling fires were lost upon her."To-night is my last chance!" she cried under her breath, setting her ruby lips tightly together. "If this evening passes without Harry Strathmore breathing one word of love to me, before he leaves at dawn on the morrow, then indeed is his heart cold toward me. Why can I not win him from a mere shadowy fancy?" she cried.Man-like, when she was living, and he knew he could get her, he didn't want her, he wouldn't have her; but now that this Theo is out of his reach forever, he suddenly discovers that he loved her, and is wearing his life away in useless sighing for her."if he goes away on the morrow, leaving me free and unfettered for another to win perhaps, for all he knows, then I shall know that he does not care. My great worshipful love has been lavished upon him in vain, and the worst of the
matter is, that I have stooped from my pedestal of pride to let him read my heart,
"'And he smiles and rides away.'But why, with all of my superb beauty, do I fail to win him?" she cried, appealing to her own reflection in the mirror."Why not admit the truth? No face can be more beautiful

than mine. Men rave over my beauty, and women envy me; but I might as well be ugly for all the good it does me--it will not win me one glance of love from Harry Strathmore's eyes."'She had shown her love and given her heartTo one who haughtily stood apart;'Tis always the way with the foolish fair, They sigh for the one who does not care."As she stood there the well-known story of a famous tragedy queen, now dead, but who was known to fame long years ago, occurred to her--the story of how the great gifted actress had stooped from her high position to love one of the poorest members of her company--a handsome young fellow with the face of a Greek god and a shallow, fickle heart. He was her junior by several years, but love forgets that. He was but a poor, strolling player. She had wealth a duchess might envy. All went smoothly enough with this love match until a fort-night preceding the wedding.As she was awaiting her turn to go on the stage, standing in the heavy shadow of curtains, she heard her lover's voice.He was standing behind one of the shifting scenes talking with one of the chorus girls, a bewitchingly pretty maiden, whose great attractions of face and eyes the great actress had often secretly admired.They were standing so near she could have put out her jeweled hand and touched them."You must not persist in making love to me, monsieur," the girl was saying." You love our star. You are engaged to marry her. Why then do you talk to me as you do? Madame would not only be very jealous but very angry if she were to hear of it, and I should lose my place.""Love her!" he groaned. " Ah, ma ch"è"re," he cried, "how can you for a moment believe such a thing possible? Who could love her when they looked into her face--it is so frightfully plain, quite ugly in fact. If she had your beauty now, with her golden shekels, I might be able to love her; but," with a sigh, "we must take the goods the gods offer, even if they are not given on golden plates."The great actress waited to hear no more, but went upon the stage with a firm step. Never in her life did she go through her tragic part so sublimely. Women wept aloud, and tears came to the eyes of strong men.Showers of bouquets fell about her sweet as the breath of Araby. Yet, in the very zenith of her fame, her wondrous

genius--standing there amid the flowers--the prayer that rose up from her poor wounded heart was:
"Oh, empty fame! oh, genius! wealth! I would gladly give you all, if Heaven had but given me a beautiful face; for then might have won the heart of the man I love."Many a time Violet Kensington had thought over the story of this great actress. The tragedy in her own life was a thousand times more pitiful than any she portrayed before the foot-lights."I have beauty, and yet I can not win the man I love," mused Violet, twining a spray of crimson roses in her raven-black tresses.She gathered up her fan and bouquet, and throwing her silken train over her white-kidded arm made her way down to the ball-room.Harry Strathmore and his friend Dr. Walter Melville, of Rosecliff, were just entering an arched door-way from the other end of the ball-room; and her heart gave a violent throb as Harry Strathmore made his way to where she stood and asked her to open the ball by dancing the first set with him.The young doctor, who had been at one time a college chum of Harry Strathmore, had but recently returned from abroad. This was the first visit he had made to Strathmore Hall for long years. It was destined to be a memorable one."How pale Doctor Melville looks to-night, almost as white as the rose he wears in the lapel of his coat," Violet remarked, carelessly, as they paused for breath a moment beside a jardini"è"re of rare exotics.Harry Strathmore followed the direction of her glance, answering quite thoughtfully:"Yes; I have been bantering him about it; telling him that is rather a bad sign for a doctor to hang out. And he answered that he had rather a strange romantic story to tell me, after the ball is over, which might in a measure account for it.""Perhaps it is a love story?" ventured Violet, wistfully glancing up into the face turned so haughtily and carelessly away from her own."I should imagine not," returned Harry, impatiently."Shall we walk through the grounds, Harry? " she asked. "See how the moon shines on the trees and the flowers. Remember this is your last night at home, to-morrow you go away from us."He murmured something about his duty as host requiring hip constant presence among his guests.Violet overruled his objections, and he could not refuse without positive rudeness.He offered her his arm and silently they walked out into the moonlit grounds together. Ah, surely it was the very night, the very scene and hour for the witching poetry of love!Ah, the beautiful world into which they went. The illumined park, odorous with flowers, and tinkling with the musical murmur of the fountain, lying about them under the moon's bright pale rays.They stood before the marble Flora in the fountain watching the white arm and delicate hand which scattered the cooling spray.The marble Flora was beautiful with its statuesque grace, but the girl standing there with her passionate living beauty, the moonlight falling on her fair face and on the rich folds of her silver silk robe was more beautiful still.Harry Strathmore could feel the white hand trembling on his arm as Violet bent her dimpled face over the water, sighing faintly, her white lids drooping over those wondrous eyes.The spell of that witching hour was over her. Softly under her breath she repeated the lines of a poem she had read that day. Now, it seemed to have a double, thrilling meaning, invested with all the yearning sweetness of her tremulous voice:
What have I done, that one face holds me so,And follows me in fancy through the day? Why do I seek your love? I only knowThat fate is resolute, and points the wayTo where you stand, bathed in an amber light; Since first you looked on me I've seen no night.What have I done?"What can be done? As yet no touch, no kiss--Only a gaze across your eyes' blue lake;Better it were, sweetheart, to dream like this,Than afterward to shudder, and awake, Love is so very bitter, and his waysTortured with thorns--with wild weeds overgrown. Must I endure unloved these loveless days? What can be done?'"Harry Strathmore felt that the words that fell from Violet's lips were almost an appeal to him. He knew that Violet loved him, and that knowledge troubled him. He knew what was expected of him; he realized why she had brought him out here in the mystical, poetical, odorous moonlight.He knew she was waiting for him to take her In his arms,

kiss her beautiful flushed, passionate face, arid murmur, Violet, darling, I love you. Will you be my wife?"He was deeply touched--grieved and sorry for her when he saw the light die from her face and the smile from her lips, as he touched her hand gently, saying:"We have been absent from the ball-room some time, Violet--had we not better return?"He would scarcely have recognized Violet's voice in the answer: "Just as you please, Mr. Strathmore.He looked down at her."'Mr. Strathmore!' Why do you not call me Harry?" he asked. "Have I offended you in any way, Violet?""Oh, no! Why should you-think so?" she replied, with a shudder and a little hysterical laugh. "We will go in, Harry, if that will please you best."He was silent. For the first time in his life he did not know how to answer her; words seemed to fail him. He led her back to a seat in the ball-room--back to the partners who were eagerly awaiting the reappearance of the beautiful belle of the ball.Then Harry Strathmore bowed and turned away, thinking to himself, "I would ask her to marry me if I could offer her anything but brotherly affection. On the night that beautiful Theo died I first felt the throbbing of love in my breast, and knew what love was." Then another thought came to him, and came well-nigh wrecking the whole of his after-life if a thrilling event had not happened: "Why wreck poor Violet's life because my love-dream is shattered?" he mused. "Perhaps I may speak to her after the ball is over. I will give the matter a little thought first."His reverie was interrupted by his friend, young Dr. Walter Melville:"Remember, 1 have promised to tell you a strange and thrilling story to-night, Harry, over our cigars in the library, after the ball is over. Remind me of the fact, my dear Strathmore."CHAPTER X1V.THE grand ball at Strathmore Hall was over. The guests had long since departed, yet in the library Harry Strathmore and his friend, Dr. Melville, still sat, although the pink flush of early dawn tinted the eastern sky."You think I am looking remarkably pale and worn," the

young doctor had remarked, as he settled himself more comfortably back in the spacious arm-chair, and puffed away vigorously at a fragrant Havana. "You would not wonder at it if you knew of the thrilling events which have taken place within the last fortnight: but as I have promised you the narrative, here it is, my dear Strathmore; it has all the flavor of romance, but 1 assure you upon my honor I can vouch for the truth of every word of it."The experience of almost any physician is ripe with thrilling events that would startle the world if they were to find their way into public print. But to the story--pardon the digression, Strathmore:"I was sitting in my office one stormy night, some weeks since, when the door opened, and I was confronted by a tall, dark-faced, nervous young man, who asked if I was Doctor Melville."I bowed in the affirmative, indicating a seat, which he declined."It struck me that I had seen that face somewhere before, but where, I could not tell. You know I have been abroad for years, and the faces of my countrymen at home are there-fore new and strange to me now."1 am Doctor Melville, at your service, sir,' I said; 'what can I do for you?'"'I wish you to attend a lady at once, sir,' he replied--'my sister. Kindly prepare to accompany me without delay.'"'Have you any idea of the nature of her illness?' was my next query."'A fever of some sort, I should imagine,' he replied, brusquely. 'We make the journey by boat; the place lies down the river a few miles.'"I followed him into the boat; he picked up the oars, and with a few strokes of his muscular arms the skiff was quickly out in midstream, whirling down with the swift current."I must confess, Strathmore, for the first time in my life I felt strangely nervous--queer forebodings, and all that sort of thing, such as many a man has felt when he took passage on an ill-fated vessel that was destined never to land."But I was plucky, and I determined to see the adventure through, despite the nervous sensations that were thrilling my heart."I was sure that the crisis of my life had come, and, as the sequel will show, I was not very far wrong."My strange forebodings increased when my strangely silent companion drew the skiff into the dark shadows of the

willows that skirted the marsh, announcing we were to alight there."I followed him through the long rush-grasses of the marsh, over almost impenetrable creeping vines and brambles, and at last we stood before a long, irregular, unpainted wooden house."After a sharp, imperative rap by my companion, the door was cautiously opened by a tall, gaunt woman, and after a short whispered conversation she turned to me, bidding me follow her into an inner room."A lamp from a bracket on the wall lighted the illy furnished room, and by its rays I saw my patient."Great Heaven, Strathmore! how shall I find words to describe to you what she was like?"I have traveled the world over--I have seen the beauties of every country--but never in my life had my eyes ever be-held such a glorious vision of girlish loveliness as my eyes rested on in that isolated house on the Maryland marsh. Could you paint still whiter the petals of the lily, gild refined gold--it were easier to do this than describe my beautiful patient and do that wondrous face full justice."I am only a plain doctor, it would. take a poet or an artist-to describe her. Her eyes were a soft velvety golden-brown, the fever-flushed cheeks were round and dimpled, and soft brown locks curled in babyish rings over a broad white brow."I did all that human skill could do for the beautiful sufferer, but I knew that if she died, life would never be the same to me. Do not laugh at me for being frank with you, Strathmore, and owning that my heart went out to her the first moment I looked upon her face."There is some one for every person in this world, and I knew then that this beautiful creature who had touched my heart had been intended by Heaven for me if I could save her life and win her."When I started for home I promised myself that I should call every day to see the beautiful girl; but imagine my great consternation when upon taking my leave I was informed by the woman who claimed to be her mother that my services would not be required again."In vain I expostulated that the young girl's life was still in danger, and that if she objected to me, in Heaven's name to allow me to send some other physician."The old woman was inexorable, and ended the controversy by slamming the door in my face."I turned away, vowing that I should see the girl again, and

that speedily too, and never in the annals of the world was a vow ever kept in a more thrilling manner."Young Dr. Melville rose from his chair and paced up and down the room in an excited manner for a few moments."Go on, doctor," cried Harry Strathmore, "surely you are not going to do as these novelists do, leave a fellow at the most interesting point of the narrative?""I am trying to calm myself to speak calmly of what happened next," and the fair Saxon face into which Harry Strathmore gazed in wonder and curiosity grew still paler as he sunk into his chair with a groan."Pray go on!" cried Harry Strathmore, little dreaming of the sequel. "You hold my interest as deeply inthralled as one of the pages of Emile Gaboriau's 'Monsieur Lecoq.'""Well," continued Walter Melville, " I went home with my thoughts full of that girl's lovely face."I was like a man haunted; I knew very well what was the matter with me--I was violently, hopelessly in love!"And what gave a spice of romance to the affair was that open warfare had been declared against me, and the gaunt female who presided over the isolated house in the marsh had stoutly declared that I should never see the girl's face again."This made me all the more determined that I would see her, if I went through fire and water to do so. Opposition, as is usually the case, made me all the more determined, and as I was putting my wits together, to use a common phrase, to find some means of accomplishing this, the most tragic event of my life happened."Again the young doctor stopped short in sudden emotion, passing his white hand over his forehead, upon which the veins stood out like knotted cords."When had concluded to pay another visit to the house, the beginning of the end came in the shape of a letter in a strange, cramped, peculiar hand. It was from the female virago of the marsh."For hours after I read the contents of that letter I paced my office like a man driven mad--yes, mad! I can not remember now what the exact words were, but its import was this--I wonder the words did not turn my brain:"On the night previous the beautiful girl had died. The woman confessed that she was no relation of the young girl's, nor did she know who her friends were, or if she had any."She had taken her into her home one night to shelter her from the storm, and the young creature had sickened and died on her hands."She was but a poor, lone woman, and could illy afford the loss the girl had occasioned her; would I take the body for dissecting purposes in the cause of science, and pay her what I thought it was worth? If I did not care to do this there were plenty of medical colleges who would gladly avail themselves of this opportunity to ascertain the cause of the disease which had baffled a wise physician."My God, Strathmore, when I read that letter, which seemed to me, although I am a doctor by profession, the most inhuman I had ever read, I wonder the words had not broken my heart, for hearts do break for a slighter cause."I sent for the 'body with all dispatch--do not start and stare at me in such horror, Strathmore--not for dissecting purposes. God knows 1 would have cut my right hand off rather than that. 1 would save her from the others. No ruthless hand should ever use the knife on that beloved form. Not a hair of her dear head should be severed. She should be interred at the family vault at Rosecliff."I made a full confidante of my mother, and to this arrangement she made no objection for my sake."It was late at night when the body of the beautiful stranger, who had warn my heart, even though her name was to me unknown, was brought into our drawing-room at home, where my good mother out of pity for me was waiting to receive it, and lovingly clasp the beautiful white hands over the pulseless breast."'Do not plead to see her now, Walter, my poor boy,' said mother, with tears in her sympathetic eyes, 'wait till I have smoothed back her hair and arranged her first.'"In tearless sorrow I went back to the library, and paced up and down, awaiting the summons."It came sooner than I expected in a quick, sharp cry from my mother's lips, and through the corridor her startled voice rang out, shrilly, 'Walter! Walter! my son! Come here quick, I want you!'"In a moment I was by her side, and with pale, cold hands and unspeakable excitement in her face she led me to the silken divan where the slender, girlish form reposed."'Look, Walter!' she cried, breathlessly, 'this is not death! See, there is a faint pink tinge in both cheek and lip. I have held a hand-glass to her lips and there is moisture on it. Walter, do you not see that the lovely creature lying be-fore us is not dead? She is alive!''"In one glance I saw that her words were true."CHAPTER XV.HARRY STRATHMORE grasped young Dr. Melville's hand with a glad cry of intense relief. There were tears of sympathy in his blue eyes; the young doctor's narrative had thrilled his heart strangely."I hope for your sake, my dear friend, this romance will end in a wedding."He never would have uttered those words if he had but dreamed who the beautiful young girl was.The time was not at hand, however, for the startling revelation to be made known to him."It will if I can have my way about it," admitted the handsome young doctor, modestly. "She is at my home now, convalescing rapidly, and has won her way to my mother's heart as well as mine."It was morning. The household at Strathmore Hall was astir, and Dr. Melville remembered he had kept the young heir from a few hours of needed rest before his departure. With profuse apologies he arose."Well, Melville, my dear boy, I wish you joy with your wooing," cried Harry Strathmore, genially; and a few moments later wishing his friend a safe and pleasant journey the two young men parted.Neither of them guessed how or where they were destined to meet again.On his way back to Rosecliff it occurred to the young doctor that he had quite forgotten to mention to his friend what a beautiful, poetic name his mother's prot"é"g"é had--Theo Chester.He repeated the musical name over and over again, smilingly, thinking it would not be Theo Chester long if he could persuade her to change it to Theo Melville.The sun was shining brightly on the roses that rioted in glorious profusion around the doctor's home, as with swift steps he ran lightly up the stone steps and entered the house, glancing up blushingly at Theo's window as he advanced from the gate, to see if she were watching him.At that moment Mrs. Melville and Theo were seated in the pretty pink and white morning-room in earnest conversation. Theo's dark eyes were red and swollen with weeping; the elder lady was very pale.In vain Mrs. Melville had pleaded with the young girl to tell

her who she was, where her friends could be found, and how she happened to be at the isolated house on the marsh. In her own mind she quite believed that the name Theo Chester was an assumed one."Oh, Mrs. Melville," sobbed Theo, wringing her white hands, "believe me, I have not one friend in the whole wide world. No young girl was ever so desolate. Not one human being on this earth is bound to me by a kindred tie. I have no friends, not one. I have had a great sorrow," she continued, "and it has left me heart-broken. I shall never divulge what it is. I--I could not."Mrs. Melville was more distressed than ever."Alas, for my unhappy son!" she thought, bitterly. "Great Heaven, what a cruel stroke of fate that his heart has gone out to this girl, whose past is shrouded in such mysterious darkness. Her face is pure and sweet; but whenever a girl's past life is shrouded in mystery it always savors of guilt. He must not be allowed to follow blindly the inclination of his own will." She was his mother. She must save him from the fruits of his own folly even though she resorted to strategy to do it.First of all she would confess to the girl her son's mad infatuation, and plead with her to go away and save him from himself. if that failed, harsh, stern measures must be resorted to.Love laughs at locksmiths, but she would put barriers between them that her son's love could never bridge over.Mrs. Melville was a determined woman, and she resolved to part them ere her son saw much more of the beautiful girlish face of Theo Chester."You will not think it strange or hard of me for inquiring so pertinaciously into your history, Theo," she said, crossing over to the girl's side. I have a particular and excellent reason for doing so. My future happiness and that of another is involved in it."Theo looked up at her with wide, wondering eyes."I do not understand what you mean," she said, slowly."I see I must speak more plainly still," sighed the lady. "I inquired into your past history simply for my poor son's sake, because he thinks he has taken a fancy to you. Hush! my dear, hear me through!" she exclaimed, holding up her white hand to check the words that were on 'Theo's lips. "youth is impulsive, old age is discreet," she went on. When a young man is in love he throws prudence to the winds, and unless he makes the right kind of a choice his

after-life is blighted. After the first glamour of love wears off, if all is not as it should be, bitter disappointment and trouble follow. I pity you, my poor girl, "she continued; "but I would rather see my beloved son dead than your husband."Again Theo attempted to speak, but the lady interrupted her with a commanding wave of her jeweled hand, and Theo, her face turning from a deep flush to a dead white, sat looking at her like an image carved in marble."You may be a very innocent young girl," continued Mrs. Melville; "but matters look decidedly against you, and I appeal to your honor not to encourage my son's love. If you are in want of money and that would be any consideration to you, I will give it to you gladly to go away quietly, without letting my son know your address, or giving him any clew by which he could find you. My son's future happiness is more to me than gold."Theo had risen to her feet, her face white with horror and mingled scorn."Have no fear of my encouraging your son's love, madame," she answered, proudly; "for I could not marry him even though we two loved each other to distraction. I repeat I could not. And as to accepting your gold for such a purpose, you insult me. May Heaven forgive you for the words you have uttered, and for the cruel suspicions that have found lodgment in your heart against me. I shall leave your house this very day, within the hour, before your son's return; I am strong enough to go now.""You will at least allow me to provide you with ample means for the present," she said, secretly delighted at the turn affairs had taken. "One can not exist long without money.""I would rather starve than touch one penny of your money," said Theo, proudly."The girl has spirit, at least," thought Mrs. Melville."But what do you intend to do? where do you intend to go?" asked the lady, as Theo turned toward the door."I intend to go out into the great cold cruel world just as many a homeless, friendless young girl has had to do before me. God takes care of the homeless birds, surely He will watch over one of His creatures who is cast adrift on the rough waters of life. I think I will accept money enough from you, Mrs. Melville, to get to New York or Baltimore. I think I could do better in a large city--it would be easier finding some-thing to do."Mrs. Melville, who was naturally kind of heart, opened her purse and handed Theo a hundred-dollar greenback.It was not much--it would not last long when one had to face the world with only that amount between one and starvation.Theo would never have taken so large an amount if she had noticed its denomination, but through her tears it looked like a ten-dollar bill."Do you know anything of city life?" inquired Mrs. Melville, a little uneasily.Theo shook her dark curls, repressing a sob."I will repay you as--as soon as I have earned the money, faltered Theo. And, with a little choking, "I bid you good-bye, madame," she turned and fled precipitately from the room.In the corridor she encountered young Dr. Melville himself.For an instant Mrs. Melville's guilty heart stood still as she saw her son clasp Theo's white hand with an eager flush on his handsome face, and draw her, quite against her will, into the conservatory among the fragrant blooms.Would the girl tell him all that had just transpired? She must know--she would know. And the proud, haughty mother, who would have scorned a mean, underhand action, sunk breathlessly on a willow seat in the shadow of the palms, where she could hear all that was said while she remained unobserved among the luxuriant foliage.Theo knew that Walter Melville had been away the previous evening to a grand ball, but she never dreamed that it was at Strathmore Hall."You do not say good-morning,' Miss Chester," he exclaimed, gayly. "Why, you look pale." And, with a start of surprise, "Pardon me, but these brown eyes are heavy with tears. Has anything gone wrong with you during my absence?" he questioned, anxiously."Nothing, Mr. Melville. I felt a little lonely, that is all." Poor, foolish fellow! those words caused him to take heart of grace. She had missed him during his absence, she had been lonely. He would never leave her again, never!"Theo," he cried, breaking off a white rose and holding it toward her, " I have a certain question to ask you to-day. Look up into my eyes, sweet, and you can read it there! 1 am really a bashful fellow--bachelors usually are. Wear this white rose on your breast when you cone down to luncheon, and I will take heart, believing my question, which I might better call a prayer, perhaps, will meet with an affirmative 

answer. And if not"--and here his steady voice faltered a little--" if you think I have been too precipitate, send the white rose to me in my library, and 1 will know that it means I must wait. I hang my hopes upon that white rose you hold in your hand, Theo. Miss Chester," he whispered, " be kind to me," and before Theo could find voice to answer him, he had imprinted a kiss upon the hand that was as white as the petals of the rose she held, and the next instant she stood alone, as she thought, in the blooming, fragrant conservatory.CHAPTER XVI.IN an instant Mrs. Melville had confronted Theo, snatched the white rose from the girl's fingers, murmuring, hoarsely:"I will give my son his answer, Miss Chester."Theo bowed and turned away, and without another word walked slowly from the grand mansion of the Melvilles, to do as many a girl had done before her--face the great, cold, cruel world.An exultant throb of intense satisfaction lighted up the cold gray eyes of Walter Melville's lady-mother at the knowledge that she had parted her son from this girl so effectually.She would not tell him that she had gone until the last moment, when search would be quite useless.She saw the look of disappointment that crossed his face when he came into luncheon and found Theo's place vacant.He laid the fragrant bunch of wood-violets he held in his hand on the marble mantel, and sighed."Not here," he murmured, to himself, and a sudden anxiety filled his heart.Was she still debating in her own mind as to whether she should give him hope, or doom him to despair?He longed to ask for her, but there was a look on his mother's face that seemed to repulse such a question.He ardently hoped she would join them at six-o'clock tea, but to his dismay no Theo appeared."Mother," he asked, at length, unable to bear the suspense a moment longer, " why does not Miss Chester join us? Surely she is not ill? 1 should have been informed of it at once had such been the case."Mrs. Melville looked up at her tall, handsome son with well-feigned surprise in her cold, gray eyes."Miss Chester has gone," she said, calmly. "Were you not aware of it?"The tea-cup Walter Melville was holding to his lips fell with a crash to the table"Gone!" he echoed. "Surely you can not mean it, mother?""It is quite true," responded Mrs. Melville. "She left this morning. But before she went she bade me give this message to you."And slipping her jeweled fingers	the pocket of her silken dress, she drew forth a small cream-tinted envelope which she placed in his hand.Then turning away to hide the confusion he might have read in her tell-tale face had he but glanced up, she swept from the room.Dr. Melville pushed back his chair, leaving his supper untasted, and crossed quickly to the lace-draped window, tearing the envelope open with nervous fingers.What did the little cream-tinted envelope hold for him--hope or despair?He drew forth a neatly folded sheet, smoothing it out.It contained a faded white rose, and these few significant words: "It can never be!" No name was signed to it.Walter Melville uttered no word, but crushed the letter into his pocket with a heavy sigh.If he had studied the chirography closer he would have detected that it was his mother's writing which inclosed the rose he had given with that vital question to Theo.Two hours later, when Mrs. Melville crossed the corridor, she saw her son standing by the lace-draped window, the envelope she had given him still in his hands."Mother," he called, wheeling suddenly about, "will you see that a few necessary articles are packed up in my valise with as little delay as possible? I am going away--I am going to leave Rosecliff for a few months."Mrs. Melville trembled. This was an unlooked-for procedure."It is all on account of this girl, I am sure," she cried out in deep distress. "Oh, Walter, I am sorry, sorry, sorry that we ever saw her, the thankless creature, who may have come from the slums of the earth for aught we know!"Walter Melville held up his hand with a gesture commanding silence."Do not speak of Miss Chester in that way, mother," he said, " for wherever she has gone my heart has gone with her. She is a pure and noble girl. I understand why she left us so suddenly." Mrs. Melville gave a violent, guilty start. "The

note you handed me contained a rosebud I had placed in her hand this morning telling her of my ardent love and begging her to wear the rose to luncheon if she favored my suit. I see it all quite plainly, mother; she could not love me, and rather than tell me so she went quietly away.""And knowing this you would be so mad, so foolish, as to go in search of her?"The fair, handsome face into which she gazed flushed hotly."'Where one's treasure is there his heart is also,'" he quoted. " The great, cold world holds my darling, and I am indeed so mad as to go in search of her. A love like mine knows no defeat , "he answered.In vain Mrs. Melville pleaded, coaxed and argued with her handsome, impetuous son. He was inexorable."I must go away for a time, mother," he said. "Do not oppose me. A friend of mine, Harry Strathmore of Strathmore Hall, Allendale, is going abroad for a few months. I have concluded to make the trip with him. 1 can easily catch him at New York, for he intends to remain there a week."His mother bade him good-bye that night with bitter tears. She clung to him, refusing to be comforted."I don't feel right about your going away, Walter, my son," she sobbed. "Something tells me that you should not go. I will never see you again as I see you now."He tore himself from her clinging clasp, and kissing the white hands that would have held him back from ruin and destruction, mounted his horse and rode rapidly away.Mrs. Melville watched him out of sight through her tears."Your life is to be wrecked, my noble boy," she moaned, "and all for love of a fair face."The day came all too soon when her prediction and forebodings were to be realized.But we must now return to Theo.When she left the elegant home of the Melvilles she had bent her footsteps in the direction of the depot.The train had just left, but she found upon inquiry that several New York trains passed the junction, which was eight miles below."I have not much money to spend for riding, I will walk the distance," Theo told herself, bravely.The sun went down and the dusk crept up and began to deepen into the darkness of a starless night, still Theo kept on her way through the dark Maryland woods. Her feet were weary and sore; but her heart was still more weary.Utterly exhausted, she sunk down upon a fallen log by the

way-side to rest, and her thoughts reverted to Strathmore Hall and its occupants.She had read, the previous day, in a morning paper at Melville Villa, the following paragraph among the personals:"Mr. H. Strathmore, son of the late Major Strathmore, of Allendale, is about to close his palatial country-seat, known as Strathmore Hall, and is about to sojourn abroad for the present year at least. He will be accompanied by his--"The paper was torn here, but to Theo's excited fancy the remainder of the sentence was easily supplied: " He will be accompanied by his wife; for, of course, he had married Violet Kensington ere this," she told herself, now that the shackles of that abhorred betrothal had fallen from him, as he must have believed, by her supposed death in the rapids. He loved Violet, not her. She had come between them, and he hated her for it.It were better that he believed her dead; yes, a thousand times better so. She would never cross his path again--his and Violet's. And she bowed her beautiful head over the crimson creepers that grew in rich luxuriance over the mossy log upon which she sat, watering them with bitter tears.A sharp crackling of the dry twigs a few rods ahead of her startled Theo, and, with a little suppressed cry, she draw back into the dense shadow of the alder bushes hard by, but not a moment too soon; for, advancing scarcely twenty feet from her she beheld, by the faint light of the young moon, the figures of two men, one of whom she recognized instantly as that of Frank Hawthorne.For an instant Theo's heart seemed to stand still, and she fancied that her cruel enemy, with whom she had been brought so suddenly and unexpectedly almost face to face, must hear the loud, terrified beating of her heart."We will sit down here upon this fallen log and talk the matter over," said Hawthorne, indicating the seat upon which Theo had sat but a moment previous, and so near her that she could have put out her white hand from where she stood, cowering and shrinking back among the alder bushes, and touched him."The New York train will never reach the station two miles yonder," cried Hawthorne, exultantly, in answer to some question of his companion. "I have taken good care of that made sure, first, that it was the mail train, and that those documents were mailed to-day, and would be on this particular car. They must never reach the district attorney's hands, or all would be up with me. The rails are torn up on the

bridge! In the confusion we can enter the car and secure all the mail for Allendale. There was no other way," cried the hand-some villain, recklessly. "There is another reason that influences me," Hawthorne went on, with a diabolical laugh. "I should not mind seeing that train a total wreck; for the man I hate above all others is on board--Harry Strathmore, of Allendale!" And he ground out the name from between his white teeth, with a fierce imprecation. "We may as well take a stroll down the road. The mail train won't reach the bridge for an hour yet."So saying, they walked leisurely away, leaving their listener, who crouched shrinkingly back among the alder bushes, fairly paralyzed with horror.Theo had caught their terrible meaning in a flash. Great Heaven! what should she do? They intended to wreck the train at the bridge--the train in which Harry Strathmore, the man she worshiped so blindly, was a passenger!How long she stood there, in her dazed horror, the girl never knew; time seemed to slip by with the rapidity of lightning. The far-off shriek of the on-coming train aroused her as it sped on to its doom, nearing the fatal bridge!CHAPTER XVII.FOR a moment Theo Chester stood as if rooted to the spot, dazed with horror, and the face that was uplifted to the dim, flickering stars was pale as death itself.The far-off shriek of the on-coming train aroused her as nothing else in the world could have done. Each instant it was tearing madly toward the bridge and to certain destruction, while the man she loved was wholly unconscious of his terrible danger.In an instant Theo, brave, dauntless little Theo, had decided upon her course of action.Quick as thought the girl dashed back to the bridge, which she had crossed scarcely an hour before. It was for life or death, and fear seemed to lend wings to her feet.It was true, yes, horribly true; the iron rails had been torn from their fastenings, and the dark stream yawned below as if eager and expectant to swallow the prey that was to be given into its keeping if Heaven did not interfere.With a terrible cry Theo sprung forward, throwing herself into the middle of the track and gesticulating wildly, as she waved her white handkerchief to and fro to warn the engineer

of his great peril. The sound of her wild, agonized voice was lost, drowned, in the roar and thunder of the on-coming train.It was the most intensely thrilling moment of the girl's life. Would the engineer see her, or hear her cries, or would the iron monster in its mad flight crush her, and carry its load of human souls on to the bridge and to death?Theo stood upon the track with a death-white face and lips firmly set, trusting her young life blindly to Heaven.The train had gained the curve scarcely ten rods ahead of her, and the head-light of the engine threw its bright glare into the white agonized face, and the slender, lissom figure standing directly in the track."Harry," murmured the girl, raising one white arm aloft as if supplicating aid from above, "1 will save you, oh, love of my heart, who are so cruelly lost to me, I will save your life to-night or die in the attempt."The blind agonized prayer died on her heroic young lips; already the white steam enveloped her like a misty shroud, the intense heat stifled her, the terrible glare of the head-light dazed each faculty, the rails on either side of the brave noble girl shook and trembled like an electric battery; but the girl never wavered, never flinched.And in that awful moment of intense peril, the engineer beheld her gesticulating so wildly, with hands aloft, waving her handkerchief as a signal of danger.He saw and comprehended, but not an instant too soon. In vain he shouted hoarsely to the girl to save herself; she seemed rooted to the spot. Great God! she would be crushed, mangled, beneath the ponderous wheels.Great drops of perspiration stood out in beads upon the man's swart face, and in that moment of fearful ordeal his presence of mind aided him.He had done all that human power could do to stop the train, but it must pass a rod or more over the spot where the girl stood ere its speed would slacken. With iron will and nerves of steel he sprung forward out upon the iron fender. A moment of breathless suspense followed, anther moment and he had clutched the girl's upraised arm, drawing her by main force upon the railing beside him, and the great iron monster thundered pantingly over the spot where Theo had stood but an instant before, panted, trembled, and then stood still, scarcely three feet from the fatal bridge.With a great hysterical cry Theo had pointed to the bridge. "The rails are torn up," she gasped. "1 meant to save your train--or--or die!"The brown eyes closed and the girl fell back in the engineer's strong, stalwart arms in a dead faint; but the man realized at once the terrible import of her words, the fearful catastrophe she had averted at the peril of her own young life.By the strange complications of fate, Harry Strathmore had missed that train and had been obliged to continue his journey by a different route.The passengers--fifty odd in number--and to whom her bravery had been explained, overwhelmed Theo, when she opened her eyes to consciousness, with thanks. She was the heroine of the hour.A purse would have been raised for her at once by the passengers, but this Theo firmly declined. Neither would she give her name, and as to her address, she said, with tears in her brown eyes:"I have no home. I was on my way to New York to search for a situation to earn my own living."A tall, portly, elegant-looking gentleman, the foremost among the crowd of passengers who had gathered around Theo, stepped quickly forward, proffering his card. Upon it she read the name, "Harold Winfield, U. S. Senator, No.-- -- -- Avenue, Washington, D. C.""You have placed me as well as my dear wife, who is in the rear coach, under the greatest obligations, my dear young lady," he said. " If you will not accept money, and insist upon securing a situation, allow me to beg of you to accept a position in our home as companion to my wife--valued friend, if you will."Theo was overwhelmed at Heaven's goodness to her.Mrs. Winfield repeated her husband's request, and the grateful passengers urged her to accept as she could do no better, although each one of them stood ready to render any assistance that lay in their power to the noble young girl who had saved their lives.And thus it was that within one short hour the whole course of Theo's eventful life was turned into a different channel.The brakemen upon the train had set to work with a will, and the rails which would have been the cause of such a terrible wreck were quickly laid in place and firmly spiked down, and with but half an hour's delay the train thundered on in safety, speeding with the rapidity of lightning past the two dumfounded men hurrying along through the copsewood toward the bridge.Imprecations loud and deep broke from Frank Hawthorne's bloodless lips. A thunder-bolt from a clear sky could not

have astonished the villain more than to see the train which he had planned to destroy dashing past him like a meteor.How could it have happened? The planks and rails upon the bridge had been torn up; yet here was the train and apparently in excellent condition.To the last day of his life he could never solve that mystery."Foiled!" he exclaimed as the train thundered past him; then turning to his companion he cried, under his breath:"I must fly from here this very night, for that train, which carries the mail to New York, carries among the registered letters one to the district attorney calling for my apprehension for forging the name of the late Major Strathmore to a certain document. Harry Strathmore, the son--curse him--is pushing this affair through. After to-night this vicinity will be too hot for me. By the eternal, I think I'll go to Washington."Surely it was the cruelest fate in the whole wide world that caused him to make that decision. What came of it we shall soon see.In the meantime, Theo was ensconced in Mrs. Winfield's section of the Pullman palace car. That lady sat opposite her in a crimson revolving chair, declaring herself by far too badly shaken up in the nerves at the very thought of the thrilling accident they had so narrowly escaped to think of sleeping.When Theo had given the lady her name, she was quite surprised to see her lean forward in her chair with an eager expression on her face."Lester! did you say your name was Miss Lester?" she cried, breathlessly. "Ah! I shall love you because your name is Lester. My dearest friend bore that name."Again the lines of adverse fate crossed Theo's life. It would have been very easy to correct that mistake, which was to have such a tragic ending, then and there, by saying, " My name is not Lester, madame; it is Chester.""What did it matter whether it was Chester or Lester they chose to call her?" Theo reasoned with herself. if the lady loved the name of Lester so dearly, she might as well permit herself to be called by that name as well as any other; it mattered little to her."I am very glad to have found you, Miss Lester," said the senator's wife, looking wistfully out of the window. "The great want, the great yearning need of my life is to have some one to talk to, some one who understands me."And the face, which had struck Theo at first sight as a strangely unhappy one, was turned sadly away for an instant.It was rather a strange remark, and the day came when Theo understood better what she meant by it."We have a very beautiful and pleasant home, but I live rather a retired, isolated life. I do not care much for society, although my husband is quite a favorite in it," continued the lady, flushing hotly as she again turned toward the window, her jeweled hands locking and unlocking themselves nervously together in her silken lap."I am not used to society myself," answered Theo, feeling that she was called upon to say something.Of course it was only fancy, but it certainly appeared to Theo that the lady looked relieved.During the remainder of the trip there was one thing that struck Theo quite forcibly: they saw very little of Mr. Winfield. They dined upon the train; he seldom joined them.In her husband's presence Mrs. Winfield was strangely reticent. Husband and wife seldom addressed a remark to each other; yet the senator was the very perfection of politeness in his elegant, polished manner and smooth diction; and the wife's wistful eyes rarely left his face when he was in her presence.Theo was too young and inexperienced in the ways of the world to read aright these indications. Even palaces have their skeleton closets. Theo was soon to know, to her bitter cost, the skeleton that existed in the elegant mansion of the Winfields.CHAPTER XVIII.THE home of the Winfields, in which Theo was soon domiciled, was indeed beautiful; the spacious grounds, the gray stone building with its turrets and ivy-covered tower reminded Theo painfully of Strathmore Hall.The mansion was elegant in its appointments, yet few visitors were entertained there. This was rather remarkable, owing to their high social position.Theo saw still less of the master of the house than she saw of him on the train; she often wondered why. He never breakfasted with them; was rarely home to luncheon, and the occasions were still rarer when he graced the table with his presence in the evening; and often, for days at a time, he would absent himself from home altogether.When he was at home, Mrs. Winfield was fastidiously particular over her toilets. She generally chose a pale-blue silk garnished with pink rosebuds.This costume above all others was most trying to her complexion, but one had not the heart to tell her of it when she raised her troubled eyes and said, slowly:"My husband likes me best in pale blue; it is his favorite color, this particular shade.""Poor lady!" exclaimed Jenny, her maid, to Theo, when they were quite alone. "Her husband will never know whether she has a blue gown or a pink one on; he never sees her when there's anything else in the room for his eyes to rest on."Theo looked up from the lace-work she held in her hands with grave surprise in her brown eyes."La!" cried Jenny, "you've been Mrs. Winfield's companion nearly a month now, and you haven't guessed yet what makes her so unhappy! You're not very sharp, I should say, Miss Lester; I found it out the first day I came here.""I do not know what you mean, Jenny," returned Theo, quietly. "I should never think of prying into people's troubles.""Prying into!" repeated Jenny, with a sneer and a toss of her auburn locks; " why, it's no more of a secret in this house than if it were pasted up on the bill-boards that Senator Winfield and his wife don't get along well together. There's no fussing and quarreling, to be sure; but then, goodness gracious knows if I had a husband I'd rather he would be fussing all the time than to give me such a freezing letting alone as he does her. Poor lady! I feel sorry for her, she tries so hard to keep him attracted!"This little conversation opened Theo's unsuspecting, innocent eyes to the true state of affairs.That evening Theo found Mrs. Winfield sitting alone in the moonlit window of her room, wistfully watching the main road. The beautiful white flowers she had put in her hair that morning were withered and dead, and her face showed traces of tears."I am glad you are come to keep me company,	 Miss Lester," she said. " I was feeling very lonely, sitting here watching for my husband."A deep sigh accompanied the words."Lonely!" exclaimed Theo, gayly. " Why, that ought not to be, my dear Mrs. Winfield. You ought to rouse yourself up, and if happiness will not find you out, you ought to go in search of it.""I fear it would be like Ponce De Leon's search for the fabled fountain of youth--I should never find it.," murmured

the lady, "My only happiness is in being where my husband is.""Well," returned Theo, sweetly and consolingly, "you can not expect a gentleman in your husband's position to have very much time to devote to home life, no matter how much he may love that home.""Do you really think that, Miss Lester?" exclaimed the poor lady, her pale faced lighting up with an eager radiance that was seldom seen there; "do you really believe it is a sense of duty instead of inclination that keeps many a man away from his home?""In a great many cases, certainly," responded Theo, gently."You are very young but you are very sensible, miss Lester," said the lady, clasping Theo's hands in her own cold, jeweled ones; "it is a great pleasure to talk to you, to hear your views; I draw great consolation from your words.""I am very glad," said Theo, earnestly."Do you think, Miss Lester," said the senator's wife tremulously and hesitatingly, " that a husband can ever gain a higher sphere than that occupied by his wife? Do you think, putting it quite plainly, that a man lifted from obscurity and poverty can rise so far above the wife that he married while oppressed by that poverty that she is unfitted for the position of his wife, sharer in his thoughts and joys when fame and prosperity have lifted him far above his fellow-men?"The poor lady listened breathlessly for the answer to that question, as many a wife had done before her.The answer fell clear and distinct, like balm from Theo's sweet lips."No husband can ever rise above the wife he has married, taken to his bosom to love, cherish, and protect through life, Mrs. Winfield; as he rises in the social scale, she rises with him step by step.""Thank you, Miss Lester; your words encourage me, they give me heart. I should like to confide a--a--secret to you; would--would you care to listen?"And as she spoke a burning tear-drop fell from her long lashes, splashing upon Theo's cool, white hand."I shall be very pleased to listen, Mrs. Winfield; anything that interests you to relate must interest me in listening to it.""I can talk to you--you seem to understand me better than any one else has ever done," responded the lady, gratefully. "It is my own story I am about to relate to you, Miss Lester, and a more tragic story never was written by the pen of a novelist; they make their romances end in these words: 'They

married, and lived happily ever afterward,' but with marriage the tragedy of my life began."The white hands that Theo held trembled, but with a firm voice, which quivered brokenly now and then, she went on, slowly:"When I was your age, Miss Lester, 1 lived upon the bank of a stream in Southern Maryland. 1 was a miller's daughter, as happy as the day was long. Did you ever read George Eliot's ` Mill on the Floss'? if you did you will have quite a faithful description of what my old home was like, the description suits it so well."I was as happy as a skylark, Miss Lester; my song was as blithe as the gay dashing ripple of the brooklet that glee-fully escaped from the wheel of the mill! What does a girl of seventeen know of the world and its cares?""I suppose they don't know very much," admitted Theo."They know nothing," responded Mrs. Winfield, "life's cruel lessons lie all before them--even at twenty."I was just seventeen--your age now--when my fate over-took me. It was on the sunniest of sunshiny mornings, I sat among the blue harebells idly plucking them from the stem and tossing them into the stream, when suddenly glancing up I saw the handsomest young man I had ever seen in all my life standing just across the brook looking at me with eyes full of admiration."I could feel my cheeks blushing burning hot, and my heart beat as it had never beaten before."'Is your father in?' asked the stranger, lifting his hat. 'You are the miller's daughter, I presume?'"I could not tell you, Miss Lester, what I said. I never knew. I must have answered in the affirmative, for stepping lightly and gracefully over the round, white stones lying in the bed of the brooklet, just above the water, he crossed over and stood by my side; but instead of going on to the mill to see my father he lingered there talking to me."All young girls are easily impressed with a gay, handsome young fellow. His witching black eyes taught my girlish heart the sweet possibilities of love before we had been talking together an hour, and I was vaguely wondering if he would ever come again."He did come, upon one excuse or another, every day, and those halcyon days are like a dream to me now."Again a burning tear fell upon Theo's cool, white hand; but the narrator continued, falteringly:"It might have been better perhaps had I never met the handsome stranger."Our wooing was sweet and romantic enough to please the heart of any young girl; but when he asked my father for my hand there was sudden and terrible opposition."'No, sir!' exclaimed my father, looking at Harold's white hands, 'you are not the husband I would choose for my girl. I can see now what you would learn in the after years. You are not suited to each other.'"'In what way, sir?' demanded Harold."'Well, to be quite frank with you, you are too fastidious a young man to mate with my Linda,' father replied, glancing at the fashionable cut of his clothes. ` 'It seems to me a wife with more book-learning would suit you best. My girl knows more about the songs the birds sing in the trees yonder, the whispered words of the breeze among the flowers, than she does about grammar. Her lessons have all been learned from the book of nature. No, no, young man, she is suited for a miller's wife, or the wife of a farmer, but not for you.'"Love laughs at obstacles, and I am grieved to tell you that we eloped, and the true saying that 'runaway marriages never turn out well,' was fully exemplified."When my father discovered what I had done he simply said:"'I hope you may never rue it; but, ah, I fear for you.'"Those words struck more terror to my heart than the deepest curses would have done."Yet in the first happy year of my marriage with Harold I quite forgot them, or remembered them only to laugh at my forebodings."Harold owned a dry-goods store in a country village then, and we lived over the store. And in those humble rooms, Miss Lester, T was a thousand times happier than I am now in this marble mansion."1 fear my recital does not interest you, Miss Lester," she said, anxiously."Pray go on," cried Theo. " I am more than interested."Theo little knew what vital interest the continuation of this story was to have for her.CHAPTER X1X."FOR the first year everything went on smoothly enough with us," said Mrs. Winfield, continuing her strange recital:

"then for the first time I noticed that my Harold was growing discontented with the life we led."He was ambitious to a fault. The one dream of his life was a longing for fame and glory. I could not understand these longings, and he often told me impatiently that ` we had not one thought in common,' and that if he had married any other wife--one who understood him better--he might have been a brilliant man."Then the crisis came. A distant relative died, and Harold, as next of kin, inherited his vast wealth. From that moment I never knew a happy hour."We moved to Washington, and, with his great wealth, honors, fame, and all that his heart sighed for were soon his; but alas! Miss Lester, each day but drifted his heart further from me."I was brought to a realization of it in a strange manner. I had sent for my sister Dora to make me a visit, and see my elegant home and Harold's. When Dora came I wanted Harold to take her out to drive and show her the city, but to my great dismay he absolutely refused."'Indeed I shall not be seen in public with an awkward country girl like that!' he exclaimed, angrily, when we were alone together. 'It is bad enough to tolerate her about the house. Do you think a man of my standing can endure to be laughed at by having it leak out that she is my wife's sister? I wish to Heaven you would keep your country relations where they belong, and not bring them here to disgrace me. I abhor them!'"Harold,'I exclaimed, sharply, 'you seem to forget that Dora is my sister!'"'She doesn't gain anything in my opinion by that!' he exclaimed, in a voice of concentrated bitterness. 'You two are as much alike, to use a common phrase, "as two peas in a pod."'"Those words were a revelation as to the opinion he had of me. And I, ah, God pity me, how I loved him! He was my world--the most perfect of men in my worshipful eyes."One's relatives are always quick to note the domestic infelicity between husband and wife whenever it exists."Sister Dora's sharp eyes soon detected the growing coldness between Harold and me."'Pardon me, Linda,' she said, 'of course I may be mistaken, but he doesn't seem to care much about you. Here he goes to balls, operas, and parties every night, but he does not

ask you to accompany him. Other men take their wives. What's the reason he don't take you?'"That night I asked Harold about it. These things had not occurred to me before; my eyes were slowly opening."'That sister of yours has been putting all these notions in your head,' he retorted, angrily. 'How dare she criticise my movements?'"'But why do you not take me out with you when you call upon your friends, or dine with them?' I persisted."'I had rather not explain why, Linda,' he said, evasively; but I insisted upon an answer."'Well, then, if you must know, I might as well admit the truth to you, Linda. You are neither fitted by education nor culture to mingle in the society which my position calls upon me to enter. You would be out of place. You would be ignored instead of being appreciated. You could neither understand the conversation of those around you nor enter into it. Your position would be most trying for yourself and for me. You are not a society lady, Linda; you can never be one.'"'You knew all this when you married me, Harold; you were pleased enough with me then,'I cried."'What would please Harold Winfield, a country merchant, would be far from pleasing the fastidious taste of Senator Winfield, a man of the world,' he replied. 'Your father was right, Linda; you and I were never suited to each other.'"From that night I was never the same, Miss Lester. I cried myself to sleep. Had Harold's love for me grown cold? would it die altogether out of his heart? I asked myself. Ah, how I prayed Heaven to spare me his love--prayed as a starving, dying child prays for a crust of bread! Love is rapture, Miss Lester, and yet it is the keenest torture a woman's heart can know."When Dora went home I applied myself to study; but it was a hopeless task; try as 1 would, I could not retain in my memory what I did learn. I tried music, but I could not manipulate the ivory keys of the piano; the notes seemed to my nervous, excited fancy like little black sheep jumping over the bars."It never occurred to me before that I was no conversationalist. I realized it now with a pain at my heart that was terrible to endure. I could not converse with any one when Harold was by; my thoughts grew muddled and confused, and my lips grew mute, for I knew that he was noting all my

imperfections. I lived in constant dread, that was agony itself, lest I should do or say something wrong."Each day the breach between Harold and myself widens, and the full force of the words I should have heeded ere it was too late often recurs to me--' We are not suited to each other.' 1 try to look my best before Harold, but it is quite useless," continued the poor lady. "He is dissatisfied with me. Hope has died out of my heart. Your words that 'husbands can never rise above their wives in the social scale' has given me great hope, Miss Lester. I thank you for them. I shall dream over them to-night. This exchange of confidence with you has comforted me strangely."Theo was kneeling beside her, her lovely, sympathizing young face upturned to the one bending over her in infinite pity."Do not allow yourself to grieve over such a gloomy picture," she cried. "You and I must change all that. By three months you shall have your Harold again at your feet suing for your love as in those bright halcyon days."The radiance that lighted up the haggard face for an instant was pitiful to see; but it died out in a single instant, leaving it more haggard than before. She shook her head sadly:"'Love that has once died out of the heart can never be rekindled,' Ik Marvel tells us; and I believe that that is quite true, Miss Lester.""Love for you has not died out of Mr. Winfield's heart," declared Theo. "The old affection is only sleeping; we must arouse it."The lady looked incredulous, scarcely daring to hope."You can not be much older than I am," continued Theo. "You are still young and beautiful. You are despondent, that is all.""I am twenty-seven," said Mrs. Winfield, ruefully; " and my age shows to great disadvantage when compared to the fresh young face of a girl of seventeen.""Nay," cried Theo, gayly, " many a lady never falls in love and marries until she is that age; twenty-seven is young indeed; you will admit that when you are forty.""What a wise head you have on such young shoulders, my dear," laughed Mrs. Winfield. "I believe 1 am regaining my lost youth again under the witching spell of your presence. I have something to say to you about yourself," she' he went on,
patting the girl's soft brown curls. " My husband has a nephew who is coming here to spend a few days with us ere he goes abroad--his father died recently. You must see him, my

dear, and help me to entertain him; he is very brilliant, and I hope sincerely from the bottom of my heart that it will end in a marriage. I shall like so much to keep you in the family always."Theo had risen to her feet, her beautiful face death-white in the solemn moonlight."I am not for love or for marriage, Mrs. Winfield," she said, brokenly. "I pray you never to speak to me of it again--I could not see your nephew--I would rather not--please do not ask me."That night, when Theo went to her room, long and earnestly Mrs. Winfield mused over her strange words--" Not for love, or for marriage "--what could the girl possibly mean?"She would make such a good wife for my husband's nephew, handsome Harry Strathmore," she mused; " but of course, if she refuses to see him when he comes, I can not insist upon her doing so; and he comes to-morrow, his telegram says. I am sure he would fall in love with her pretty face if he were to see her."CHAPTER XX.EARLY the next morning the following hastily written note was received at the Winfield mansion:"MY DEAR AUNT LINDA,-I shall be with you at six o'clock this evening at latest. I bring with me a friend of mine, Doctor Walter Melville, of Rosecliff, who has concluded at almost the last moment to join me in my trip abroad. We shall be able to pass but a few hours under your hospitable roof, as we take the midnight train to New York, where we will be just in time to catch the outward-bound 'Servia' on the following morning."Yours in great haste,
"HARRY STRATHMORE.""My nephew will be here this evening," said Mrs. Winfield, folding the letter and putting it into her pocket. "What a pity it is that Harold is not at home to receive them. You must come to my rescue, Miss Lester, and assist me in entertaining them." But Theo pleaded so hard to be excused, on the plea of a sick-headache, Mrs. Winfield was at length obliged to relinquish her pet scheme of bringing her handsome young nephew and pretty Miss Lester together.Again strange fate played at cross-purposes with poor Theo

--it did not occur to Mrs. Winfield to mention the name of her nephew or that of his friend.After tea Theo went directly to her room, while Mrs. Winfield repaired to the drawing-room to receive her guests.A few moments later a coach dashed up the avenue and through the arched gates up to the porch, and Theo knew that they had arrived.Theo sat by her window an hour or more, watching the dusk creep on and the stars come out in the blue arched sky, sparkling radiantly in the wake of the Lady Moon.The hum of masculine voices floated drowsily up to Theo where she sat, and once a ringing laugh made her heart almost cease to beat for an instant--it was so like the voice of Harry Strathmore--and a thousand memories smote the girl's sore heart.Why could a voice that had just such a ring as Harry Strathmore's cause her such bitter pain? She had told herself that she would tear all thoughts of his fair, handsome face from her heart; but that was far easier said than done, even though she knew he was Violet's lover. Love goes where God listeth. It was beyond the girl's power to cease loving him. There was scarcely a moment, waking or sleeping, that the fair, frank, Saxon, debonair face, in its haughty pride, was not before her."Ah! why could she not hate him instead of yearning for him?" That was the passionate cry of her soul.In sheer despair, and for something to take up her thoughts, Theo arose mechanically and went down to the library in quest of a book.She was glad that the crimson velvet hangings that separated the library from the drawing-room were closely drawn--she could search for the book she wanted without fear of being interrupted.Five--ten minutes passed in inspecting the volumes that stared down at her from their gay bindings. At last she secured one of Victor Hugo's works, and, book in hand, was about to retrace her steps, when a voice from the adjoining room fell upon her ear, holding her spell-bound by its strangely familiar tone."A song? Certainly, Aunt Linda," she heard the voice say; "what shall it be?""Anything you like; favor me with your own selection, my dear nephew," replied Mrs. Winfield.A moment later the grand piano was touched by a master

hand, and a soft melody floated through the room, a barytone voice, clear, powerful, and flexible, accompanying it.Theo stood still on the other side of the velvet hangings, her very soul wrapt in a trance of delight. Every word of the song fell with a strange thrill upon her heart. It seemed instinct with passionate sorrow and love:
I picked up a moss-grown stoneFrom the green bank where I lay,And wrote:'Here lies the body of Ellen AdairAnd the heart of Edward Gray.'Then I tossed it into the stream--"The grand voice that filled the spacious room thrilled and trembled, then grew suddenly still for a moment, adding, hesitatingly:"Pardon me; I can not sing the rest, Aunt Linda; the words have escaped my memory,""What a pity!" cried Mrs. Winfield; "you sing it so finely. I have never heard it rendered better; you put soul into it. One could almost fancy you were Edward Gray sitting on the banks of the stream where perished poor Ellen Adair."The strangely familiar voice answered, but Theo could not catch the words.A great longing came over the girl to see the face of this stranger, whose voice reminded her with such keen pain of the lover whom she had loved so well--and lost. If she but drew the velvet hangings ever so slightly apart her great longing would be gratified.Young girls usually act upon the impulse of the moment. It was so with Theo. Yet, during the instant she was hesitating, Harry Strathmore had risen from the piano and walked to the other end of the room--to the bay-window, where his aunt was seated, and quite out of Theo's range of vision--and Dr. Melville, who had been standing beside the instrument, bent closer over it, to read the title of the song his friend had just sung so touchingly.At that moment Theo parted the crimson hangings ever so slightly, and peered out with a strangely beating heart. One glance, and she reeled back faint and giddy."Dotcor Melville, of Rosecliff!" she gasped. " Merciful Heaven! now I know why the voice of Mrs. Winfield's nephew struck me as being so strangely familiar."She shrunk still further back into the shadow of the library

feeling intensely glad that Dr. Melville--whom she had quite naturally mistaken for the senator's nephew--did not know of her presence beneath his aunt's roof.It was a merciful Providence, she told herself, that prompted her to excuse herself. It was a relief to her, too, to know that he contemplated a trip abroad, and would not be in Washing-ton for some time to come. If Mrs. Winfield mentioned her at all, it would be as Miss Lester--not as Theo Chester--she was thankful for that.Theo walked slowly out of the library, little dreaming that on the other side of the velvet curtains stood the lover her soul craved, who would have clasped her joyfully to his heart had he but known of her near presence--the lover who, like Edward Gray, was pining his life away for the girl whom he believed buried beneath the rippling waves.But life is full of just such pitiful mistakes that part lovers, and change the current of lives.Theo walked slowly back to her room; but Victor Hugo had lost all charm for her; she could only think of the mournful words of the song she had just heard, which were so sweet, so simple and sad.Her life was so different from poor Ellen Adair's. Ellen's lover mourned for her untimely death; his heart was in her lonely grave, around which the sea-gulls wheeled and screamed. But her love, handsome Harry Strathmore, to whom she had been so solemnly betrothed, was glad when the dark waters closed over her head. He believed her dead, and he was glad, for it broke the bonds of that hated betrothal, and set him free."Ah, how different life might have been for me," she cried, with sudden passion, "if Harry Strathmore had loved me as Edward Gray loved Ellen Adair!"In the drawing-room, at that particular moment, while Dr. Melville was busily examining a book of engravings, Mrs. Winfield was in earnest conversation with Harry Strathmore, extolling the praises of her beautiful young companion, whom she could not induce to come down to meet her guests."I should have been so pleased had you seen Miss Lester, Harry," she went on; " she is so sweet and winsome she would have been sure to have captivated your bachelor heart."Harry Strathmore shook his head."The woman does not exist whom. I would marry," he said."But you might have changed your mind, had you but seen Miss Lester," she persisted, knitting her fair white brow."She is young, very young--only seventeen; but her face is strikingly beautiful--it is like a picture by Greuze.""You are very enthusiastic over this young girl, my dear aunt," remarked Harry Strathmore, irritably. "I may as well be frank with you: if she were a Hebe I could take no more than a common interest in her. Let us discuss something else;" and he shrugged his broad shoulders impatiently.Mrs. Winfield's eyes sparkled. What if these two obstinate young people, who persisted in not knowing or caring for each other, should meet some day and fall in love after all!--it would be really quite romantic."Very well, Harry, we will talk no more about it," she agreed.An hour later as Theo sat by her window, the carriage containing Mrs. Winfield's guests drove hurriedly away.Of course it was only fancy, but the waving pines tossing their leaves fitfully against the casement seemed to murmur:"Lost, lost, lost to you forever!"Ah, if she had but known who it was that drove off in that close carriage with young Dr. Melville!Long after the gilded clock on the mantel had played the chimes of the midnight hour, Theo still sat by the moon-lit window, her dimpled chin resting on her white hands, her lovely brown eyes drowned in tears."Why should I waste one thought on Harry Strathmore?" she murmured, in a voice of bitter pain. " By this time he is Violet's husband, and far away over the sea."The handsome Saxon face rose up before her--the smiling, haughty, debonair face of the man to whom she had given the love of her heart unsought.She looked wistfully out into the tender starlight that lay with a white, soft light over the waving trees and sleeping flowers."How long am I to live this desolate, weary life?" she cried out. "I am so young, yet I am so forlorn and lonely! Why has fate been so cruel to me?"Fate was, however, marking a new chapter in the girl's destiny. On the morrow a startling and unlooked-for event was to happen.CHAPTER XXI.THE morrow brought Harold Winfield, and a startling change. He had been appointed to a foreign mission, and must sail for Europe on the following week.This was the intelligence that greeted Theo the next morning at the breakfast-table."Harold and I have been talking as to what disposition we should make of you, my dear," Mrs. Winfield went on hurriedly. "I can not take you with me, and as the house is to be closed, we concluded that it would be an excellent idea to send you to Vassar College, that you may complete your education; I have often heard you say you would like that."Tears rose to Theo's eyes. She crossed over to Mrs. Winfield's side, clasping her jeweled hands impulsively."You are more than kind and considerate," she faltered."I have no claim upon you; I could not accept so much from you when I have done nothing to merit it.""Nothing!" exclaimed Mrs. Winfield, with great emotion; "why, my dear child, you saved our lives not long since; there is nothing we can do that would balance that.""I must earn my own living," returned Theo, simply."No words can express my gratitude for your kind intentions, even though I do not accept your offer."In vain Mrs. Winfield expostulated; Theo was firm; she must make her own way in the world."But what can a young girl like you do?" asked the lady with deep anxiety."I can be somebody's companion, or a governess to little children," returned Theo, "if you will help me to obtain such a situation. You were telling me of a lady who was going to Florida with her daughter, and who asked you if you knew
where she could get a suitable companion; if you will but name me I shall be so glad."Mrs. Winfield looked troubled."If you knew Mrs. Culver and her daughters as well as I do you would not be so anxious to get into their family; the mother is a kindly woman despite her pride; but the daughters are--well, they are viragoes. A patient Griselda might succeed with them, but as for you, child, why, your life would be simply unendurable.""I could try," said Theo, simply.And finding the girl quite bent upon earning her own living, Mrs. Winfield very reluctantly secured the position for her.She was only a girl of seventeen; it seemed quite brave in her to refuse all aid, and to make her own way in the world; she never dreamed how bitter the experience would be, or that this decision was the first step in a cruel tragedy.Theo had a pet scheme of her own. In the girl's heart

there was a passionate love for music. To be a composer of music was the one grand dream of her young life.The money she received from Mrs. Culver should go to perfecting herself in music, she promised herself.Thus it happened that one sunshiny morning a week later, a hack stopped at the Culver mansion in the suburbs of Hagarstown, and a solitary figure alighted. The name upon the dainty card the liveried servant took up to the ladies in the
morning-room read:THEO LESTER.It was too late to correct the mistake that she had allowed to pass by. "After all, it does not matter," she often told herself. "Lester or Chester, what difference could it make which name I am known by?"Mrs. Culver sat in the morning-room holding a spirited debate with her two daughters, Iris and Isabel, when Theo's card was handed her.What is known as a little family quarrel was at its height at that particular moment--the young ladies were having such a spirited debate that their mother was compelled to interfere."I have nothing fit to wear to the ball, mamma, and you know it!" cried Isabel Culver. "I would rather stay at home than wear a green silk dress. What suits Iris's complexion doesn't suit mine, and you know 1 want to look particularly well at this ball, for if Colonel West allows me to leave the ball without proposing to me, when he knows we start for Florida this week, I may as well give up all hopes of him and his millions--that's all there is about it!"Iris Culver laughed aloud a provoking, sneering laugh that provoked her sister as nothing else in the world could have done."The colonel propose to you, indeed!" she cried. "There are too many younger and prettier girls that he knows who are willing to be Mrs. Millionaire West for him to propose to a maiden of five-and-twenty--be sure of that.""Do you hear her, mother?" screamed Isabel. "She's always taunting me with my age; but there's one great comfort in knowing if I am twenty-five, I don't begin to look it, and I have inherited all the beauty that was allotted to this family. No wonder Iris is jealous!"And she shook her dark head so vehemently that her curl-papers loosened, and the would-be curls danced over her angry forehead in a rakish-looking, tumbled mass.Iris Culver, twenty, and a decided blonde, did not utter the

scathing retort that sprang to her lips, for, glancing suddenly toward the door -way, she beheld a slight girlish figure in a brown traveling-dress standing timidly beside the servant, who had shown her into their presence in accordance with Mrs. Culver's desire.Isabel Culver gave a start of surprise as her angry eyes fell upon Theo's beautiful young face. Iris's pale brows lowered ominously, and, as if to atone for her daughters' incivility and want of good breeding, Mrs. Culver stepped graciously forward, holding out her hand."Miss Lester," she said, kindly, "I am very glad you are come," and she looked uneasily from Theo's pretty young face to the scowling countenances of her two daughters, who were evidently not favorably impressed with the "companion" Mrs. Winfield had sent."You must be tired," she said; " it is quite a trip from Washington to Hagarstown. You must rest until luncheon. Iris," she said, turning to her youngest daughter, "touch the bell, dear, and order your maid to show Miss Lester to the room that has been prepared for her."Iris Culver raised her pale blue eyes with a lurid light shining in them."Miss Lester can touch the bell herself," she answered, indicating the bell-rope with a wave of her white hand, and muttering to herself: "The idea of asking me to wait upon her when she is brought here for the sole purpose of waiting upon us. Touch the bell indeed!"Mrs. Culver attended to it herself, and Sara, the maid, soon appeared and conducted Theo to her room."So you're the new companion," she said, throwing open the closed windows and letting in the warm, bright sunshine. "It's a wonder to me that they took you!""Why?" asked Theo, scarcely knowing whether she ought to feel angry or curious at the girl's remark."Because you are so good-looking," replied the girl, with a laugh. "1 haven't been here six months, yet during that time madame has had no less than twenty companions. 'The good-looking ones never stayed the first week out, the young ladies made it so uncomfortable for them. The young ladies of this house are Tartars--that's what they are!"Of course it was not right to stand there and encourage the servant to gossip. Theo knew this, and turned away without a reply; but Sara was not to be put off so."1 thought I'd give you a piece of advice, miss," she went on, confidentially, "whether you thank me for it or not--for

it will put you on your guard--and that is, look out for Colonel West. He's a young man that often visits here; and if he should chance to meet you in the grounds and make the remark, 'Who is that pretty young girl?' you'd get your walking-papers at once. Now mind, I'm telling you to put you on your guard.""Thank you," replied Theo. "I shall remember what you have said, and take good care to keep out of Colonel West's way."After luncheon Theo was called to Mrs. Culver's boudoir."Did you ever design a ball costume, Miss Lester?" she asked. "My daughters are in quite a dilemma over theirs. Each has been presented with a new pale-green silk of exactly the same shade. As you see, one is a brunette, the other a blonde. Can you assist me in deciding how we can arrange them both to look becoming?""It is a beautiful shade of green," replied Theo. "Miss Isabel's dark beauty would be greatly enhanced by an over-dress of rose-pink lace, caught up here and there with shining gems. Your other daughter, according to my taste, would look best with simple garnitures of white lace and pearls,"Both girls looked up in pleased surprise, their angry brows clearing. If their mother's companion could design costumes like these for them, she was worth keeping, even if she was pretty. They could keep her well out of sight; no one would see her, and all would be well."I should not like Colonel West to see her," said Isabel."Nor should I like handsome Harry Strathmore to see her," returned Iris, flushing."What is Harry Strathmore to you?" sneered Isabel. " Doesn't everybody who knows him know that he was head and ears in love with that Violet Kensington, and that they were as good as engaged long before his father died?""Then why don't he marry her, if he thinks so much of her as you would have me believe?" cried Iris. "He is his own master; he has only himself to please. I tell you, Isabel," she went on, excitedly, "if there ever was an engagement between them, it was broken off when he started for Europe, otherwise he would have taken her with him as his bride.""What makes you think so?" asked Isabel.The answer to Isabel's question never left Iris's lips; for, glancing up, she saw Theo, the new companion, standing, pale and white and trembling, on the threshold, looking at her with frightened eyes.CHAPTER XXII.THEO had caught just two words of that conversation--" Harry Strathmore." The name fell upon Theo's ears like mi electric shock. Was she awake or was she dreaming?"No, no; it must have been a mistake," she thought. "My ears deceived me. The murmuring branches of the chestnut-trees, the song of the birds, and the musical ripple of the brooklet seem to murmur forever the name of my lost love."Iris Culver gave a guilty start."How long have you been standing there, Miss Lester?" she asked. "You should have knocked--given us an intimation of your presence," and her pale face glowed with haughty displeasure."The door was open; I did not see that the room was occupied until I had crossed the threshold," replied Theo."I am glad to know that you were not eavesdropping, Miss Lester," and she turned away without a glance at the white face of the girl she had wounded so cruelly and unnecessarily."Shall you take Miss Lester to the ball to-night?" asked Iris, when Theo had quitted the pink-and-gold boudoir where the sisters sat. "Of course it would be an awful risk, but we shall need her so badly to rearrange the drapings of our dresses after we get there; and it is quite the fashion now--borrowed from the English custom, I suppose--to take one's companion with one to places of this kind, to look after one's toilet.""I suppose I shall have to take her," returned Isabel; "and I am angry enough at being compelled to do so. If Colonel West, who is a beauty-worshiper, were to see her, there's no knowing what might happen."Theo's heart gave a great throb of delight when she was in-formed that she was to accompany the Misses Culver to the grand ball. Theo had never been to a ball in all her life; she had seen no gayety whatever, except that few months of her sojourn at Strathmore Ball, and that had been of the quietest kind, owing to the major's long illness. Therefore, a ball, the first she had ever seen, was an event in the girl's life. True, she was not permitted to enter the ball-room, but she was to view the guests from the grand stairway as they passed into the supper-room.A room had been set apart for the use of the maids who

had come to assist their mistresses with their toilets. These young persons preferred gossiping with each other to observing the guests, so Theo stood alone in that vast assemblage, looking wistfully down upon the gay throng from her nook amid the roses on the staircase.For the first time in her life something like rebellion against her fate rose in her heart. Hitherto she had never dreamed that such passionate longings slept in her soul. The girl felt as though she stood outside the gates of paradise. She heard the delicious dance-music as the band played the witching strains of "Dream Faces," dainty feet keeping time to it.Theo longed and listened until it was time for the banquet, and then she took up her station behind the great statue of Venus with the group of crimson flowers.Ah, what a picture it made! --beautiful faces, flashing jewels, the gleam of satins and silks, tall men and laughing, fair-faced women. How the light fell on them! how the warm, perfumed air stirred gently as they passed! To be one of those, to share in the light, the fragrance, the jewels, the silvery laughter, to see the handsome faces of the men brighten at her smile, to know their hands trembled at her touch--ah, that was life!There was never a girl more disconsolate than herself. The Peri who stood outside of the locked gates of paradise was surely not more desolate.In all that crowd of girlish faces there was none so fair as her own. Theo had seen Isabel Culver, gorgeous in her rose-lace, green silk and flaming jewels pass by, leaning upon the arm of a tall, handsome, military-looking young man, and she knew that he must be Colonel West.Theo was quite unsophisticated, yet even she could see that it was Isabel who was in love with Colonel West, instead of the gallant colonel being in love with her.So they passed on--the beautiful women and brave men, the light of the jewels, the sheen of the satin dresses, and the fragrant odor of the roses they wore--passed on to the supper-room, leaving Theo alone--alone with her passionate heart on fire. Was it right, was it just that she should be so near yet so far? Her warm, sensitive, pleasure-seeking nature was aroused; her heart was still beating to the echo of that dreamy music. Why, oh, why was she shut out from all this?She stood on the large landing that was covered with crimson velvet; below her was a sea of warm, bright light; above her the walls covered with pictures, and the cold, unsympathetic statuary in the alcoves about her.A large mirror was in one of the panels of the wall. Theo stole softly, wistfully up to it, gazed m its depths, then a little sobbing laugh fell from her crimson lips."My face is as fair as any of them," she sighed. "Yet I might have been very plain or very ugly for all the good it does me. No one cares for me, I am alone in this great cold world."She turned away from the gilded mirror with a sigh, turned from the reflection of the lovely fresh young face, the scarlet lips, cheeks with soft pearly bloom, dark, wondrous eyes and regal little head crowned with masses of nut-brown waving hair.Who cared whether a poor little paid companion was pretty or not.Then from the window near where she stood she saw the moonlight lying clear and white on the grounds outside, casting quaint shadows on the grass and on a silvery miniature lake.The branches of the trees seemed like giant hands waving to her to come out among them, the graceful, mystical weird shadows had a strange attraction for her. Her heart was beating; the thrill of music had passed like the fire of fever through her veins."I will go out," she said, " that will cool my head and bring me to my senses."There was no one to see her or notice what she did; and, unobserved, she passed out of the side door that led into the gardens, and sat down on a rustic bench by the miniature silver lake bordered by waving ferns.Again she heard the sweet dance-music floating through the night air. Theo felt alone--so terribly alone; it seemed wonderful to her that, within so short a distance, girls of her own age were enjoying themselves, were laughing happily, followed by admiring glances and whispered, tender words.Suddenly voices sounded on her ears, and turning hastily around Theo saw two figures approaching the spot where she sat, and at a glance she saw that they were Isabel Culver and Colonel West.They stopped beneath the drooping branches of a lemon-tree--so near the spot where Theo sat she could not help but hear the words that fell from their lips.It was impossible to leave, for they stood directly in the path, cutting off her retreat; so Theo shrunk back still further into the shadow of the palms, waiting until they should go.For a moment Isabel Culver and her companion stood by

the little lake, lying so still and silvery white in the moonlight, without uttering a word."It is a lovely night," murmured Isabel. "The soft, bright light, the perfume of the flowers, and the soft strains of music that float dreamily out to us here fill my soul with delight. Are you not touched by their beauty, colonel?" and she turned her dark eyes upon him, leaning slightly upon his strong right arm."Yes," he answered.When did a man ever resist the temptation of a lovely face on a moonlight night? His hand closed over her white, jeweled one, and the next moment he was saying, huskily:"It is just such nights as these, filled with romance and poetry, that awaken a bachelor's heart to a full realization of how lonely life is for him, after all, and a longing for a home and a sweet wife of his own."Isabel Culver's white hand trembled in his clasp, and she leaned a little more heavily, yet coyly against his arm. Her heart beat with a throbbing sense of triumph. She knew what was coming; the next words that would leave the lips of the handsome millionaire colonel would be, " Will you be my wife, Isabel?"She was dying to end the suspense; but she must not say "Yes" too quickly, lest he might think her too easily won. She had always heard that men are more anxious to win those whom they are not sure they can get.What a triumph was in store for her! Already she could imagine herself crying out gayly, the first moment she found herself alone with her mother and sister: " Congratulate me; I have won the golden prize. On the morrow all the girls of my acquaintance will go mad with envy and jealousy when they hear that Colonel West has proposed to me.""A bachelor's life must be lonely indeed," she murmured. " I have often wondered if they are contented, shut out from the sweet influences of home life and home ties.""They are very miserable, judging from my own experience," he answered, hastily, "and they often long for home ties and a loving wife."Another moment of great suspense for Isabel, and deep silence; then, clasping her hand more closely and drawing nearer to her, he asked, in a voice tremulous with emotion:"Would you care, Isabel, to share--Will you be my--"Suddenly he stopped short, the sentence upon his lips but half spoken. He had seen the leaves of the palm-trees, scarcely ten feet from him, flutter, and from a rustic bench that

bad been concealed in their shadow a young girl had started up in confusion and dismay.For a moment her face was turned full toward Colonel West in the bright moonlight that was as white and clear as noon-day--the most wondrously beautiful face that his eyes had ever rested on--a face as lovely as ever poet or painter saw in their dreams; large, dark, startled eyes, that sent a strange, mad throb to his heart, and the words that he had intended to utter to Isabel Culver died on his lips--he stood before her like one stricken dumb. A fair face that had flashed across his path like a meteor had changed the current of two lives!CHAPTER XXIII.The strange brooding silence deepened; the leaves of the lemon-tree stirred in the night wind; the subtle odor of the laburnum blossoms seemed to rise up and infold the two who stood silently by the fountain, but the sentence, half spoken and so suddenly broken off, was never finished.The strange silence grew irksome to Isabel Culver. Why did he not finish the sweet sentence that he had brought her out there among the odorous flowers and the moonlight to listen to? Why did he look away over the distant hills with such a strange expression on his face?How was she to know that in a single instant his heart, "the inconstant heart of man," had swerved from its course, and for a fair face that had crossed his path at the very moment the words were on his lips?Isabel Culver was not a girl to lose an offer of marriage thus easily. Had he changed his mind, and that, too, when the all-important words were half uttered? It must be so.It was a situation that called for immediate action. Isabel was equal to the emergency. There must be no coy hesitancy now, or the handsome millionaire would slip through her fingers."It is chilly out here," stammered the colonel. "Shall we go back again into the ball-room?""No, it is too pleasant here," murmured Isabel. "The memory of this beautiful night will linger in my mind for-ever."He laughed uneasily--a way he had when he did not know exactly what answer to make."But I interrupted you," she breathed, softly, and with an attempt at coyness. "You were asking me if I would share-"She stopped short with well-feigned girlish confusion.Of course he could not help finishing the half-spoken sentence now; she knew that perfectly well.The colonel proved a good fencer, however. He had changed his mind about asking her to marry him. Yet he must get out of it some way."Ah, pardon me, Miss Isabel," he said. "When the words were half uttered, a sudden conviction came to me that what I intended to ask for might not please you. It might look like monopolizing your agreesble society if I asked you if you would share the pleasure of the next waltz with me."Something very like a hysterical scream broke from Isabel Culver's distorted lips. She knew quite as well as he did that he had turned off the proposal with skillful adroitness. Yet it had come upon her so suddenly in the very moment of her triumph that it dazed her. She could not comprehend that she had lost him. The thought was maddening."Are you quite sure that was the question you intended asking me?" she said, breathlessly, with white, parched lips. "What has our conversation, the loneliness of a bachelor's life and this longing for home ties, to do with the next dance?""Dances and bachelors' lives are identical," he said, blushing uneasily under her steady, breathless gaze. "There is nothing in the world more pleasing to me than a waltz with you, Miss Culver--pardon me for saying so. Yet the truth should never be looked upon as flattery. Your waltzing is the poetry of motion," and he bowed low over the hand that lay trembling on his arm in order to hide his confusion.In that moment Isabel knew well that she had lost him, but she knew not what had come between her and a fortune.Without waiting for a reply to his words the colonel drew Isabel's white trembling hand through his arm and moved hastily forward toward the grand hall again."I will take her back to the ball-room, then come back and find out for myself who that divine face belongs to," he told himself.And, bitterly chagrined, Isabel Culver was obliged to permit him to lead her back to the glittering ball-room with the words unuttered that would have made her the handsome millionaire's betrothed.The colonel was secretly delighted when a partner came up requesting the pleasure of dancing the lancers with Isabel."I shall take the opportunity of enjoying a cigar, the colonel whispered. "You will not forget, Miss Isabel, that our waltz comes next?"No, it was not likely that she could forget it.A moment later Colonel West was out in the fragrant moon-lit garden again. Surely the beautiful vision had not vanished so soon.With hurried steps he walked down the laburnum-bordered path to the fountain again and there he saw the object of his search--a young girl with a face like a Clytie and a slender, lissom form seated on a rustic bench among the lemon sprays and crimson roses.Her face was turned toward him and he saw at a glance that it was more gloriously beautiful than he had at first supposed it to be; oval in contour with a low brow and dark eyes, red, coral lips, eyes full of veiled fire, dark, stormy, and passionate; not the face of a commonplace girl; not a face with a common story in it. Looking at it, one felt sure to such a one there would fall no ordinary fate.Her scarf was entangled in the branches. She was trying to extricate it.Theo uttered a little cry as the tall figure stepped out of the moonlight and stopped before her, bowing profoundly."Will you permit me to assist you, miss?" he said. "1 am taller than you. Rather than destroy this bit of lace we must break the branch that has entangled it," and without waiting for a reply he took the filmy scarf from Theo's hand and commenced to unwind it from among the branches where the sportive breeze had tossed and held one end of it captive."Man makes his own opportunities or mars them," the handsome, dashing colonel said to himself. "This is mine, and I will make it."There was no blush, no flutter of gratified vanity, no attempt at the least flirtation as Theo handed him the other end of the scarf.It was only natural that he should pretend to find that task of extricating the flimsy bit of lace from its entanglement more difficult than it really was."I thank you, sir," she said as he handed it to her at last with another low bow and turned to go."Do not go just yet," exclaimed the colonel. "You were out here enjoying the calm beauty of the night. Do not let me frighten you away. I would rather leave you at once than prevent you from enjoying it.""I am not frightened," said the girl, slowly; "but I must go into the house.""You have not been dancing this evening; I have not seen you in the ball-room." Then he looked at her dress, so plain

and simple--dotted Swiss muslin--and it occurred to him that e was not in ball-room attire; she could hardly be a visitor. "Pardon my curiosity, but are you visiting here?" he asked. "How is it you are not in the ball-room enjoying yourself like he rest of the young ladies in yonder?"Theo laughed, and he, the experienced man of the world, distinguished something very like a sob in it."1 am not a visitor, I am not an invited guest at the ball; I am Mrs. Culver's companion; I am here to help her daughters with their dresses. I am Theo Lester."The colonel was too well-bred to utter the exclamation of surprise that rose to his lips. Only a companion, this beautiful, graceful girl! Was there ever a queen more graceful or ore dainty? He knew in an instant why Mrs. Culver's daughters had not allowed her to enter the ball-room: she was by far too lovely; they could tell that their mother's companion would outshine them."You would like to dance?" he asked, twirling his mustache thoughtfully with his white fingers."Ah, yes, so much!" sighed Theo. It was hard to be shut out from the brightness and music when one's whole soul longed for it.The handsome colonel laughed. Balls, dancing attendance upon pretty girls, and all amusements in general were beginning to pall upon him; he was surfeited. The enthusiasm in her voice amused hint greatly."What if I were able to gratify that intense longing, Miss Lester?" he said, laughingly. "I think I can manage it if you do not prove yourself too timid to consent to my plan."Theo looked up into the smiling face in wonder. What could he mean?"The hostess is my aunt," he explained; "therefore I am what may be termed a privileged person here. So, if you wish to dance, you shall. They are playing a waltz now. You shall be my partner. Come, Miss Lester."Theo drew back."1 thank you for your kindness, but I--I would not dare to go into the ball-room with you. Miss Isabel and Miss Iris would be so terribly displeased.""You need not care that for Miss Isabel or Miss Iris's opinion," he said, snapping his fingers impatiently. "If they say anything about it, just refer them to me.""You do not understand," said Theo, slowly, yet looking with all a young girl's ardent, wistful longing toward the glit-

tering ball-room. " I am only a paid dependent. If I were to offend the young ladies, it would cost me my position.""There are always much better ones to be found," he returned, quickly, looking with intense admiration down at the beautiful face on which the moonlight fell."No," said Theo, "1 must refuse your kind offer; I must stay here.""Then, in the language of Ruth, ` here will I stay also,'" returned the colonel. "I would rather stay out here among the roses than go back to the ball-room. Can you guess why?" I can guess why!" cried a voice fairly convulsed with rage behind them. The next moment Isabel Culver confronted them.CHAPTER XXIV.IF the scene had not been so terrible in its tragic intensity, it would certainly have been ludicrous: the white, startled face of Theo, as she stood there trembling beneath the fierce, scornful gaze of Isabel Culver; the colonel, in his faultless evening dress, looking from the one to the other in something like amusement."I can guess why you find it so pleasant to remain out in the gardens," repeated Isabel, her voice fairly quivering with wrath. "Colonel West is not the man to lose the opportunity of a flirtation, even though it be with a paid companion.""Miss Culver," cried the colonel, flushing hotly, "you forget yourself! You have no right to pry upon my actions, much less question me in regard to them. Please allow me to escort you back to the ball-room," he said, with icy politeness.Isabel Culver knew better than to discharge poor Theo on the spot, much as she would have liked doing so. She was wise enough to see how such a scene would end."I shall expect you to go home at once," she said in an under-tone barely audible to Theo's ears; then turning and gathering her silken skirts over her white arm, she walked back to the house with Colonel West."I--I could kill him if he gave me up--for her," was the thought that rankled bitterly in her heart, and her rage against Theo knew no bounds.When Theo found herself alone she sat down on the garden bench again, giving vent to her distress in a flood of tears. Ah! what had she done that Heaven should show her so little mercy? She knew quite well what to expect: on the morrow

Mrs. Culver would tell her that her services were no longer required; then she would be obliged in truth to face the cold, cruel world.During the drive homeward after the ball there was an ominous silence between Mrs. Culver and Theo. Isabel had flown to her mother at once with her story of the startling scene she had just witnessed--Colonel West flirting in the garden with their companion, Miss Lester.Mrs. Culver looked up anxiously into her daughter's flushed, excited face."I certainly agree with you, my dear, that Miss Lester must be got rid of at once, but I seriously question the advisability of discharging her to-night," exclaimed the old lady, folding her jeweled hands in her lap."But you must do it, mamma!" stormed the enraged beauty, stamping her white-slippered foot vehemently. "I tell you that girl has come between me and a fortune. If you don't send her away at once, this very night, I shall not be accountable for my actions!"Don't let your jealousy run away with your reason," retorted her mother. "Have you not sense enough to see that she would go to Colonel West for sympathy? and that when a man sees a pretty girl in tears and distress, and knows that he is the cause of it, his heart is touched as nothing else in the world could touch it? and, nine times out of ten, he will pro-pose marriage on the instant. No, no; it would never do at all to discharge Miss Lester now. Besides, I have a much better plan than that. Hush! hear me through," she said, as Isabel was about to interrupt her. " We will take her to Florida with us, as we proposed to do; and, once there, we will rid ourselves of her. We could take no better way of putting distance between this girl and the colonel."Angry as Isabel Culver was, she realized that her mother's plan was best--decidedly best. Thus it happened that Theo did not receive the notice of dismissal which she had so dreaded and feared.The next day the entire party were en route, to Florida. Two days later they had reached their destination at Cedar Keys, and here, to Theo's dismay, she was told that her services were no longer needed.Alone, and in a land of strangers, what fate could have been more pitiful?To add insult to injury, Miss Isabel claimed to have lost one of her diamond rings, and her dismissal following so closely upon the heels of the discovery of her loss, caused Theo to

think that they suspected her, and her fair young face flushed hotly at the bare thought. This suspicion grew into a certainty, however, when Mrs. Culver coldly refused her a recommendation."You do not, you can not think, madame, that I know aught of Miss Isabei's lost diamond!" she exclaimed, with a piteous quiver in her sweet voice. " Surely you can not wrong me by a thought as cruel as that.""No matter what I think," responded Mrs. Culver, haughtily. "You have no right to question me upon that point. I simply refuse to recommend you, no matter why; and 1 do not thank Mrs. Winfield for sending you to me. I shall tell her so upon the first opportunity," and she turned to her novel again, indicating that the painful interview was, over; and, blinded by tears and sick at heart, Theo quitted the villa among the orange-trees, and once more faced the world in search of employment.She sat down upon the bank of a purling stream to think. She was dazed, bewildered, utterly miserable. Which way should she turn? where should she go?Women who have never had such an experience, never known such a dark moment, should be thankful to God for it. Those who know the dark horror compressed in the words, "Thrown out of a situation," can sympathize with poor, heart-broken, beautiful Theo as she sat there trying to think over the matter coolly, calmly, under the white blossoms.How long she sat there she never knew. A swift step startled her. A white, jeweled hand thrust aside the over-hanging branches, and a young girl stepped into the leafy glen where Theo sat--a young girl with a death-white face, deep violet, wistful eyes, and pale-gold hair.Theo recognized her at once as a young invalid lady whom she had seen stopping at the hotel as their party had passed through Cedar Keys. She had heard them call her Florence Vale.She remembered Theo, and held out her little white hand with a faint smile."You have invaded my retreat," she said. "Yet I do not wonder at it--a more charming spot could not be found. I come here every day to listen to the song of the brooklet, and I lay my face down in the green grass and weep here undisturbed for hours, until some one misses me and searches for me here.""Why do you weep?" asked Theo. "You have the best

goods that the gods can provide, why then should you know what tears and sorrow mean?"The lovely young creature's violet eyes lingered on Theo's face for a moment."The best goods the gods can provide," she repeated, softly. "Ah, no, there is something above gold which the gods can not give, and that is love," she went on sadly.She had spoken more to herself than to Theo; it did not occur to her that the girl had heard her."Tell me who you are," she said, turning abruptly to Theo. "They call you Miss Lester, do they not?""Yes," responded Theo.Suddenly her companion gave a little terrified cry, grasping Theo's arm."Do you hear that noise?" she gasped; "listen, Miss Lester, and see if you can hear it, too, it is like--like--the wailing cry of a little child; don't you hear it, Miss Lester?""No," replied Theo, "it is only the wind stirring the branches of the trees. We are going to have a storm, I think."She struck her hands together with a passionate cry."You surely must hear those cries? The feeble cries of a very little child?" she gasped. "Some one must have left a little child here among the trees," she wailed. "Don't you hear its plaintive sobbing voice?""No," replied Theo, " it is your fancy. I can not hear a sound; even the wind is still--it is the hush that always precedes the storm."Still Florence Vale clung to Theo's hand with wild distended eyes, and hands cold and clammy."Walk back with me to the hotel, Miss Lester," she said. " I--I--am afraid to go through the lonely orange groves alone. The white branches are like specter hands pointing at me. I am sore afraid. I--I would throw myself into the purling brook at my feet, but the water is so shallow it would not cover my head. I would die rather than go through the dark groves alone. Those wailing cries would drive me mad."Theo clasped the cold hands of Florence Vale in her own, and together they walked through the myrtle and orange groves back to the hotel."Thank you," replied Florence Vale, " you have been kind to come with me. If you were not Mrs. Culver's companion I should pray you to be mine. T have taken a strange fancy you."She was delighted to find that Theo had but that day left Mrs. Culver's employ."Come to me," she said, wistfully, "I need you. I am Squire Vale's only child. No request of mine has ever been denied. You must not refuse me, Miss Lester.""Will your father quite approve of your action?" questioned Theo, with a quiver in her voice. "Remember, I have no reference to offer you.""I am not here with my father," sighed Florence Vale. "I am here with--my--my--husband and my old nurse. My husband never interferes in what I do," she added, bitterly, "it would be nothing to him--less than nothing.""Then I will come this very hour to you--now," replied Theo.Thus it was that her life became linked with the tragic life of beautiful unhappy Florence Vale.CHAPTER XXV.FLORENCE VALE had been missed at the hotel, and it was with the greatest relief her nurse saw the flutter of her white dress among the green trees, as she slowly approached the house leaning on Theo's arm.A shade of annoyance passed over the woman's face when Florence explained to her that she had secured Theo as a companion. She cast one glance at Theo's face, then turned uneasily toward the window gazing thoughtfully out."It will end in the old way," muttered Janet Graham. "Florence ought to have known better. I have no patience with her."When Theo went to her own room, Janet Graham followed her there."You must not think strange of anything you may see or hear, Miss Lester," she said. "Remember there are mysteries, secrets in every family; this is no exception. Be as gentle with poor Florence as you can. She is an invalid, you know. She has strange fancies. It would be well to pay no attention or attach any importance to them.""I shall remember what you have told me, Mrs. Graham," said Theo, quietly.That afternoon Theo gained a faint idea of what the old nurse meant. She was sitting in the bay-window reading a book of poems to Florence Vale, as she insisted upon being called, when the sound of footsteps in the corridor without fell upon their ears.Florence Vale started. The peculiar pallor of her face became overcast with a burning flush; the mask of stone fell. There was the flushed, passionate face of a living, loving woman turned toward the door. She placed one hand over her heart as though she would still its beating, and there was a painful, passionate intensity of longing in the violet eyes that Theo had never seen in human eyes before."It is my--my husband," murmured Florence Vale.At that moment the door opened, and a handsome, dark-eyed young man entered. He looked from Mrs. Graham to Theo in wonder, but never once glanced at his young wife, who sat looking at him with wistful, passionate eyes, and it was Mrs. Graham instead of the young wife who presented Theo to Mr. Vale."You will find it very dull with us, Miss Lester," he said.After a few moments of pleasant conversation he turned and left the room. He had dropped his glove. In an instant Florence Vale sprung from her chair, caught it up, and covered it with kisses."I love my--my husband so much," she said, turning a half-shamed face toward Theo. "I quite forgot your presence. What must you think of me?""I think you must love Mr. Vale very dearly, indeed," Theo replied, feeling that she was called upon to make some reply."Never allow your heart to go out to any one, Miss Lester," she said, hurriedly, "for if it should be a hopeless love, no greater misfortune could befall you; it would be worse than death. Many a young girl secretly prays to Heaven for some one to love her. They had better ask for a sword to pierce the hearts, a deadly serpent to poison them, lightning to strike them dead, but never ask for some one to love them--never ask for some one whom they can love.Her face flushed, her hands trembled with emotion; but before Theo could find words to answer her, she had abruptly quitted the room, carrying her handsome young husband's glove with her.Mrs. Graham crossed the room hurriedly and stood by Theo's side, laying her hand on the girl's shoulder."You have noticed that Florence Vale, who is as beautiful as a dream, has no charm for her handsome husband," she said, hurriedly, confusedly and hesitatingly. "You would find out why sooner or later. I may as well tell you now. You will be kinder and more patient, if possible, than ever with her."My poor, unhappy Florence, she was only sixteen when her cousin, handsome Arthur Vale, came home from college; it was a case of love at first sight between them, and despite the remonstrances on both sides they were married. Arthur should have known better; he was twenty-five, she was only sixteen."One might as well have thought of caging a humming bird, or fettering with silken cords a bright-winged butterfly; she was too young for a wife. Matters went on smoothly enough for a year or more until baby Coral was born, then everything went all wrong. Poor Florence was too young to understand the care and responsibility of the little one."The heart of handsome Arthur Vale was wrapped up in that little child. In vain he remonstrated with Florence about leaving it with nurses. 'You can not give up parties and balls for your child's sake, Florence. I believe you would be glad if the child would die, it seems a burden to you,' he would cry out bitterly, but Florence always danced from the room paying little heed to the words."Indeed, she always handled the little one in an awkward sort of manner; much as a girl handles her first doll. Poor Florence could not give up her love for balls, and the tragedy of her life came about through the agency of a ball."It was to be a grand affair, the "é"lite, of the country were to be present, and poor Florence had set her heart upon going, but at the last moment, just as the coach drove up to the door, baby was taken sick. She thought it was but a trifling cold, and the nurse knew a thousand times better what to do for it than she did, so she left it in her care, promising to return early."But the hours flew by amid the lights and the music, and poor Florence danced on into the  'wee sma' hours,' quite forgetting the dull cares of life and home. Remember how young and thoughtless she was before you condemn her, Miss Lester."It was morning when Florence returned from the ball, her bonny blue eyes sparkling brighter than the diamonds she wore upon her white throat."'What was it that cast such a gloom over the house,' she wondered, vaguely, as she tripped up the stairs. At the door of little Coral's room she stopped involuntarily; was it a sob she heard, or was it only her fancy? Then she remembered that the baby was ill and she had promised to come home early from the ball."Her heart smote her with a strange chill, she could not

tell why. She pushed the door open and entered. The sight that met her gaze rooted her to the spot."Arthur Vale knelt by the couch clasping one of little Coral's waxen hands in his, weeping as men weep but once in a life-time. In an instant it flashed through poor hapless Florence's dazed brain what had happened: pretty little Coral was dead!"Through his sobs Arthur Vale heard her footsteps, and turned upon her as she entered the door in all her ball-room finery--turned upon her, fierce anger flaming in his eyes, and he shook off the white hand that she had laid upon his arm in piteous entreaty as though it had been a viper."'So you are come from the ball at last!' he cried, in a voice so stern and altered she shrunk from him in terror. 'So you have danced away the hours, frittered them away in idle compliments and flattery, while our child lay dying!'"Dying--dead!' gasped poor Florence, making an effort to reach the lace-embowered crib where the tiny waxen form reposed; but Arthur Vale thrust her back with a fierce imprecation."'You shall not look upon the child you have murdered!' he cried: 'for it is no less than that in the sight of Heaven; it is the right name for it.'"'Arthur!' cried the miserable young wife, utterly prostrated by her great grief; 'you frighten me, you terrify me! Little Coral is not dead; she is sleeping. If she had been so ill, you would have had a doctor.'"The harshest laugh ever a man uttered fell from his lips."A doctor!' he cried. 'What need for a doctor when the life leaves the body? A doctor has been here, Mrs. Vale; we sent for one when the baby grew so alarmingly worse, and when he saw the child he shook his head. "This is no common illness," he said. "If the parents are both willing, I will perform an operation upon it; nothing else can save its life. But the operation is fraught with so much danger, I must have the consent of both parents ere I will consent to undertake it. The throat is closing up already."'"Florence's pallid lips moved; only a sob issued from them--a terrified, heart-broken sob."'I sent for you at the ball, but you did not come; now behold the consequences of it. The cries of that little child will haunt you while your life lasts; I hope they may.""In vain poor Florence protested that no message reached her; her piteous words fell upon deaf ears; he spurned her from him."Oh, Miss Lester, how shall I describe what followed? The poor soul knelt at his feet, wept and prayed him to forgive her and let her look upon the face of her little child; to say one word to comfort her, for her heart was breaking; to take her in his arms, pillow her head on. his breast, and comfort her. Again that horrible laugh fell from his lips."'Never in his life would he take her in his arms again,' he answered; 'all was over between them. He should never kiss her face again. A grave lay between them. Even the bitterness of death could not bridge over the yawning gulf that separated them. Although they lived under the same roof, she should never be wife to him more. She was never to speak to him. They were to be further apart than strangers. Either that or part forever.'"She looked up at him with hopeless despair shining in her violet eyes."'Arthur,' she sobbed in broken gasps, 'the sentence you have passed upon me is worse than death to me, but I accept it rather than to part from you; that would kill me. Let me kiss my little child just once, Arthur; my heart is breaking.'"'Heart!' he echoed; 'you have no heart. A woman who can go to a ball, and leave a little sick child at home, is utterly heartless. Would to Heaven you had a heart, for then you might feel sorry for what you have done. Little Coral's fate lies at your door. Her death might have been averted had you stayed away from the ball.'"From that day to this Arthur Vale has steadily kept his terrible vow. No wonder the anguish she has endured turned poor Florence's brain. She loves him so well--the Lord pity her! so well--it would be better if she were dead than to live on like this."CHAPTER XXVI.THERE were tears in Theo's lovely brown eyes as she listened to the pitiful story of beautiful Florence Vale and her hopeless love.Ah, what a miserable life she led, living under the same roof with her handsome husband, bearing his name, listening to his voice, yet so far apart from him; and the pity of it was, that she loved him with such a mad, idolatrous, worshipful love!For three years Theo remained in the employment of the Vales, and during that period, try as she would to reconcile

the husband and the miserable young wife, her efforts always ended in utter failure.But two events happened during the three years Theo was companion to Florence Vale: the first was their departure from Florida as soon as the beautiful invalid's condition had permitted, and the taking up their residence on the Heights in Brooklyn; the other event was a serious fever which attacked Theo, nearly costing her, her life, and she arose from that sick-couch so changed that her best friends would have found difficulty in recognizing her.The eyes were as brown as of yore, but the soft, dark hail that had clustered around her shapely head in glossy rings had fallen a prey to the havoc of disease; yet in its place bright golden locks clustered about her broad brow, and this difference in the color of her hair made a marvelous change in Theo.Three years had made a change in her stature too. The childish school-girl of seventeen who had been betrothed to Harry Strathmore at the major's death-bed was not so tall by half a head as the graceful young lady who answered now to the name of Miss Lester.Theo had grown dazzlingly beautiful; no poet's dream could have been fairer. Her great ambition too had been realized, although she still lived at the home of the Vales. Theo was known as a "companion " no longer; she was known as Miss Lester the music composer.Her own songs which she herself had set to music had brought her fame. They were always sweet love songs with simple pathetic melody that always touched the heart.Young ladies sung her songs in their parlors. They were sung on the operatic stage; even the little newsboys whistled them on the streets!Few were more popular in society than Miss Lester, and more than one wondered why one so young, so gifted, so beautiful, sent away one lover after another always with the same answer, "1 would love you if 1 could; I have no heart to give you."It was quite true; she had no heart to give them; her heart had been given long since to handsome Harry Strathmore, the man who had hated the bond of betrothal which bound him to her, and whom she had set free to marry her rival.For three years Harry Strathmore's name had not passed her lips, for she believed him the husband long since of Violet Kensington.But there were times in the lonely silence of her own room

when she held out her white hands longingly toward the blue ocean, crying out yearningly: "Oh, my love! my dear love! how different life might have been for me had you but loved me!"There were moments when her very soul yearned for him with a pitiful yearning that would not be appeased when she cried out to Heaven that the struggle was more than she could bear, that, instead of learning to forget him, her great passionate love for him had grown a thousand-fold.He was married, the hero of her girlish dreams, or so she quite believed, yet it was beyond her power to forget him.Could she ever meet him calmly, this fair-haired, handsome man whom she worshiped so madly, yet whose love had never been hers? meet him, with his young wife leaning on his arm, without the bitterest pangs of jealousy?"Heaven keep me from hating Violet!" she would cry out in the solitude of her own room. "She has robbed me of all that life holds dear; she has won the love that would have made this dreary world a paradise for me. Heaven keep me from hating her."There was to be a grand lawn f"ê"te, ending in a grand ball, to be held at the Vale mansion on the Heights, and Theo was to be the principal attraction, as Florence Vale laughingly declared. The "é"lite  of the two great cities were to be present, yet. this did not influence Theo to take more than the usual pains with her toilet."Quite a number of notables are to be present, among them some one whom you know," Mrs. Vale continued; "but I shall withhold the name from you until the last minute, to make the surprise more complete."Theo smiled, but did not question her as to the name."You will be happy to-night, Florence," she said. "Your husband can not hold out against your sweet entreaties and earnest prayers much longer."Florence Vale sighed. It was a great point gained, winning his consent to give the ball; but his opening the ball by dancing the first set with her was a matter of etiquette, not inclination, she well knew."Yes, it will be a happy evening for me," said Florence.She knew that for a few short moments she would rest in Arthur Vale's arms; the face that for four long, weary years had been turned so haughtily from her, with bitter, angry scorn stamped upon it, would bend above her own to-night with a smile upon it, that their guests might not know upon what footing they stood. And Florence Vale would have

given a life-time of pain to have purchased those moments of happiness. No wonder her face was flushed with keen anticipation, and her violet eyes shone with a bright, unnatural light. Those few moments would be heaven to poor Florence Vale."Ah, how can he help loving her?" Theo thought as she looked at her an hour later, radiant in shimmering pink silk and diamonds. She looked like a fairy, while Theo herself looked like a tall, stately lily in her dress of soft, white, creamy lace, caught here and there with simple clusters of wood violets, and the same flowers in the meshes of her golden hair. If the girl had but dreamed that this was to be the turning-point of her future, that after to-night the calm of her life would be broken, she would not have entered the ball-room so thoughtlessly.Suitors gathered around her, eager for one word, a glance, or a smile. Young girls envied her, and the young gentlemen adored her. They raved over her glorious beauty, and Theo enjoyed their worship."Now, my dear," cried Florence, coming up to her, "here are some old friends who can hardly wait for the opportunity-of finding you disengaged for a moment," and, turning hastily around, Theo was almost overjoyed to find herself face to face with Senator Winfield and his wife.In another part of the ball-room two gentlemen stood watching the lovely flushed face as Theo turned to greet the Winfields with trembling, outstretched hands. The gentle-men were Colonel West and Harry Strathmore."You ask who that tall, lovely young girl is," cried the colonel, "and I do not know in what words I should answer you. Her name is Miss Lester; she is the rage of the metropolis--the most beautiful girl the sun ever shone upon! When a man looks into her eyes he forgets everything else.""You are very eloquent, colonel. I imagine you have been looking into them," laughed Harry Strathmore, good-naturedly.The colonel sighed."Yes, I looked. into them once," he replied, "and I felt dazed, dazzled, bewildered--much like the eagle that looked too long at the sun. I looked into them, and I was lost. That was over three years ago. From that time to this I have searched for her, never finding her until to-night.""It was certainly a case of love at first sight," said Harry Strathmore, laughing at his friend's enthusiasm. "If the

tender passion would make me look as hopelessly wretched as you look, I hope it will never come to me, my dear *colonel.""'He jests at scars who never felt a wound,'" quoted Colonel West.And it occurred with amusement to Harry Strathmore that, although his friend had spoken so rapturously of the lovely young girl standing beneath the palms yonder, he did not offer to present him to her.Her profile was turned but partially toward him; he could only guess what her face was like--pretty and coquettish, no doubt, like the faces of thousands of pretty girls.Harry Strathmore was too cynical, too much a man of the world, to give her another thought.Yet, in circling the grand ball-room a few moments later in the waltz with Florence Vale, he suddenly found himself face to face with her.At first he was incredulous, thinking some beautiful picture had stepped from its frame. Then he looked again--and he never forgot that picture while he lived.There was a beautiful overhanging plant, green, with rich red flowers drooping from it, that formed a natural arch, and she was standing underneath it. He did not see the man to whom she was speaking; he did not think of him. Every sense, every thought, was engrossed in her."Of whose face did she remind him so strangely?" he asked himself. There was something almost familiar in the slender figure, every line and curve of which was full of grace.Yet he owned to himself he had never beheld such a lovely girl. He began to understand what the colonel had meant when he said, " When men look at her their hearts go from them--they are lost." Harry Strathmore quite forgot lie was staring at her, he was so completely charmed and bewildered by the lovely vision.Mrs. Winfield's voice aroused him. She had taken his arm."Come with me, Harry, my dear nephew," she said; " I want to present you to Miss Lester."CHAPTER XXVII."COME, Harry, my dear nephew," repeated Mrs. Winfield, tapping the young man on the arm with her fan, "come, and allow me to present you to my friend, Miss Lester. She has heard me speak of you often."She took his arm and drew him toward the spot where Theo stood beneath the waving palm-branches."Is she not a beautiful girl?" she asked, as they advanced "Yes," replied Harry Strathmore, "the most beautiful girl that I have ever beheld."Mrs. Winfield laughed softly, gleefully, telling herself that her "handsome nephew had fallen in love with Theo at first sight."A strange and indescribable feeling swept through Harry Strathmore's heart as he drank in with eager gaze the full beauty of that perfect face. Where had he seen just such a proud, crimson, sensitive mouth, and such brown, velvety eyes?At that instant Theo turned her glance in their direction, and saw him approaching her hurriedly, Mrs. Winfield leaning upon his arm.For a single instant the room seemed whirling around Theo; the music, the lights, and the flowers seemed to clash together and rock around her as she stood there face to face with Harry Strathmore.Like a dream she heard Mrs. Winfield go through the formula of the introduction. She heard Harry Strathmore say, "I am happy to meet you, Miss Lester." Then Mrs. Winfield left them alone.Theo never remembered whether she made a reply or not.He had looked into her eyes, heard her voice, and had not, recognized her; and she told herself, with a bitter smile, that she would never betray her identity to him--never! He should never know that she was the same Theo to whom he had once-been bound by a death-bed betrothal--never! He had been so glad to have the fetters that bound him broken. Of course he was Violet's husband long since; he was, there-fore, nothing to her now--less than nothing--and, quite unconsciously, her lovely face grew cold and haughty in its superb pride."Are you engaged for. the next waltz, Miss Lester?" he asked, taking the pearl-and-gold tablet from her hand.Theo drew back, her face paling; even her lips lost their color. Waltz with--him! ah, no! she could not.How could she feel his breath upon her cheek, the clasp of his strong arms around her, the beating of his heart, when she loved him so and knew that he was another's, and that he was lost to her for evermore?"I should prefer dancing any other than a waltz with you, Mr. Strathmore," she said.Harry Strathmore felt piqued. Any other young lady h that grand, glittering ball-room would have been delighted to have waltzed with him, he well knew."May I put my name down for the next quadrille, then?" he asked, with charming grace; and as Theo could find no reasonable excuse for refusing him, she bowed a cold assent.To her horror she found it was, after all, a waltz-quadrille. She could not escape from him when they were out on the floor together; she was obliged to go through the dance with him; yet Harry Strathmore could not help but notice how she shrunk from the touch of his hand and the clasp of his arm."Why had this beautiful girl taken such an aversion to him at first sight?" he asked himself, in the deepest wonder; he could not understand.That one waltz-quadrille undid the work of years. Theo thought she had schooled her heart against him, but love was not to be disciplined thus easily. Poor Theo realized that the Theo of twenty loved Harry Strathmore a thousand times more deeply than the Theo of seventeen had done. That was a childish, beautiful love, this was the full, passionate strength of a woman's love, the love that blesses or curses human hearts.From that hour Harry Strathmore followed Theo about like a shadow. He took great care to place himself in every set with her. If she strolled out on the balcony, on looking up she was sure to find him near her; if she seated herself at the piano in the grand drawing-room, she would find him at her side, ready to turn the music for her."Why is Violet, the wife for whom he deserted me, not with him?" Theo asked herself; then she remembered that it was not unusual for husbands to be seen at grand gatherings unaccompanied by their wives. No doubt Violet had not chosen to come. "Why will he torture me with his soft, winning, melodious voice and his presence?" thought Theo, bitterly.Theo had gone to the music-room to rest for a moment, expecting to find it quite deserted. A merry group of young ladies followed her there, laughingly declaring that Theo should not leave the music-room without first favoring them with a song."I like something sentimental--a nice song," said one young girl, glancing up coyly into her lovely face."What shall it be?" asked Theo, seating herself at the grand piano and running her white slim fingers over the ivory keys. "'Only a Pansy Blossom' is a charming ballad." in-

terposed one of the young gentlemen; "won't you favor us with that, Miss Lester?"Before Theo could reply one of the young girls had chimed in:"Here is something ever so much sweeter; do sing this for us first, Miss Lester," and she placed the music on the rack before Theo.Theo's heart gave a great throb as she read the title; she grew faint and dizzy, and it was no wonder, for every word pierced her heart like brands of scorching fire.Yet she must not falter--she must school her aching heart to meet every emergency.The white fingers did not falter over the keys, the sweet, clear voice did not tremble over those words that seemed almost to have been written for her."'Thou hast learned to love another,Thou hast broken every vow; We have parted from each other, And my heart is lonely now. Oh, was it well to severThis heart from thine forever? Can I forget thee?--never,Still, farewell, farewell, forever.'"As the last word fell from Theo's white lips, Harry Strathmore, who had been standing by her side, leaned over to turn the music for her, and in so doing his hand brushed against the white one gliding over the ivory keys. In an instant the music ceased. Theo raised her eyes, meeting Harry Strathmore's gaze bent full upon her face. Her voice failed her, the great chandelier above her head seemed to suddenly darken, shutting out from her gaze the faces around her, the words of the song died on her lips, and she fell backward into Harry Strathmore's arms in a dead faint.It was but the work of an instant to gather the slender figure in his strong arms and bear her from the heated music-room out into the fragrant coolness of the night-wind in the garden.The young girls scattered in all directions in search of their hostess, Florence Vale, while the young men hastily went in search of a doctor.Thus it happened that for one brief moment Harry Strathmore found himself alone in the starlit fragrant garden clasping the unconscious form in his strong arms.The beautiful golden head rested heavily against his shoulder, the lovely white face--whiter than the petals of a lily,

with the long curling lashes over the rounded cheeks, lay against his throbbing breast.Harry Strathmore was not a marble statue, he was only human with a warm, passionate, impulsive heart beating in his breast.Can you wonder that he clasped the slender form close to his throbbing heart, murmuring:"My beautiful darling! how sweet and lovely you are!" The next instant he had bent his handsome head and kissed the lovely mouth.At that instant Theo opened her eyes.CHAPTER XXVIII.THEO struggled from the clasp of Harry Strathmore's arms with a cry of dismay, looking around her in bewilderment."You fainted in the music-room, Miss Lester," explained Harry Strathmore, " and I brought you out into the cool air while the rest went in search of the hostess and a doctor. You are better now I hope?""Thank you--yes, I am better; the room was too warm for me, I remember," returned Theo, quickly.At that instant Florence Vale came flying breathlessly down the rose-bordered path."Why, my dear," she cried, clasping Theo in her arms--"what a scare you have given me! What caused you to faint?"Again Theo murmured something about " the heat of the room;" but Florence Vale, looking keenly into her face, knew that it was not the heat.Ere the doctor who had been summoned made his appearance, Theo had returned to her anxious friends in the ball-room, and the festivities of the evening went on as before."I must control myself better than this," Theo thought. "The sound of his voice--the touch of his hand--one glance from his eyes must not agitate me so." It seemed to the girl that the whole world must read her secret.Mrs. Winfield was too wise to mention her nephew's name to Theo, lest she should remember how earnestly she had striven to make a match between them three years before, and Theo was too proud to ask Mrs. Winfield about Violet. Theo had been too confused to notice that Mrs. Winfield had introduced Harry Strathmore as her nephew. She believed him a friend--nothing more.Theo was still under the delusion that young Dr. Melville

of Rosecliff was the one referred to when Mrs. Winfield mentioned "her nephew."A week later the Vales took up their summer quarters at the Oriental Hotel, Manhattan Beach. Theo accompanied them, when to her dismay she found that Harry Strathmore was sojourning there for the summer too! Still, Violet was not with him.Again Harry Strathmore sought and improved every opportunity of cultivating beautiful Miss Lester's acquaintance; there was a certain dash of romance about it, owing to the fact the girl seemed to detest and avoid him so.Harry Strathmore was by no means vain--yet he was not blind to his own accomplishments and the favor in which he was held by the charming belles who graced the beach.It was quite useless for bewitching young girls to single hint out as the handsomest and best catch of the season. He was proof against all their pretty arts of coquetry--their coy blushes and blandishments. It was soon whispered about that he had no eyes or ears for any one save Miss Lester. He was not to be won--that was evident."Why does he follow me about so persistently? Does he suspect who I am, and is he waiting for an opportunity to say, 'why are you masquerading here under the name of Miss Lester? You are greatly changed, but despite those changes I have discovered that you are Theora Chester.'"No thought that she had fascinated--charmed him--ever occurred to poor Theo."How he must abhor the very memory of that hapless Theo who came so near separating him from the girl he loved," she told herself.It often occurred to her to warn those pretty girls that the idol they were so eager to worship was married; that he had no right to give to the world the impression that he was single--free to woo and win them.Florence Vale watched handsome Harry Strathmore's strange wooing of Theo with amusement. Once she tried to expostulate with her, but the girl turned such a pale, pained face toward her that she cried out in wonder and alarm."Do not mention Harry Strathmore's name to me, Florence," she said, in a quick, stifled voice. "I hate him!" and before Florence Vale could recover from the astonishment of witnessing this vehement outburst of passion from the usually quiet Theo, the girl had quitted the room.That day a strange, reckless resolve came to Theo: she

would cease avoiding Harry Strathmore. Why should she fear him?That afternoon when Harry Strathmore joined a group of young girls on the sea-shore, among whom was Theo, he noticed with a thrill of pleasure that she did not turn and walk abruptly away as usual, and he flattered himself that she was beginning to look more kindly upon his patient devotion.The group of chattering young girls made way for him. He flung himself down on the white beach at Theo's feet, but the graceful, golden head after a slight inclination was turned proudly away from the face gazing up into her own."I want you to settle a dispute for us, if you will, Mr. Strathmore," said a bewitching little blonde, laying a little mite of a white hand in a half-careless half-caressing way on his arm. " I am trying to induce these timid girls to take a dip in the sea with me. I have Miss Lester half persuaded already. If she goes the rest will follow; now add your entreaties to mine and tell them the sea will be delightful this terribly warm afternoon."Harry Strathmore looked up in swift alarm."I think Miss Lester is quite right in hesitating to trust the water to-day. There is danger in its wooing. Do you see how high the breakers dash on the shore? I have been told it betokens a swift, treacherous under-current.""Oh, how cruel of you, Mr. Strathmore, to say that," pouted the little blonde belle, who was quite an expert swimmer among the breakers and longed to show her dexterity in battling with the huge waves; "of course your opinion will decide
Miss Lester, and my eloquent arguing of an hour's duration has all been in vain.""I think not," returned Theo, very quietly; " I have made up my mind to go into the surf with you."The little blonde belle looked delighted; Harry Strathmore looked annoyed."Why do you wish to court danger, Miss Lester?" he asked, in a low voice. "You can see for yourself how heavy the sea is. I beg of you do not be tempted into the surf."Theo crested her beautiful golden head, looking down at him with cold, proud eyes; she would have gone now even it death itself stared her in the face."You will promise that you will not go, Miss Lester?" he pleaded, eagerly."Why do you take so much interest in this matter?" asked Theo, sharply.The words: " Because I love you so madly," sprung to his

lips, but he forced them back--this was neither the time nor place to utter them.He smiled, and a tender look came into his fine blue eyes."Would I not stretch out hands to save a rash child from rushing headlong into danger? or turn aside from its course a bird that was seemingly bent upon fluttering straight into a trap? You are like the child or the bird, you must be saved from the fruits of your own folly."With a haughty toss of her golden curls and a sneer on her crimson lips, Theo picked up her book and lace sunshade and walked haughtily away. Harry Strathmore could not tell whether she meant to heed his warning or not.A half hour later as he paced the veranda of the Oriental, looking out seaward he saw a group of bathers battling with the breakers.His heart almost stood still; he recognized the foremost one upon whose golden head the sunlight fell: it was Miss Lester.How madly the white-capped waves dashed over the four young girls who clung to the ropes with their slender white hands."They have found the water much too rough for them, just as I told them," he muttered, strolling mechanically down the beach.Theo saw him coming toward them, and a reckless defiant light flamed into her brown, flashing eyes."I will show him how little I think of his warning," she thought, striking boldly out fully a rod ahead of her companions.It was a fatal move; all in an instant she realized it; the great waves carried her far out of the reach of the protecting ropes, and in a single instant more the treacherous under-current dragged her down.Hoarse cries echoed from hundreds of throats as the horrified spectators realized what had happened; before a life-boat could be put out the girl would be swept out to sea!But in that moment of horror a young man had torn off his coat and sprung into the waves to her rescue. It was Harry Strathmore!CHAPTER XXIX.IN an instant the greatest excitement prevailed. Was the young man mad to risk his life so recklessly among the wild, dashing breakers? they asked themselves, breathlessly.They strained their eyes and held their breath. It certain

looked as if two lives would be lost instead of one. Prayer went up from women's hearts; men muttered, "God strengthen his arm;" and through the moments that followed they watched with bated breath, the intense silence broken only by the loud, hoarse murmur of the breakers.Harry Strathmore was young and strong, and an expert swimmer, but the odds were fearfully against him. He struck out bravely for the shining mark that was drifting out so swiftly to sea."Courage! courage!" he shouted to her. "I will save you, or die with you!"Theo heard him, and the words infused her with new life. A moment later he turned and struck boldly for the shore, holding the form of the insensible girl.Five minutes later, midst lusty cheers and glad cries of women, Harry Strathmore laid Theo down upon the white sand of the beach among them.From that hour handsome Harry Strathmore, of Maryland, was the hero and idol of all the belles at Manhattan Beach, and the grand parlors of the Oriental were crowded with ladies to catch one glimpse of the noble young man who had done such a heroic deed.It was a week before Theo was sufficiently recovered to venture down to the parlor to thank him for saving her life.It was evening; the chandeliers were lighted, throwing a soft, mellow light over the marble halls and vast parlors, and out upon the stretch of beach beyond, lying so white in the clear, bright starlight.Theo saw him out on the veranda, pacing to and fro, smoking a cigar.Silently she crossed the veranda and stood before him like a vision, in her clinging dress of soft, fleecy white."I am come to thank you for what you have done for me, Mr. Strathmore," she said, with an unconscious flutter in her voice, and extending both her hands. "I thank you so much, words will not express my great indebtedness! Why did you do it? It might have cost you your own life--oh, why did you do so much for me, Mr. Strathmore?"He took both her trembling hands."We will walk down on the beach together, and I will tell you why," he answered.How smooth the treacherous, smiling sea looked under the brilliant starlight! How clear the silver moon looked, coyly hiding her sweet face behind the soft, white clouds, like a blushing bride behind her white veil! What glamour was

there that was thrown over land and sea, as they walked silently along in the soft, tender light, listening to the musical murmur of the sighing waves!Suddenly Harry. Strathmore stood still, looking down into the lovely face, his hand involuntarily closing and holding prisoner the little trembling one that lay on his arm."You ask me why 1 risked my life to save yours? I will answer you now: it was because I love you with all the strength of my heart--all the strength of my soul! Without you, life would be a blank--with you, it would be a paradise! I love you with the mightiest love man ever felt for woman--a love that would brave all the dangers of earth and sea to win you!"Her beautiful face was turned toward the water; her eyes were filled with a soft, dreamy light. He took courage from them, and drew nearer to her."My darling," he murmured, softly, stealing one arm quietly around her, "I lay my life and love at your feet. You hold my heart in your hands. Tell me my love has not been in vain."Is it to be wondered at that in the sweet delirium of that moment Theo forgot the terrible gulf yawning between them--forgot the past, forgot the face of Violet, remembering only her great, passionate love for the man who was clasping her so tenderly to his throbbing heart--the love that was the other half of her soul--the sweet love that was a part of every heart-throb?Ah, if she might but clasp her arms around him just once!--lay her head upon his breast one fleeting moment, then die before the moment of parting came! It was not much, only one moment. There would be no harm in listening to those sweet, rapturous words--to feel his breath upon her cheek, his arms clasping her for one poor little minute, when she loved him so well--loved him better than life itself!"You do love me," whispered Harry Strathmore. "I can read it in your sweet face. Look up at me, my shy, beautiful darling, and tell me so in words."Her face was so near his, the proud, bright eyes were all gentle; they only looked timid love into his; there was no re-proof in them. Was it to be wondered at that this handsome wooer grew bolder and more daring--clasped her in his arms as though nothing should ever part them, kissing the sweet lips, the lovely brown eyes, and waving golden hair, and little, white, trembling hands, and that the sweet passion maddened him?She would not say, "Harry, I love you," as he pleaded

with her to do, but she had not rebuked him when he clasped her in his arms. The beautiful head drooped until it rested on his shoulder, as they stood on the white beach together, listening to the low, musical murmur of the waves, and he was unutterably content.For one brief moment--five--ten--as they stood there, they forgot the past, the future, remembering only the present--this sweet dream of love--such a beautiful, beautiful dream!He clasped her in his arms, murmuring how well he loved her--that sweet love-story of which young hearts never tire, and which grows sweeter each time it is repeated.What would he say if he knew that she was Theo? she wondered. It was strange that in that moment of supreme happiness she should forget that such a person as Violet had ever come between them--forget her very existence.In that moment of happiness Harry's mind had flown back to the dark rapids that murmured over the gray rocks that skirted the terrace of Strathmore Hall, and to the white face of that other one who had loved him--loved him so well that she had gone down to her death to sever the fetters of that betrothal that bound her to him.It was strange that in the presence of this beautiful girl whom he had learned to love so passionately his mind always went back regretfully to poor little Theo--sweet, pretty Theo. Not that there was anything in common between them. Theo was only a simple, loving school-girl with a dark, gypsy face crowned in masses of brown locks. This beautiful, peerless woman was taller by half a head; she had much the same brown eyes, but her hair, unlike Theo's, was golden--gloriously golden as the sunlight.It occurred to him that he ought to tell her the story of sweet, simple Theo, to whose memory he had been so true. Surely she would not be jealous of that other love; she was too noble for that."My darling," he murmured, "you have admitted that you love me; would it grieve you to know that I am not entirely heart whole?"With a wailing, piteous cry, she tore herself from his arms.CHAPTER XXX.LIKE a flash the memory of Violet rushed back on Theo.Heaven help her! In that moment she remembered that he belonged to Violet--not to her.She had quite mistaken his meaning as he uttered the

words: "Would it grieve you to know, darling, that I am not entirely heart whole?"He meant to tell her that he had been guilty of that most despicable of actions--flirting with her.Despite her resolutions she had not held out against his winning charm--his low, wooing voice and fatally handsome face. She had allowed herself to be duped by him for the second time--and now he was going to tell her with a well-acted sigh that he would have asked her to be his wife had he been free to woo and win her.Oh, the madness--the agony of the thought! She would not stay there to listen to the horrible words and be pitied for her own folly and blind love.With a desperate cry she sought to tear herself from his detaining clasp."You will listen to me, my beautiful love?" he urged, clinging to her white hands.She threw back her golden head with the pride of a young goddess and looked at him."Your love," she cried in trembling scorn--"how dare you use the words to me?--your love! You have shown yourself to be the most despicable of men--one whom men of honor should scorn and women abhor. Love you! I--I hate you with all the passionate strength of my heart. Go back to Violet and tell her how true you have been to her." Before Harry Strathmore could open his astonished lips to reply she was gone, and he was standing alone by the sea listening to the murmur of the " wind and the salt, salt spray.""Now who in the world could have told her the story of my foolish fancy for Violet Kensington, over three years ago?" he asked himself in the greatest of amazement. "Yet it appears that she does know it."He raised his hand to his brow in a bewildered manner. What harsh words she had used to him. Was his fault in breaking with Violet so great as she had pictured it? A sudden thought occurred to him--could Miss Lester have been a personal friend of Violet? Had this been a concocted scheme between them for Violet's friend to draw him on to love her--then laugh in his face?His handsome face grew stern and set. At the very moment he had declared his passionate love to this fatally beautiful girl she had broken from his arms with the strangest, most scornful laugh that ever fell from the crimson lips of woman, crying out: "How dare you use the word love to me? You have shown yourself to be the most despicable of men--one

whom men should abhor and women scorn. Go back to Violet and tell her how true you have been to her. I hate you!"How mad he had been. Why, of course the girl hated him; he had rood it in her eyes the first time they had ever met.He remembered that it had seemed a hardship for her to speak to him, look at him, or even touch his hand.Yet, despite her open aversion to him, he had allowed the great passionate love of his heart to go out to her.He had fancied Violet in a boyish sort of a way, he had felt the tenderest, most intense pity and regret for beautiful Theo, but this royal, peerless girl he loved with all the strength of his heart, a love such as comes to a man but once in a life-time.Surely she had heard but Violet's side of the story; was it too late to tell her his? would she censure him when he told her why he had ceased to care for Violet?He walked back to the Oriental with a white set face. He knew she would be strolling on the beach early the next morning; it was her usual custom. He would join her, and plead with her to listen to the story he had to tell her; and if, after having listened, she could find no leniency, no pardon for him, then he would go away, go out of her life, though it crushed his heart and ruined his hopes.He sat by the window in his room far into the midnight hour, smoking a companionable cigar, and through the blue rings of curling smoke seeing pictures, in his mind's eye, of a fair girlish face crowned in waving masses of beautiful golden hair, a scarlet, quivering mouth, and a pair of darkly flashing eyes.Leaning his handsome fair head back against the casement, and glancing carelessly out of the window, he saw a coach draw up in front of the veranda. The slight figure of a woman dressed in a dark traveling cloak and wearing a veil, hastily entered the vehicle; the door was closed with a bang, the driver cracked his whip over the heads of the horses, and in a moment more the coach and occupants were lost among the shadows of the night and the leaden stretch of beach and sea.He did not give the matter a thought, further than to wonder why the lady had preferred traveling alone and at night, exposed to all its dangers, rather than wait for the early morning boat.The impatient young lover could scarcely wait until the dawning of another day; yet he knew he ought to snatch a

few hours of balmy sleep, if he would not look haggard before her on the morrow.The next morning, flushed and eager, Harry Strathmore rose with the sun, and, after making a careful toilet in his handsome navy-blue suit, white neck-tie, a red rose in the lapel of his coat, his white straw hat, with the blue band around it, pushed back from his fair, clustering hair, he sauntered out on the beach to await the appearance of Miss Lester.An hour or more passed as he paced impatiently to and fro without seeing the well-known, graceful form."She is an hour later than usual," he told himself, consulting his watch for the twentieth time.At last it became apparent to him that Miss Lester would not walk on the beach that morning. There was still a hope left him of seeing her within the hour, however.She usually breakfasted with the Vales at eight o'clock; he must manage to enter the dining-room at the same time. It would be an easy matter to beg for an interview of at least a few moments that morning.To his surprise the Vales entered the breakfast-room alone. Where was Miss Lester? Why was she not with them? He could stand the suspense no longer; he would boldly beg Mrs. Vale to induce Miss Lester to see him in the parlor.He stopped at that lady's table, and, after exchanging a few pleasant courtesies, asked why Miss Lester had not joined them--he wished so particularly to see her.Florence Vale raised her blue eyes to his white face."1 am sorry to tell you that my friend was hastily called to the city late last night," she said.CHAPTER XXXI."GONE!" he echoed; "do you tell me that Miss Lester has gone away?""Sit down and take breakfast with us, Mr. Strathmore," said Florence, gently, " and I will tell you why she left so suddenly."He sunk into the proffered seat; but breakfast was a farce to him; he pushed away the broiled quail and toast untasted."You say she left quite suddenly last night?" he asked; and his mind reverted to the dark, muffled figure which had entered the coach at midnight.Florence nodded."Yes, very suddenly. She came to my room late last evening, looking as pale as a ghost.I am going away, Florence,' she said. 'I must go to-night. I can not tell you why.'"'Going?--and in the very height of the season! Why, you are surely jesting,' I cried. 'Why, your beau would not find life endurable at Manhattan Beach if you were to go away.'"She turned a white, pained face to me, and there were tears in her lovely brown eyes."'Never speak to me of beaus,' she said; 'love or lovers are not for me, Florence.'"And do you know, Mr. Strathmore, I had an idea that perhaps you two had quarreled?--for 'the course of true love never did run smooth,' they say," continued Florence, archly."Did she say that it was on my account that she intended to leave the beach?" he asked, quickly."Oh, no; I merely surmised that. As 1 said before, she refused utterly to tell me why she was leaving us so suddenly."A sudden thought came to him."She told you where she was going, did she not, Mrs. Vale? She must have left her address with you. Perhaps she has gone to your house in Brooklyn," he went on eagerly.Again Florence shook her head:"She went in the direction of Baltimore, I believe; but that was not her destination, I am quite positive."Harry Strathmore's brain was in a whirl; he caught the one word, Baltimore, but the rest of the sentence fell upon deaf ears.There was great commotion among the belles at the beach that afternoon when it was rumored that handsome Mr. Strathmore intended to take his departure that day.Marriageable daughters and their mammas were in a flutter of keen disappointment. More than. one pretty, pink-tinted, dainty note found its way to his room as he was packing his trunk, expressing the hope that he would not forget to bid them good-bye.To all of these missive Harry Strathmore returned the same courteous, brief reply--he was sorry that his time was so limited he would be obliged to forego that pleasure, yet thanking them for their kind interest in him.More than one chagrined beauty tore the formal reply into shreds, satisfied that she had made no impression upon the heart of handsome Harry Strathmore, and felt that her season at Manhattan Beach had been wasted.But we must now return to Theo. It was she whom Harry Strathmore had seen entering the coach at midnight. Two hours later she was pacing the deck of a steamer bound for Baltimore.Theo retired to her stateroom and cried herself to sleep that night. Late the following day she reached Baltimore. She drove to a quiet hotel in the suburbs and secured a room. She had no definite plans; she only wanted to be alone, to have time for rest and peace, to be away from those who would mention the name of Harry Strathmore to her.For one week Theo enjoyed sweet seclusion; but she found, go where she would, she could not run away from her thoughts. Waking or sleeping, a fair, handsome face haunted her, and the yearning cry in her heart for him was never stilled.Scarcely a furlong from the hotel was a large white building, set far back from the main road, in a bower of trees. It was a charity hospital, presided over by " The Little Sisters of the Poor," and Theo found great consolation in making daily visits there, and many a dollar from her purse found its way there in suitable dainties for its helpless inmates.The gentle sisters welcomed the beautiful, golden-haired young stranger warmly. "Your presence seems to brighten us," they said; "it seems as though you brought the sunshine with you. "To the poor sufferers tossing on their beds of pain Theo seemed like an angel of mercy. Her touch cooled the fever on their burning brows, her gentle voice soothed them.Many a kindly act she did for them--many a letter she penned for trembling hands too weak to perform that office for themselves, to relatives and friends. They named her "the angel of tip helpless and unfortunate," and the name suited her well.No one would have believed that the cruelest and darkest temptation of her young life was to come to her within those walls.Theo had gone as usual to the hospital one morning on her sweet errand of mercy, carrying with her a basket of ripe, luscious fruit for a poor young working-girl who had slipped and been caught in the meshes of a cruel loom, while weaving silk that was caught adorn the person of one of earth's more fortunate ones, yet perchance less noble.In her satchel she carried a book of Will Carleton's beautiful poems, for a homeless young clerk who had been stricken low by fever's scorching hand.Theo walked quickly up the broad pebbled walk, pausing now and then to pluck a fragrant lilac spray that kissed her cheek as she walked along.How eagerly they welcomed the angel of the helpless! She visited each of the wards in turn, carrying brightness, joy, and sunshine with her. Tears dimmed many an eye as they saw her depart."Would you mind visiting a new patient with me to-day, Miss Lester?" asked one of the gentle sisters. "It is a young and beautiful girl. There is a tragic story in her face; she turns her face to the wall, refusing to take food or drink from our hands. Will you come and see her, Miss Lester?"Theo consented at once.She threw open a door at the furthest end, and Theo followed her into the cool, white, plainly furnished apartment.A young girl lay upon' the couch, her long blue-black curls tossed in picturesque confusion over the ruffled pillow, and as the sister had said, her face turned toward the wall, buried in her white hands."Speak to her, Miss Lester; my prayers and entreaties have failed to move her," urged the sister.Theo placed her white hand on the beautiful dark head, bending gently over her that she might obtain a better view of the face the young girl sought to hide from view so persistently."We are your friends," said Theo, in a sweet, clear voice. "You will surely not refuse food and drink--"The rest of the sentence was never uttered--the tone of Theo's voice acted like magic upon the stranger; with the wildest cry that ever fell from human lips, the girl turned with lightning-like rapidity on her pillow, raised herself on her elbows, fairly glaring up into the death-white face bending over her.The recognition had been instantaneous. No change of appearance--nothing in this world could have veiled Theo's identity from the girl who had hated her with such a bitter hatred three long years before." You," she cried--" you are not dead then; you have risen from the grave to come between me--"The sentence ended in a gasp, which was followed by a death-like swoon. The instant Theo's eyes had rested on the stranger's face, with a thrill of horror she recognized Violet.CHAPTER XXXII.FOR one thrilling instant the gray eyes and brown eyes met; then Theo recoiled with a bitter cry. It was Harry Strathmore's bride--the girl who had come between her and happiness and love!"Do you know her?" asked the wondering sister."Yes," said Theo, "we have met before--she is Mrs. Strathmore, of Strathmore Hall, Allendale, Maryland."That afternoon a telegram was sent to Harry Strathmore at the Oriental Hotel, Manhattan Beach, which ran as follows:"Your wife lies seriously ill at St. Mary's Hospital--the result of a railway collision. Will you come on?"Yet up to midnight no reply had been received. Then the answer flashed over the wires was that "Harry Strathmore had left the Oriental that afternoon, and that his whereabouts were unknown."A second telegram was sent to Allendale--Strathmore Hall:"Violet lies here sick unto death. What shall be done with her?"To this also the following answer was received:"Strathmore Hall has been closed for two years or more. Occupants gone abroad."Theo was in despair. How could she communicate with Violet's friends? their address was unknown to her. And upon her devolved the duty of watching over her until her friends could be heard from.Miss Lester seemed to possess a strange influence over the beautiful stranger. From no other hands would she accept food. No other presence seemed to soothe and calm her.The dark-gray eyes fringed by their long lashes would scan Theo's face intently for long hours at a time, and the words: " You came between us; I hate you!" would tremble on the fever-parched lips.Before nightfall Violet's condition became so alarming that it was considered best to call in another physician for the purpose of consultation. Accordingly, another physician was sent for , and within the hour he arrived--a tall, bearded man bronzed by sun and travel. Theo did not catch the name as he was announced, but it mattered little.The tall, bearded stranger bent over Violet's couch, then started back with an exclamation of surprise."1 know this young lady's friends," he said. " Word must be sent to them immediately of her precarious condition. He was informed that this had already been done.The next day the doctor was presented to Miss Lester as she entered the sick-room. Again Theo did not catch the name, so intent was she upon watching Violet's white face. Yet, upon the young doctor the effect of her presence was marvelous. He grew white to the bearded chin, and the compound he held in his hand fell to the floor unheeded.As the reader probably has already surmised, the doctor who had been called in for consultation was none other than Walter Melville, of Rosecliff. Three years of foreign travel had altered him greatly. No wonder Theo did not recognize the lover of other days in the tall, bearded, bronzed stranger who stood before her.The first instant Dr. Melville's eyes had rested upon Theo's face he knew her."Miss Lester they had called her; evidently they had made a slight mistake," he ruminated, "as the names Lester and Chester were quite similar."He was obliged, however, to put all thoughts of Theo from his mind, for the time being, as this case of Violet's illness, upon which he had been called upon to consult, had assumed dangerous proportions, and all the skill of the physicians combined was called into requisition.At this state of affairs, one of the experienced nurses of the institution, who had watched untiringly by Violet's couch, succumbed to overexertion and fatigue, and, in answer to the pleadings of one of the gentle sisters, Theo could not refuse to take her place at her rival's bedside for that night, until a nurse could be substituted on the following morning."Is there such great danger, doctor?" Theo had asked, in apprehension, as the consulting physicians rose to take their leave.It was Dr. Melville who answered."So great," he replied, gravely, "that if these drops we leave with you should fail to be given her exactly on the stroke of the midnight hour, her life would pay the forfeit ere the day dawned."Silently and gravely the physicians filed from the room, leaving these two alone together.For hours, as the moments dragged slowly by, Theo watched

the beautiful white face lying so still against the pillow--watched it with a strange, fierce, yearning pain at her heart."But for you he might have loved me," murmured Theo, watching the contour of Violet's lovely face. "He was betrothed to me by words that were solemn as life itself, and registered in the angel's book in heaven. You came between us; he loved your fair face better than he did mine, and he chafed against the fetters that bound him to me until I set him free. Yes, I set him free that he might marry you, my rival. You have cursed my life, Violet. My life is ruined Because our betrothal was broken," she murmured, wringing her white hands together with a hysterical sob, "and all for he sake of your fair face, Violet--all for the sake of your fair face! But have you prospered with the lover you wrested from me, Violet? Ah, no, no! He who is false to one can seldom be true to another. You won him from poor, unhappy, thoughtless, loving Theo--I could have won him from you again, in turn.""Won him!" Her heart almost ceased to beat at the thought. There could be no thought of winning, or having on him, while Violet lived."While Violet lived!" How the strange words seemed to haunt her! The pity of it was that she dared to listen to the strange, sibilant voice that was whispering to her heart.Long hours Theo sat there with only her thoughts for companions--and there was danger in that."If Violet were dead," that same terrible voice whispered to her beating heart, "Harry Strathmore--the love of her life, the one above all others for whom her soul yearned with a passionate yearning--would be free!"How strangely her heart beat at the thought! Her terrible folly first commenced in not putting the thought from her. There was danger in ruminating over it--a peril so horrible ;hat she should have shrunk from it.Slowly the clock on the mantel ticked the hours away. It wanted five minutes five minutes now to the time the time she must give Violet the life-giving  cordial.The doctor's words recurred to her with a strange thrill: "The patient's danger is so great that, if these drops we leave with you shall fail to be given her exactly on the stroke of the Midnight hour, her life would pay the forfeit ere the day dawned."It wanted five minutes to that time now. Theo reached at her white hand for the vial. Something seemed to clutch her nerveless fingers, holding them spell-bound, and the

same still, small, tempting voice whispered, more boldly, be cause she had listened to it:"Why should you save your rival--the woman who stands between you and the hopes of a life-time--the one who stands between you and love and happiness? You would but have to sit still and motionless in your chair, with your hands clasped together in your lap, while the moments dragged themselves by. The result would be freedom for the one you love. Decide your own future. Will you have the love your heart craves, or doom yourself to eternal misery?"The clock on the mantel was on the stroke of twelve now. With slow, measured chimes it tolled the midnight hour.She grasped the vial with her white, death-cold hands and slowly poured out the glittering life-giving drops, as the doctor had minutely directed--the drops which were to give Violet life and love, and doom her whose white hand gave it to the depths of despair, such as always follows a life bereft of love--a loveless life.Five--ten drops she poured out with a shaking hand, and, with a face pallid as marble, she approached Violet's couch."Can you give up love, life, hope, happiness--doom yourself to everlasting wretchedness and a desolate, loveless life like this?" cried the same still, small, mocking voice.The girl had listened too long, The terrible force of the mightiest temptation that ever sued for the mastery of a human heart overcame her.Theo had listened too long to the tempting voice of conscience. With a cry of remorse pitiful in its struggling despair, Theo dashed the silver spoon with its glittering contents from her. Violet should not be saved to enjoy Harry Strathmore's love!The hour and the moment had come and gone. She threw up her hands, with a wild, hushed cry, and fell by the couch of the girl whose doom she had decided, in a dead faint.CHAPTER XXXIII.THE faint into which Theo had fallen lasted for long hours. The gray dawn was struggling through the clouds in the eastern sky, and the clock on the mantel had slowly chimed the hour of five as she opened her dark, terrified eyes.Theo sprung to her feet with a low cry. Was it some terrible dream she had had that clutched so heavily at her heart? Her eyes encountered the spoon lying upon the carpet, then the white face of Violet against the pillow; and then, Heaven

help her, she remembered all, and the cry of agony she uttered was pitiful to hear.How white Violet's face looked in the gray, uncertain light? She recoiled with a gasp as she gazed."God be merciful to me!" moaned the girl. "Oh, Violet, Violet! I am terrified at what 1 have done! If I could give my life to save yours I would do it! Oh, Violet, Violet!"When the doctors entered and gathered around Violet's bedside, what would that ghastly grayish face tell them? Would they discover the cause of death? What could she say in defense? That sleep had overcome her, and the hours had gone by?Sleep! How could she say that she had dared to sleep when a human life was intrusted to her care?Oh, could the love of man ever atone for what she was suffering then? Kneeling there beside Violet's couch, she suffered a life-time of misery.How the terrible moments passed she never knew. She heard the tread of feet in the corridor without, and she knew that it was the consulting physicians--they were coming at last.The gentle sisters were with them; she could hear their low, hushed voices--she could hear their expressions of hope that they would find the beautiful stranger's condition greatly improved--the powerful medicine would bring her back from the gates of death, if anything could.How Theo cowered as she heard the words--how she wished that God in His mercy would strike her dead for yielding to the horrible temptation to withhold the life-giving cordial from her rival's lips!They had called her the "Angel of the Helpless." Oh, if they but knew--oh, if they but knew what she had done!Softly they pushed open the door and entered, advancing at once to Violet's couch. One of them crossed over to the window, drew aside the heavy curtains, and let in a flood of bright, invigorating sunshine."How is our patient this morning?" asked one of the doctors, taking one of the white hands in his and bending his ear down to listen to the faint throbbings of the sufferer's heart.The words were addressed to Theo; but she dared not look up or raise her head from the coverlet, lest they should read horrible guilty fear and despair in her death-white face and terror-stricken eyes. She neither moved nor spoke. She could not have replied if her life had depended upon the utterance of a single word.For a moment that seemed the length of eternity to the guilty girl, a death-like silence reigned in the room."Were the doctors looking at each other with horror in their faces?" Theo wondered, vaguely. "Would the horrible stillness be broken by the stern, awful words: 'What does this mean? the cordial has not been given the patient!' for of course the wise doctors would know--oh, yes, they would know."How oppressive the silence grew! Were they pointing to her with significant glances? How she wished she dare raise her face and see what this silence meant--see what was passing around her.It was one of the sisters who spoke--the sister who said Theo was rightly named when they called her the " Angel of the Helpless."She had bent over the lovely white face lying against the pillow with bated breath, then a sharp cry broke from her lips."Doctor," she cried, her low, sweet voice quivering with alarm and pain, "this is not life! See the gray pallor around the lovely mouth, the glaze of death is creeping over these eyes, death-damp stands out on the blue-veined forehead. The sight of death is not new to me; the girl is dying!"Ah, me, how the wind among the trees, whose leafy branches fluttered against the casement, seemed to take up the word with a low, moaning shriek and whisper it to the whole world outside. And it whispered something else, too--something that only Theo, kneeling in such abject terror at Violet's bed-side, knew and understood.Theo wondered vaguely why the doctors did not answer the startling, vehement words that fell from the gentle sister's lips."The lovely young stranger is dying, doctor," repeated the sister, sobbingly."It looks strangely, startlingly like it," responded one of the physicians, gravely. "If you ladies will kindly leave the room, we will hold a consultation. This case seems to have taken an altogether unusual turn. I am mystified. As you say, good sister, the young girl before us has every appearance of death."Only Heaven alone knew of the superhuman effort Theo put forth to prevent giving utterance to the shrieks of terror that seemed to rise up in her throat and stifle her.Like one stricken blind, she struggled up from her knees and groped her way with unsteady steps from the room.No one seemed to notice her--every thought seemed bent upon Violet. She made her way down the cool, wide corridor,

past the wards of the many who had blessed her and kissed the folds of her robes with reverent lips, calling her the "Angel of the Helpless."How stealthily she crept past them, her beautiful golden head bent heavily and dejectedly on her breast--crept down into the silence of the garden, throwing herself upon her knees among the long grasses, and lifting her white, agonized face to the morning sunlight. She dared not pray, though the white lips moved dumbly. There was no pardon for what she had done.Glancing up to Violet's window she saw the doctors move hurriedly to and fro with white faces. She knew well what that meant. Oh, yes, she knew! It told her throbbing heart that Violet was dead.But such was not really the case, however. We must go back a little to the midnight hour while Theo sat at Violet's bedside. At the moment Theo had raised the vial in her death-cold hands and turned toward Violet's couch, a firm, white hand had turned the knob softly, pushed open the door and stood on the threshold.It was Dr. Melville. He had been detained by other patients in the building, and was just preparing to depart when he found that he had left his medicine-case in the ward where Violet Kensington lay.He had returned for it, entering the room noiselessly, thinking he would be in time to administer the cordial to Violet himself.He entered the apartment, as we have said, just as Theo was turning toward the bedside.The expression of her face startled him, holding him spell-bound, and the low muttered words that fell from her color-less, compressed lips held him fairly rooted to the spot.Was it fancy, or did he hear her murmur faintly as she bent over Violet:"God forgive me, the terrible temptation has conquered me! I shall not save her to enjoy the love that but for her would now he mine! She has cheated me out of my love, ruined my life! Why should 1 raise my hand to save her. I will not!"Then, to his deep horror and dismay, he saw her dash the spoon with its contents upon the floor, throw up her white hands, and fall headlong beside Violet's couch in a dead faint.Dr. Melville crossed swiftly to the table, picked up another spoon, poured out from the vial the required amount, and

forced it down the sufferer's lips just as the clock on the mantel in slow measured strokes tolled the midnight hour.Violet was now in God's hands; if she died mortal agency was not now responsible for it.It would be more merciful for me not to attempt to restore her," he thought with compassionate pity, looking down upon Theo's white face, it is best that she should come to by herself."As silently as Dr. Melville had entered the room he quitted it, the heart in his bosom as heavy as lead.He had made a startling discovery. He had received a terrible shock. His faith in womankind was crushed.Yet, what his eyes had seen, his ears heard, he was bound to believe.How long Theo knelt in the garish sunlight among the tall grasses she never knew. A step aroused her; she looked up in affright and saw one of the doctors approaching."He is coming to tell me Violet's fate," she thought, "he knows all. He has come to accuse me. Heaven pity me! What shall I do?"CHAPTER XXXIV.THE doctor rapidly came nearer. A vague presentiment crossed Theo's mind that he was searching for her, and a wild, mad impulse to fly--to hide herself anywhere--anywhere, occurred to her.She saw now how imminent was her peril. She had stood quietly by while the life of Harry Strathmore's bride had slowly drifted out, without lifting her hand to save her; yet she might have saved her if she would.Ah, yes! she could have saved her, but she did not. Now they were coming to accuse her of it.With a white, ghastly face, and eyes dilating with fear, she struggled to her feet, and fled swiftly through the green, sun-lit grounds that surrounded the hospital--ran fleetly, swiftly, to hide in the thick green coverts of the park; but the swift footsteps seemed to gain upon her. It was no delusion, then; they had discovered what she had done, and they were pursuing her. At that moment she was mad with fear.And of all the pain she had suffered since her path and Violet's had first crossed--pain of blighted love, the keen, torturing pangs of bitterest jealousy, temptation, and remorse--none was so great as this she felt hiding among the green trees on

which the golden sunlight fell--hiding in sorrow, in shame, and in fear.No one could deny the swift and sure punishment of sin who could have seen that white, terror-distorted face, and the wild, frightened eyes peering out from the midst of the thick green leaves.She had hoped that the doctor had not seen her--that he would pass her by; but when he had reached the lilac bushes behind which she crouched in the long green grass, he paused. With folded arms, young Dr. Melville gazed pityingly down upon the white-faced girl cowering at the foot of the gnarled beech -trees.With gentle hands he raised her, placing her upon one of the garden chairs. He was touched by the sight of her utter terror and abject fear. Alas! how fatally lovely she was in her helplessness. Even had he come there to condemn her, he would have found that the words would have died unuttered on his lips.The dark eyes looking down into her own with such a strange light in them terrified her more than words could have done."It is right that you should feel remorse for what you have done--or, rather, for what you failed to do. Still, you need not stand in such terror of me, although I know all. I, and I alone, am possessed of last night's mystery," he said, slowly.With a superhuman effort Theo raised her dark, dazed eyes to his face."Oh, sir, as you are strong, be merciful!" she answered. "I was so sorely tempted. I did not mean to do wrong; I could have died sooner than harm one hair of Violet's head. 1--oh, be merciful and spare me!""I do not want to be anything but merciful," he said; "at the same time I should be just." The cry of mortal terror that fell from her lips was pitiful to hear; then she looked up into his face with the calmness of utter despair. "I shall not be harsh and cruel to you," he went on, steadily; "I would rather shield you than betray you. I will tell you why I would keep the knowledge of what you have done from the world," he went on with sorrowful gentleness. "It is because I once loved you, Theo Chester--and I love you still."A thunder-bolt falling from the sunlit sky at the girl's feet could not have startled her more. This dark, bronzed, bearded doctor, whom she never remembered having seen before, loved her! Why, surely the man was mad!"You have looked into my face and have not recognized me.Suns of foreign countries have tanned me, and, together with this heavy beard, I am, no doubt, greatly changed. Yet in me you behold one who will befriend and protect you if you so will it--Doctor Walter Melville, of Rosecliff."A cry of dismay broke from Theo's lips. How strange that she had not recognized him! Yet she did not wonder at it as she looked up into his face; it was, as he said, greatly altered.A sudden inspiration came to her: could she prevail upon him to go away--leave her, and keep her secret? He loved her once well enough to shield her from the world's scorn. Surely she might influence him now. She would try.She rose from the garden seat and flung herself on the green grass at his feet, clinging to him with hot, burning hands, so imploringly, so beseechingly, that he was compelled to listen."You will not betray me, Doctor Melville," she sobbed. "By the old love which once filled your heart for me, I pray you to shield me--to never let the world know--and I will atone for it all the years of my after-life. I was mad to listen to the voice of temptation--madder still to yield to it!"Walter Melville took her burning hands in his, and raised her to her feet, his passionate eyes devouring her fair loveliness. She was more beautiful to him, with all her faults, than a saint would have been."I will shield you, Theo," he said, drawing her so firmly within the shelter of his arms that she could not break away from his clasp. "There is but one way, and one way only, and that is that you must be--my wife! I will show you all consideration. I will swear never to breathe one word of the terrible secret that shocked me so--never mention it even to you after to-day. I will not ask you what prompted you to do it--you and I will forget it.""What would the alternative be?" she whispered, in a voice so hoarse he would scarcely have recognized it as hers.He stooped down and whispered a few words in her ear.She fell back in his arms as white as death."Give me time," she cried, wildly--"I must have time to think it over!""I will give you time, Theo," he said. "It is morning now; I will come for my answer here, to this very spot beneath the beech-trees when twilight falls. I shall expect to find you here."He placed her gently on the garden chair from which she had risen, turned, and walked rapidly away.The sound of his footsteps died away on the pebbled walk; then, with a cry so bitter it startled even the singing-birds in

the trees, she fell forward, burying her face in the long grass. The sun shone on her as she lay there; the summer wind swept over her, odorous with the breath of roses. She lay there long hours, heedless of what was transpiring around her, wildly praying for death.Was it a dream--a hideous nightmare--the events of the last twenty-four hours? she asked herself.Was she, whom they called the " Angel of the Helpless," she who had always shuddered at the bare mention of sin, she who had grieved with all the pitying tenderness of her heart over a butterfly's broken wing or a robin's death--could it be true that the blackest and most pitiful of all charges that could be written against a human being's name was entered against hers? Would the word guilty be written against it?Had ever a young girl been tempted so cruelly to sin in so pitiful, strange a way for mighty love's sake?Had Theo not believed Violet to be Harry Strathmore's bride, she would not have withheld the potion from those white lips, crying out in the bitterness of her despair:"Why should I give her back to Harry Strathmore's arms --to him whom I love better than life itself? I can not, oh, l can not!"Slowly Theo raised her head from the grass. She saw that the sun was slowly sinking in the west, and she knew that she must have been lying there long hours. She dared not raise her eyes to Violet's window as she crept slowly out of the park gates to the main road.How Harry Strathmore would scorn her if he knew what she had done, and he might do worse than that--he might cry out for vengeance against her for robbing him of his love. He might call it by a worse and more horrible name.The world is severe in its censure and condemnation. "An eye for an eye, a tooth for a tooth, and a life for a life " are its sentiments.Would they deal hardly with her if she refused to marry Dr. Melville, and he told the world what he knew? She grew wild with terror as she thought of it.Then a reckless despair seized her. She would not marry Dr. Melville, come what would. Let him denounce her if he would. Better her doom should fall upon her at once than to drag the long years through, never knowing what moment the sword, which was suspended by a single thread, should fall upon her defenseless head and slay her.She walked along the crowded streets back to the quiet hotel she had quitted the morning before, and wondered if she

could be the same creature. She turned her face shrinkingly from the gaze of those whom she met, and hid her white hands under the folds of her wrap. It almost seemed to her that those hands, white as lily leaves, had cruel stains upon them --stains which could never be washed away. She dare not hold them up to the sunlight.Oh, if she could go mad and end this horrible torture of remorse! A strange thought occurred to her. She would write that very hour to Harry Strathmore, confessing all, then she would die and end it.CHAPTER XXXV.WITH slow, tired feet, Theo crept back to her lonely room at the quiet suburban hotel.Ah, unlucky fate that had tempted her to cross the portal of the hospital and meet Violet. How bitterly she rued it.She called for ink and paper, and the maid who supplied her wants was startled by the white, despairing face the beautiful young stranger turned toward her."Is there anything else I can do for you?" she asked.Theo raised her golden head from her white trembling hands, studying the girl's face intently for a moment."You could do me a favor if you would; 1 am in great pain, a few drops of laudanum would relieve me; do you think you could procure it for me?"Once before in her life the maid had been asked the same question by a beautiful woman who had come to the hotel, whence none knew, no one discovered, and it had ended in a tragedy.The maid's face paled slightly, but she answered readily enough:"Certainly I can get it for you, miss. It may be pain that you want it for," she thought, "but it is a pain of the heart rather than the body," and she questioned herself whether she ought to get it or not. Shortly after she entered the room, placing a small bottle containing a dark brownish liquid in Theo's hands.Theo sat at a desk at one end of the boudoir, her head bent over a letter she was busily engaged in writing, and the maid noticed that the eyes she raised to her face were heavy with unshed tears.Her face flushed hotly for a moment as she received the mixture from the girl's hand, "then it died away, leaving her paler than before."I shall have two letters written within the hour," she said with a forced calmness; "and after I finish them I will lie down and rest and will leave them on the desk here. Will you come in and get them--you have pass-keys? Do not disturb me," she continued, with strange gentleness. "I shall be sleeping. If I do not come down to six-o'clock tea do not call me. Take the letters I have written down to the clerk in the office, telling him that it was my request that they should be sent out on the morrow's early mail. You have been very kind to me, my good girl, kinder than you know; accept this as a token of my gratitude."And as she spoke she unclasped a thin gold chain from her neck, and despite the maid's protests clasped it about her. Then the maid turned and left the room; at the door she gave one quick backward glance. The beautiful golden head was bent upon the white hands, and in one of them was tightly clutched the small vial.When Theo found herself alone she slowly crossed the room, drew back the heavy lace curtains and gazed upon the scene below.Ah, how bright the world looked in its robe of green and gold, powdered with myriads of flowers. Yet to this girl--scarcely twenty, it had lost all charm.She was looking out upon the beautiful world for the last time, she told herself. To-morrow when the sun rose on this fair green earth she would be at rest.The "Angel of the Helpless" they had named her. Ah, me! was ever a young girl more helpless or more in need of help or guidance than she herself at that moment?She saw the lovely picture the opposite mirror reflected, and she turned away with a shudder.What did her beauty avail her? Did it bring her happiness or the love she craved? No.She turned again to the half-written letter upon the escritoire. There were but a few lines; they were addressed to Dr. Walter Melville, and ran as follows:"I can not be your wife. I have thought the matter over calmly. When you receive this 1 shall be past all earthly power to harm me. Tell the world my story if you will, but remember to add that I have atoned for what I have done with my life. 'An eye for an eye, a tooth for a tooth, and a life for a life,' the world cries, and I shall have paid the penalty. Ah, would that the story of my strange temptation should be a warning to all young girls."There was no name signed to it; in her tremulous haste to seal and direct it Theo quite forgot it.The next letter was addressed to Harry Strathmore, Strathmore Hall, Allendale.No one would ever tell him how she wept over it, caressing the white pages which the man she loved so well was to hold in his hands. No one would tell him how she laid her beautiful white cheek against it, sobbing out as she kissed the delicate lines. He would never know of the passionate kisses with which that solemn farewell to him was freighted. He would never know how the white, death-cold hands trembled over the wavering words his bonny blue eyes were to rest upon. Would his heart throb faster if he knew?With a little choking sob Theo commenced her letter. We will look over her shoulder, and read it as she writes:"MR. HARRY STRATHMORE:"DEAR SIR,--When your eyes rest upon this page, I shall be beyond all earthly suffering, beyond your anger, your just vengeance. The sentence passed upon me will have been uttered by a higher tribunal than the lips of man."Before confessing my pitiful sin to you, I must go back a little in my narrative, setting straight an error which I should have righted long ago."I am not what you believed me--Miss Lester. I am Theora Chester, the girl to whom, three years ago, you were so solemnly betrothed at Major Strathmore's death-bed."You will remember that it was on this self-same night I discovered that the betrothal which we had gone through was, on your part, a farce, the cruelest mockery; that even while you clasped my hand, took upon yourself those solemn vows of constancy, your heart was given to another."Oh, Harry Strathmore, if you suffered day and night your whole life through, you could not suffer more than I did at that moment."I can put upon the white, soulless paper what I would never have dared tell you in words. I can breathe out the great passionate love of my starving heart to you, and you can not reprove with haughty, scathing words."Yes, I loved you, Harry Strathmore, with a love that was my doom. I was alone in the world. Only those bereft of mother, sisters, home ties such as other young girls have can understand and sympathize with me and realize how my heart craved for some one to love me--ah, yes, some one to love me! It was then that I first met you. Can you wonder

that your fair, handsome face won its way to my heart, and that I worshiped you in my girlish day-dreams?"1 was blind to your indifference, and when they told me that you loved me, wished to make me your bride, and that the betrothal must take place at once at the major's bedside, I--oh, Heaven--I believed them!"Then came the bitter awakening--when I heard you, as you clasped Violet passionately to your heart, bemoaning the cruel fate that had torn you two asunder, and crying out against the betrothal that was literally forced upon you by the dying major; but for that you might have been happy with the love of your own choosing; I had wrecked your life, spoiled your future and Violet's."I listened in the alcove, rooted to the spot, listened until your words drove me mad--yes, mad--over a love-dream cruelly shattered."Only one thought occurred to me. If I died the bonds of that betrothal which were so galling to you would be snapped asunder--my death would set you free."You know how 1 fled from you, dashing out of the alcove crying out that I had heard all."1 fled to the dark rapids that skirted the park and plunged in. The last words on my lips were these:"'Oh, love, whom I love so well, 1 am setting you free.'"But ere the dark waters closed over me a strong hand hurled me back upon the rocks, back from death and destruction."I was saved--saved for a more cruel fate, it seems."When I regained consciousness after weeks of lingering illness, 1 found a young doctor who had been attending me bending over me."I was subsequently removed to this young doctor's home. He was Doctor Melville of Rosecliff."During my convalescence an idea occurred to me, and that was to hide for evermore from those whose lives I had cursed. I was dead to the world--they believed me lying cold and white among the gray rocks in the bed of the rapids--let them believe so still."I knew that you and Violet would not grieve for me, Harry Strathmore. You would feel sorry for my supposed fate, but in the same breath you would add:"'Yet it was much better so, for now 1 am free to woo and win my peerless Violet.'"I went out into the world as many young girls--Heaven help them--are forced to do, to earn my on living. Fate

threw me in the path of Mrs. Winfield. I told her my name. Then a strange mistake occurred she had misunderstood me. 'Lester,' she cried. 'You say your name is Miss Lester. 1 shall love you all the better for that.'"A name mattered little to me. I allowed the mistake to pass uncorrected."CHAPTER XXXVI.FOR a moment Theo paused with the pen suspended between her fingers. But time was flying; she must finish the letter within the hour.And again she bent to her task, one hand clutching at her heaving breast, the other traversing quickly the tear-blotted page."1 made a grave mistake," she wrote, hurriedly, "when I did not correct the false impression that my name was Lester. But as I said before, I was quite indifferent in the matter. 'Theo Chester, whom nobody loves, is dead to the world,' I said to myself; 'let "Miss Lester" take her place. No one cares--no, not one.' From that time I was known as Miss Lester. Three times has the sweet spring-time brightened the world since then; and in those three long years, ah me! how I struggled to forget you, to crush all love for you out of my heart! Waking or sleeping, your face was ever before me, although I tried to put you out of my thoughts; for I knew you must have wedded Violet, the love of your choice, long since. I thought I had succeeded, but, alas! 1 knew how vain that thought was when 1 met you face to face at Florence Vale's. For a moment my heart stood still as 1 raised my eyes to your face. You smiled upon me, you clasped my hand, but I thanked Heaven you did not know me."A year before, a fever had changed my brown locks to a hue that is now golden, and I was taller than the Theo of other days. You did not know me--how should you, when you had believed for three long years that the girl who had faced death for your sake lay sleeping beneath the swift, whirling rapids that skirted the park of Strathmore Hall? 1 thanked Heaven, too, that you had not brought Violet with you. It would have been the last drop in my cup of misery to see you two happy together."How I drifted into the pitiful folly of caring for you again who can tell?--not willfully--oh, believe me, 1 did not know how madly, how hopelessly 1 loved you until that night we two stood upon the sands together. The secret my heart

whispered to me terrified me. Violet's face seemed to rise out of the silver-lighted waves and confront me. Heaven help me! I had forgotten Violet's very existence. Her voice seemed to cry out hoarsely: 'Leave him, if you value your own safety, for he.is mine!' Ah me! to err is human; yet you know how I turned from you and fled precipitately --fled, leaving the question you had asked me unanswered. I fled from one folly only to ingulf myself in a deeper one, for which 1 am about to pay the penalty, and the penalty is just."I fled from your presence, coming here, and here 1 have met my doom. I tried to fly from my own thoughts as I had fled from you. A way suggested itself, and blindly I followed the guidance of the hand that led me on. Long hours I would sit by the fountain in a green park that skirted a suburban hospital, trying to think out what I should do with my lonely, blighted, loveless life.'I thought of all thou wert to me;I dream of what thou can'st not be;My life is cursed with thoughts of thee,Forever and forever.'"'Oh, little birds,' I cried, aloud, holding my hands out to the green boughs on which the robins twittered, 'tell me what I shall do with my life--how to live through the dreary days and to escape from my own thoughts!'"A white hand was laid gently on my shoulder, and spring ing to my feet in astonishment, I found myself standing face to face with one of the gentle sisters whom I had often seen passing into the hospital grounds."'Asking the birds what to do with a human life which God put upon this earth for his own wise purposes? A strange question, surely, when there is so much misery and need of help and usefulness so near you, my dear child,' said the sister, reprovingly."I flushed hotly under the gentle, merited rebuke."'I have had a great sorrow,' I cried, burying my tear-stained face in my hands--'so great that unless I can break from my thoughts they will drive me mad.'"'Come with me,' she said. 'I will find merciful employment for these idle hands, rest for this tortured brain. Near you,' pointing to the hospital walks, gleaming white as marble monument in the early morning sunshine, 'are sufferers tossing upon beds of pain. You have a sweet, soothing voice. Come and read to them, talk to them.'"I went with the gentle Sister Genevieve, and I found

soothing balm for my sorely wounded heart in administering to others."One evening a beautiful young stranger was brought into the hospital. They told me she turned her lovely face to the wall, refusing both food and drink, and asked me to visit her."I went to her and bending over her drew her white hands from her face. Ah, Heaven! It was Violet, your wife!"The one above all others whose very name caused me to cry out in the bitterest anguish. I could not even endure the tender flowerets that bore the name of violet."I did not cry out, faint, or utter any moan; but if my face had been a stone mask it could not have grown harder and colder in a single instant, as 1 gazed upon the fatal beauty that had won from me the love I would have died for. Was this the cruel irony of fate?"I looked and the bitterest hatred that ever warred in a human heart wrung mine."That night, by the strange complications of fate, I was requested to sit up with Violet. Her illness had taken a fatal turn. The climax would be reached at midnight. And that night the most pitiful temptation that ever wrecked a soul, lost for it Heaven's mercy, attacked mine."The consulting physicians left me alone with Violet, your love, saying:"'If this potion which we leave with you is not given to the patient at the midnight hour she will not last until to-morrow's sunrise.'"All the long hours I sat by Violet's couch the words haunted me; I brooded over them."I could never tell you what my thoughts were as the hours rolled by. Violet, your wife, the beauty who had robbed me of your love, happiness, and all that the world holds dear, lay at my mercy. I had only to sit with my hands folded in my lap and the end would be that when morning dawned my rival would be swept from my path."I had but to sit still and fate would set you free, my love. Oh, bitter hour, when first we listen to temptation's voice. I listened--hesitated, and in hesitating, was lost."I could have saved Violet--your wife--Harry Strathmore, but because she was your wife I did not lift my hands to save her, so in the eyes of Heaven I am guilty of that which the whole world calls by a harsh name."I did not plunge a dagger into her white breast, but my sin is equally deep; I stood quietly by without stretching my

hands to save her when I might have done so. An, would that 1 had given my heart's blood to save her whom you love!"Ah, my lost love, do not curse me; my remorse is pitiful enough already; I could fly from the wrath of men; but I could not escape from the vengeance of God."I am going to atone for what I have done with my life; and my last prayer will be, that some time, if you can ever forgive my terrible sin, you will, in memory of my love that has been so hopeless, come and kneel upon my grave and whisper your forgiveness, and in my grave, oh, love, I shall hear it and know."CHAPTER XXXVII.DR. MELVILLE had walked hurriedly away from the park where he had left Theo, busy with his thoughts.Of the girl's past he knew nothing. Since the moment he had been called upon to attend her in that strange house in the marsh to the time she had been removed to his own home, leaving it so suddenly, he had loved her; she was the one love of his life.In the moment of her greatest peril--when the world would have turned from her with bitter condemnation--he had offered her the noble love from which she had once fled--offered her his name and his protection.What the secret was that made Violet and her such bitter foes he would never seek to probe; he would wait patiently and she would tell him perhaps all in good time.So buried was Dr. Melville in his reverie that he did not see a young man dressed in a traveling-duster, who had stopped suddenly scarcely ten feet in advance of him, a pleased smile lighting up his fair, handsome face, as his eyes rested upon the advancing figure of the young doctor."Walter, my dear boy, I hope you are not going to pass your old friends by in this way!" he exclaimed, as they stood abreast of each other.Walter Melville started and wheeled abruptly around."Why, Strathmore, is this really you?" he exclaimed, grasping heartily the extended hand. "I thought you were at Manhattan Beach, listening to what the wild waves were saying. I had made up my mind to join you, and would have done so had not an unexpected event happened last night, or this morning rather, which may change my plans materially."Harry Strathmore noticed that his old friend turned away confusedly, blushing hotly under his gaze."Perhaps it is a matrimonial event upon which T shall have the pleasure of congratulating you, my dear fellow," suggested Harry Strathmore, earnestly yet quizzically."It may lead to that, I hope," smiled the young doctor.The hearty grasp of the young men's hands as they met was more expressive than any words could have been."By the way," exclaimed Dr. Melville, suddenly recollecting himself, "you received the telegram that was sent you in reference to your cousin's illness--Miss Kensington's, I mean? I suppose that is what brought you to Baltimore, is it not? You have heard she is at the hospital here?"Harry Strathmore looked bewildered."A telegram in reference to my cousin Violet!" he repeated. "No; I have received no such message. I am in Baltimore on quite a different errand. But what is it you tell me?--Violet is ill and at the hospital! Her mother will be greatly shocked. 1 must see Violet at once, then communicate with her mother. I suppose she has not been informed, as no one knew her present address, probably.""You must have rest and luncheon first," said Dr. Melville, looking anxiously into his friend's handsome, strangely haggard face. "You are not looking like yourself at all. I must see to it that I do not have you for a patient on my hands."Harry Strathmore admitted that he was greatly in need of rest, and consented to adjourn to an adjacent hotel.By the strange complication of the tangled web of destiny, they repaired to the same hotel in which Theo had taken refuge, and, while she was writing her letter, he whom she had loved with a love more cruel than death would have been to her, was sitting in the room directly above the one she occupied.Oh, if she could have known before--alas! it was too late-- how he was wearing his life out searching for her! What a terrible mistake she was laboring under from first to last,, which had made her young life go all awry!As Theo was penning the closing lines of that pitiful page , in the room above her Dr. Melville was saying, with a rare smile on his grave face:"I can give you but a few moments, Strathmore, as I have an appointment at sundown, and "--consulting his watch, and glancing toward the sun dipping behind the western hills--" it is nearly that time now.""But you have not told me yet who the young lady is

whose smiles have won you from your bachelor life, my dear Melville. Come, be more kind: confide in me.""Do you remember, Strathmore, the story I once told you of a beautiful young girl whom I had met and loved, and who sought the protection of strangers rather than share my beautiful home, and become my wife? You remember that it was her flight that caused me to change my mind and to go abroad with you, without scarcely an hour's notice. The subject of the sudden breaking-up of my love-dream was never mentioned between us--never. I thanked you more than words could have expressed for respecting my secret sorrow, and not pressing me upon the subject. I will tell you now, however, that the broken dream has had a strange finale. I have met my love again--I have asked her to be my wife, and I am to have my answer at sun down, and, please God, I trust that the answer will be 'Yes.'""I hope so, for your sake, my dear Melville," returned Harry Strathmore, heartily, little dreaming how strangely his own destiny was crossed by the answer his friend was to receive. "Go, and may God speed you, my dear fellow," added Harry, warmly.Theo had sealed and addressed the two letters, placing them conspicuously upon the table where the maid could not fail to find them when she returned.This done she crossed over again to the window, taking a silent farewell of the bright beautiful world that, after the sun went down, she was to see no more.Tears filled her eyes, and her lips moved."Harry," she murmured, clasping her ice-cold hands over her beating heart, " I have sinned in loving you so madly, but even now my lonely heart cries out for you. Ah, me, a love such as mine ends but with death."She lay down upon the couch by the window; loosening the beautiful hair till it fell about her like a veil of gold.The sighing wind that stirred the climbing roses and dashed them fitfully against the casement seemed pleading with her to pause ere it was too late.But if she heard she did not heed it, and with unsteady hand she raised the tiny sparkling glass, drained its contents and it fell with a crash from her nerveless fingers beside the couch.When the sunlight waned and the soft dusk crept over the earth. Walter Melville was standing in the park where he had parted that morning from Theo.The stars came out in the sky; the moon shone down upon the green earth; the birds were in their nests; and the flowers

were asleep. There was no sound of footsteps, no shadow of a figure."She is not here, she does not intend to come ,"he said to himself. "I must go in search of her."He bent his steps in the direction of the hospital; she was either there or he could find out her address.He called for Sister Genevieve and made known his errand.At that identical moment there was a stir in the suburban hotel across the way.The maid had followed Theo's directions. She had entered noiselessly with her pass-key, finding the two letters upon the table.The figure upon the couch did not stir. How white the face, framed in its sheen of golden hair, looked in the pallid moonlight which drifted upon it through the parted lace draperies of the windows. But the maid did not disturb her, but gathering up the letters quitted the room as silently as she had entered it.She took them to the clerk in the office, repeating the instructions that they were to be sent out by the first mail on the following morning.The clerk received them carelessly enough, glancing admiringly at the delicate chirography. Then the name on each of the square white envelopes caught his eye and held his attention."'Mr. Harry Strathmore, Allendale, Maryland,' and 'Doctor Walter Melville, City,'" he repeated, slowly and wonderingly.The next moment he turned to the register, scanning the arrivals for that day."Ah! I thought I couldn't be mistaken," he muttered; "these names are among to-day's arrivals. Lucky 1 have so good a memory for names, or these letters might have been posted. Rooms No. 16 and 17," he said, consulting the ledger. "I suppose they might as well be sent up at once to these parties;" and he leisurely tapped the gong for the bell-boy and gave him the letters, with the necessary instructions.Five minutes later the bell-boy returned to the office-desk."Well, what now?" said the clerk."Both of the gentlemen were out. Mr. Strathmore's door was unlocked, so I laid the letter down upon the table; the other gentleman's door was locked, so I brought his letter back to you. Did I do right, sir?""Yes, I suppose so," he returned, tossing Dr. Melville's letter back into the box.CHAPTER XXXVIII.IT was ten o'clock when Harry Strathmore returned to his hotel. He lighted the gas-jet, and the first object that his eyes rested upon was the white envelope addressed to himself.He tore it open wonderingly, noticing that it had no post-mark, and concluding it must have been sent by a special messenger by some one in the city.His wonder increased as he saw that the page bore the printed letter-head of the hotel; the missive was evidently from some one in the house.He smoothed out the page indifferently enough, but the first sentence that caught his eye held him spell-bound. A red mist swept before him; the veins on his forehead stood out like knotted cords, and the strong hands that held the letter trembled like leaves in a wind, while his handsome face grew pale as death.He drew a long, quivering breath; his lips trembled. Theo, whom he had mourned as dead three long, weary years, alive --and in the person of Miss Lester! Great Heaven! it could not be; it was some jest. He was astounded, amazed, dismayed. Miss Lester, the beautiful girl he had learned to love with all the passionate depths of his heart, was Theo--poor, little, despised Theo? He could scarcely realize it; yet, as he read on with breathless interest, there was no room left for doubt in his mind. The shock was terrible to him. Theo under the same roof with him! He read slowly, carefully, each line on the written pages--the confession of her great love for him, and the pitiful temptation that had followed on the heels of it.Harry Strathmore's head fell forward on his breast, and as bitter a sob as ever left man's lips died on his. Great drops of anguish stood out on his brow. What could the closing lines of that piteous letter mean? Like a flash the terrible import of the words came to him. Great God! was he too late to save his beautiful, innocent darling?Like one mad he sprung from his chair, giving the bell-rope a violent pull. Only Heaven knew what he suffered. When they answered the hasty summons they found Harry Strathmore standing in the middle of the room, with a face haggard as death, while the letter he held clutched in his hand was wet with tears. He was laboring under some great excitement."Miss Lester! go to her room at once!" he gasped in coherently, and the letter fell unheeded from his nerveless fingers.At that moment Dr. Melville entered his friend's room.He saw at once by the group of excited attendants about Harry Strathmore that something unusual had transpired.He picked up the crumpled sheet, smoothed it out, and ran his quick eye over the page. His face grew white as marble. In a single instant he had mastered its contents and he under-stood all. He and his friend were rivals for the love of a beautiful girl; their friendship was over for evermore. But it was a useless rivalry on his part, for, by her own confession, her heart was given long since to his rival, Harry Strathmore. He read, too, with a thrill of horror the closing lines of that letter as his friend had done, but he was quick to act, and in less than a moment, guided by the frightened housekeeper and attendants, he had made his way to Theo's boudoir.But here a new difficulty presented itself: the door was securely fastened upon the inside. Yet not a moment was to be lost. A deathly silence that made the doctor's heart fairly quake with fear, reigned in the interior of the room.The key was upon the inside of the lock: but one course presented itself--they must force the door.Strong shoulders were brought to hear on the heavy oaken panels; it quivered an instant on its hinges, then fell in with a crash.In an instant Dr. Melville had bounded over the threshold and was kneeling beside the silent figure on the couch.A strong pungent odor filled the room. The vial which the doctor had hastily picked up and examined solved the mystery. It was valerian, a sleeping potion, not necessarily dangerous, he explained to them.And the maid whispered to the doctor and the housekeeper how she had substituted valerian, fearing something of that sort when the beautiful young stranger had pleaded with her to bring her a vial of laudanum."Your wisdom has saved her life," said the young doctor, gravely.He chafed the little, white, ice-cold hands. How he yearned to take her in his arms just once and kiss her for the first and last time.The sweet face, the tender lips, were not for him, yet he loved her with the whole passion and force of his soul, and at that moment he almost hated the fair, handsome rival, who had won Theory Chester's heart.Yet, Walter Melville being the very soul of honor, he put the thought from him; the idol he had enshrined in his heart was shattered. He must leave her at once and never took upon her face more, until he could think of her calmly.Theo had fallen into a deep sleep from which all attempts to awaken her had proven futile. It was induced not so much by the draught she had taken as great mental excitement followed by exhaustion.An hour later Walter Melville sought Harry Strathmore's room. He found him pacing up and down in the most intense excitement."She has taken nothing injurious. Your fears were groundless," he said, in answer to the anxious questions with which he was plied ere he had crossed the threshold; "but I would not advise you to attempt to see the young lady for a week at least. Her nerves would not admit of a sudden shock such as your presence would be to her."Something in the young doctor's voice caused Harry Strathmore to pause and glance up at him wonderingly."I thank you for doing what you have for her," he said, holding out his hand. "You read the letter, my dear Melville. You know all."Walter Melville drew back coldly from the proffered hand."I can never clasp your hand in friendship again," he said, chokingly, "for--Heaven help me!--we both love the same girl, and her heart has been given to you, it seems, long ago. 1 can understand now why 1 could not win her."Harry Strathmore was too shocked for words.Dr. Melville loved Theo too! When and where had they met and how? Then he remembered the words of Theo's letter, that she had been taken to Dr. Melville's home for treatment when she had been so miraculously rescued from a watery grave."Must the friendship of long years be thus rudely severed?" asked Harry Strathmore, sadly.Walter Melville turned his pale, handsome face haughtily away."There can be no friendship between two men who are unfortunate enough to love the same woman. I make no pretense of it. From this hour we are as strangers. You have been my evil genius, it seems. I hope I may never see your face again."He rose abruptly, and taking his hat left the room without one backward glance, and the friendship of years was broken never to be bridged over while they lived.Within an hour Dr. Melville left the hotel and Baltimore.Theo had the best of medical attendance, however; yet for a whole week, that seemed the length of eternity to the impatient young lover, he was not permitted to enter the sick-room.Mrs. Mills, the old housekeeper at Strathmore Hall, had been telegraphed for at once, and great was the consternation and rejoicing at the Hall when the wonderful news, that seemed so much like a romance to them, was made known, that Theo had not died that night she fled so mysteriously from Strathmore Hall.Mrs. Mills could hardly believe that the beautiful, golden-haired young girl, with a face as perfect as a marble Flora, was indeed poor, pretty, capricious little Theo when she first gazed upon her.Three years had made marvelous changes for the better in her."Oh, my poor, pretty little darling," she sobbed, holding the girl close in her
arms, "why did you run away from poor Mr. Harry and break your solemn betrothal vow? and where have you been these three long years while we mourned you as dead?"Mrs. Mills's great grief was that Theo was too ill to recognize her.Earnestly Harry Strathmore begged admittance to the sick-room; but Mrs. Mills refused him point-blank."Not until after she has talked with--" The rest of the sentence was whispered in his ear. "That will be best, Mr. Harry," she declared."Well, when will that be?" he asked with great impatience."To-day, we hope," was the encouraging reply.The golden sunshine was flooding the pretty lace-draped boudoir with a flood of softened, mellow light, and the air, sweet as the perfumes of Araby, was heavy with the fragrant odor of roses as Theo opened her wondering eyes with the light of consciousness in them, gazing in bewilderment at the group of faces about her couch.Her eyes fell first upon Mrs. Mills, and she held out her arms to her like a tired child.It was a pathetic sight to see the old housekeeper clasp her in her arms laughing and crying over her in a breath.Suddenly Theo's arms fell from about her and she buried her face in the pillow with a bitter cry:"Oh, you must not touch me, indeed you must not!" she

sobbed. "Heaven help me! I remember all now. Oh, why did God spare me? Oh, Violet! Violet! Violet!"Some one stepped out from the shadow of the heavy draperies, bent over the grief-convulsed figure, drawing the white hands resolutely away from her tear-stained face."Theo," whispered a strangely familiar voice. "Theo!"For one moment a death-like silence ensued. Then Theo raised her eyes to the face bending over her.CHAPTER XXXIX.IT was an intensely thrilling moment.The silence of death ensued as Theo raised her eyes to the face bending over her—raised her dazed eyes to the face of—Violet Kensington!"Not dead!" she gasped, in mortal terror. "Oh, Heaven help me! Joy will drive me mad! Oh, Violet is not dead!"Violet looked at her in wonder."You act as though you took me for a ghost," she said. Then a tenderer light came into her eyes as she beheld the rapture on the upturned face. "I believe you would have been sorry, Theo, if I had shuffled off this mortal coil, but what made you imagine I had died?"The pallor of Theo's face as she fell back shudderingly on the pillow was heart-rending. Mrs. Mills answered the question for Theo."Why, you know you were quite ill at the hospital, Violet, when Theo saw you last. Poor Theo was exhausted watching beside. you, so much so that she fell asleep while watching, so Doctor Melville says. He had gone into the room to get his medicine case, at midnight, at the time of the crisis, and was just in time to give you your potion himself. As he looked at Theo's white face, exhausted with long watching, he told him-self unless she rested at once that he would have two patients on his hands instead of one."It was to Violet Mrs. Mills addressed the words, but she knew poor hapless Theo would understand her meaning, and Theo did understand, and the most thankful cry that ever went out from human lips broke from hers.At that moment she could have knelt at Dr. Melville's feet and kissed the hands that had saved her own from stains that could never be washed away.The eyes of Theo and the old housekeeper met, and Theo knew that Mrs. Mills knew all."Will you leave me alone with Theo a few moments, Mrs. Mills?" asked Violet. "I have something to say to her."The housekeeper turned and slowly quitted the room.Then Violet flung herself down on her knees by Theo's couch."Mrs. Mills tells me that you are under the impression that I am Harry Strathmore's wife," she said, in a low, un steady voice. "I must correct the error at once: I am not his wife, Theo."She did not heed the cry of astonishment that broke from her listener's lips, that had grown white as death, but went on hurriedly:"He never really loved me, Theo, it was only a boyish fancy; from the night you fled from Strathmore Hall and threw yourself into the rapids he was never the same. The change in the man I worshiped so fondly maddened me. I accused him of caring for you, and the answer he made me went like a dagger through my heart—it made me a fiend incarnate."'You are right, Violet , he answered, 'I do love Theo; no other woman shall ever take her vacant place in my heart. I admit to you, frankly, that while we were plighting our troth at the major's bedside such an idea as loving her never entered my head. No man cares for a prospective bride who has been forced upon him as Theo was. But the moment my heart did awaken to the truth, and to the power of a mighty passionate love, was in the moment poor Theo confronted us as you and I, Violet, stood clasped in each other's arms be-moaning the fatal betrothal that had put us asunder. The pitiful cry the poor child uttered, and her words: "Heaven help me, Harry Strathmore! I thought you loved me as dearly as I love you!" went to my heart."'As dearly as I love you,' those words thrilled me like an electric shook and then and there my heart went out to Theo. While I live I shall kiss no other woman's lips. Ah, Violet, that solemn betrothal was broken because your fair face came between me and my pledge.'"That was the answer he made me, Theo," Violet went on, sobbingly, "and Harry and I parted then and there. That was three long years ago, and 1 have never seen him since until last week; he came to see me at the hospital when I was ill. He came again yesterday begging me to come and see you, Theo, and tell you how matters were and to tell you he had read the letter you wrote him, and that he was coming to see you as soon as the doctor would permit him to do so."To describe the emotions that filled Theo's heart as she listened to Violet's recital; the hope, the joy, the yearning cry of her very soul for the lover who had been so true to her memory, even though he believed his love for her had come into his heart too late, would take a cleverer pen than mine."There is something else I have to tell you, Theo," went on Violet in a low, husky voice—" a secret that has been weighing my heart down, wearing my life out. The secret of why Major Strathmore wishes to see you the betrothed bride of Harry Strathmore, his heir, ere he passed away."With penitent tears Violet confessed to the dastardly deed she had done in personating Theo during the major's last moments, while he, believing her to be Theo, had whispered a startling revelation into her ears, bidding her take the silver key from the chain about his neck, and after he was dead search in the old iron-bound chest in the tower for the proof of what he had said. The papers were there."At the first opportunity I secured them," continued Violet, "and I found out then why he was so anxious that a betrothal should take place between you and his son. Are you too weak to listen, Theo?" asked Violet. " It is a startling story.""No, no! go on, I pray you!" gasped Theo, clutching at her heart with one hand and the other seeking Violet's as if in token of forgiveness for what she had done."I will tell it briefly," said Violet. "You have heard the story of how the major's wife, Harry's mother, died in his early infancy?" she asked, "and you have heard too that the major's heart was buried in his wife's grave. That was the reason the world gave out why he never married again.""Yes," responded Theo."It was quite false. The world was cheated of a great sensation then, for Major Strathmore did marry again, though the secret was well hidden from the knowledge of all men."Harry was three years of age when his mother died. Seven years later the major met and loved a fair-haired little widow whose worldly possessions were a beautiful face, an empty purse, and a little daughter of two summers."The major's wooing culminated in a speedy marriage, and for a few short months life, youth, love, and happiness bloomed anew for the major. There came a terrible ending: in a steamboat accident, the major's wife lost her young life and he was left to mourn, and with the little child his wife had left he started back to Strathmore Hall. But en route, he changed his mind. Why tell the world he had married again

and the tragic fate of his lovely young wife? He could not bear the thought that the deepest and sorest wound of his life should be laid bare before the world; better eternal silence than that."He took his young wife's child to a relative who lived in Dover. Ah! you start, Theo, the truth bursts upon you: yes, you were that child, Theo; Major Strathmore was your step-father, but he loved you with a passion that was almost pain, because you were his lost Evelyn's only child.He made over half of his fortune to you, Theo, and the dearest wish of his heart was that in after years his son Harry should wed with his Evelyn's child."He had a monomania upon the subject, brooding over it by night and by day. As the years went by I believe that he regretted not having made known that second marriage, and that you, Theora Chester, was his step-daughter, heiress to half of his estate."'Harry would set all this straight in good time,' he told himself."When he told his son that he had a bride already selected for him, the young man flatly refused to fall in with his father's plans, declaring that he was capable of choosing his own wife when he was ready to marry."A stormy scene ensued, and to make matters worse, hot-headed Harry declared that he would not marry his father's ward, whoever she was, if every hair of her head was hung with gold, and that he was fully prepared to hate her on sight. It was then that the major disinherited his son, turning him away from Strathmore Hall. The papers which deed half of the Strathmore estate to you, I found just as the major had said, in the old iron-bound chest."I thought no one else knew of their existence; but it seemed that Frank Hawthorne, an ex-secretary of the major, knew of them, and one night when I had gone down to the Heron's Pool to cast the papers into its depths, this man surprised me there, taking the papers from me."'1f Theora Chester is an heiress I will marry her if I can,' he cried, with an exultant laugh."With the news of your death the man disappeared, though a year later all the papers, intact, were sent to the lawyer who has charge of the late major's estates. None knew from whence they came, and at last they were given in charge of Harry Strathmore."Say that you forgive me, Theo," she added in conclusion. "I know that I tried to lure Harry from you, and the prophecy

that ill always follows those who interfere in a betrothal has come home to me."I have not been happy, I am wretched now; I will not attempt to stain my lips with false words by pretending that I do not love Harry Strathmore still, for 1 do, but his heart is yours, Theo."But for me you would have been his bride three long years ago, and that death-bed, betrothal solemnly fulfilled."Let those take warning who would interfere and put asunder those who are bound to each other by solemn betrothal vows!"With these words Violet kissed her and hurriedly quitted the room.CHAPTER XL.VIOLET KENSINGTON'S thrilling narrative produced a wonderful effect upon Theo. When Mrs. Mills returned she found her weeping for very joy; the housekeeper could well under-stand why, but all she, said was:"You see, my dear, Harry has loved you from the first, better than you knew."The clinging pressure of Theo's hands answered her.From that moment her improvement was rapid; perhaps it was heightened by the knowledge that Harry Strathmore was under the same roof with her. How her heart beat at the thought!Two days later she was so far recovered as to sit at the window in a great willow rocker.Mrs. Mills had taken much pains with Theo's toilet that day, declaring it made her think of old times to see pretty Miss Theo robed in a dress of spotless white. She had crimson roses on her breast and in the meshes of her bonny golden curls, while her beautiful dark eyes shone with unwonted brilliancy, and a flush, delicate as the pink tint of a sea-shell, deepened in her round, dimpled cheeks.Mrs. Winfield and Florence Vale had been sent for by Harry to help plead his cause with Theo before he should see her; and both came at once, and both did their best for Harry's interest; but if they had not spoken one word in his favor the result would have been the same, for the most powerful agent of all was pleading for him—Theo's own glad, throbbing heart.That afternoon Mrs. Winfield and Florence Vale made in-numerable excuses to leave Theo alone—even Mrs. Mills picked up her sewing, declaring that she must enjoy the sun-

shine in the garden below, and that Theo should call her if she needed her—she would be within calling distance, in case she was wanted.So Theo—our pretty, blushing Theo—sat by the rose-embowered window alone—alone, did I say? Well, I don't mean quite that: she had the happiest companions about her that ever cheered a young girl's heart—her own sweet thoughts, for they were sweet. She was thinking of handsome Harry Strathmore, and wondering if God really meant to give her so much happiness as his love. She was wondering how she would greet him—what words she should use. Her heart beat and her hands trembled at the thought.The door had opened softly; a tall figure stood upon the threshold, his heart in his eyes, as he watched the slender figure in the window.He crossed the room softly and stood beside her.Theo was looking dreamily from the window, wondering why the sunlight at that moment seemed to take on a more golden hue, why the birds singing in the branches without seemed so joyous as they looked at her with their bright, black, knowing eyes, and why her heart had commenced to beat with a rapture so sweet and keen it was almost pain?She turned around uneasily and then she saw him.Harry Strathmore was standing beside her with extended arms, and a light on his handsome, fair face that she had never seen there before."Theo, my darling," he whispered, softly.With a little quivering cry she rose to her feet, and the next moment Harry Strathmore's strong arms infolded her, the beautiful golden head was pillowed upon his throbbing heart, and love's passionate kisses were pressed upon the lovely quivering mouth and the fair sweet face.It was quite an hour before Mrs. Winfield and Florence Vale returned, and when they saw Harry Strathmore and pretty, shy, blushing Theo sitting on the divan by the window together, his arm about her slender waist, it was easy for them to surmise Theo had not missed them.What they said in that sweet hour of reconciliation we can only guess; all lovers use the same beautiful language.Harry Strathmore led Theo up to where his aunt stood smiling upon them."Theo has promised to become my wife," he said, simply.The next moment Theo was sobbing happy tears upon Mrs. Winfield's breast, while her hands were clasped in Florence Yale's.Theo made no proud stately bride to reign at Strathmore Hall. She was simply sweet and good, and her adoring young husband loved her all the better for it.They took no tour abroad. Harry took his bride back to Strathmore Hall, and it would have brought tears to eyes least used to them to see how they welcomed her at the grand old Hall—beautiful Theo who had been returned to them so strangely. Mrs. Mills accompanied them back to the Hall.Two persons read the notice of their marriage with white faces and bitter pain in their hearts: one, a young doctor worn and haggard, sitting in his office far into the midnight hour. He took a faded blossom from his pocket, tore it sorrowfully into shreds and flung it to the breeze."Thus do I tear your image from my heart, sweet Theo," he said, sadly. " I pray God that the choice you have made will prove a happy one."Never from that day was Walter Melville known to look kindly upon a woman's face.The other one who read the notice of their marriage was Violet Kensington. She remembered how she had tried to part them and failed so ignominiously, and a sigh broke from her lips for the lover whom she had lost.Harry Strathmore and his bride are happy now, and the betrothal, which was broken for the sake of a fair, false face has been cemented by the marriage-bond. THE END Advert included in back of Libbey's "All For the Love of a Fair Face or A Broken Betrayal" Advert included in back of Libbey's "All For the Love of a Fair Face or A Broken Betrayal" Advert included in back of Libbey's "All For the Love of a Fair Face or A Broken Betrayal" Advert included in back of Libbey's "All For the Love of a Fair Face or A Broken Betrayal" Advert included in back of Libbey's "All For the Love of a Fair Face or A Broken Betrayal" Advert included in back of Libbey's "All For the Love of a Fair Face or A Broken Betrayal" Advert included in back of Libbey's "All For the Love of a Fair Face or A Broken Betrayal" Advert included in back of Libbey's "All For the Love of a Fair Face or A Broken Betrayal" Advert included in back of Libbey's "All For the Love of a Fair Face or A Broken Betrayal" Advert included in back of Libbey's "All For the Love of a Fair Face or A Broken Betrayal" Advert included in back of Libbey's "All For the Love of a Fair Face or A Broken Betrayal" Advert included in back of Libbey's "All For the Love of a Fair Face or A Broken Betrayal" Advert included in back of Libbey's "All For the Love of a Fair Face or A Broken Betrayal" Advert included in back of Libbey's "All For the Love of a Fair Face or A Broken Betrayal" Advert included in back of Libbey's "All For the Love of a Fair Face or A Broken Betrayal" Advert included in back of Libbey's "All For the Love of a Fair Face or A Broken Betrayal" Advert included in back of Libbey's "All For the Love of a Fair Face or A Broken Betrayal" Advert included in back of Libbey's "All For the Love of a Fair Face or A Broken Betrayal" Advert included in back of Libbey's "All For the Love of a Fair Face or A Broken Betrayal" Advert included in back of Libbey's "All For the Love of a Fair Face or A Broken Betrayal" Advert included in back of Libbey's "All For the Love of a Fair Face or A Broken Betrayal" Advert included in back of Libbey's "All For the Love of a Fair Face or A Broken Betrayal" Advert included in back of Libbey's "All For the Love of a Fair Face or A Broken Betrayal" Advert included in back of Libbey's "All For the Love of a Fair Face or A Broken Betrayal" Advert included in back of Libbey's "All For the Love of a Fair Face or A Broken Betrayal"