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LEwiis m. grist, Proprietor.! ^it litbqplwnf Jfamilg ^ttfosgaptrI 'Jfor t|e llromotion of fjje political. Sural, Agricultural aitb dontmerral fntfrests of tjje Souljj. |terms?$3.00 a year, in advance. VOL. 19. YORKVILLE, S. C., THUESDAY, FEBEUAEY SO, 1873. NO. 8. ? - ? l ? *? JU (Original j?tflrn. Written for the Yorkville Enquirer. THE MYSTEBY OF MOSSGROVE, A ROMANCE OF THE 19TH CENTURY. % BY MRS. IIENRY DEAS. CHAPTER XIII. RETRIBUTION. Stanley was sitting in his study that afternoon, wrapped in a reverie of apparently the most gloomy description, when a servant entered and announced that there was a man waiting outside who desired to see him. "I cannot see any one," was his master's impatient reply. "Say that I am very busy today, and must be excused." The servaut retired, but presently returned j L :j .1 wun a cara, wmcn ne o?iu uic uiuu uau bv/iu him to bring to his master. Stanley took it, and his brows contracted in a heavy frown as he examined it. ? One side bore this inscription? ATJGUSTE J. LEROY. On the other was written in a bold, but scrawling hand? "It will be to your interest to see me. I advise you not to refuse, or you may regret the consequences. A. J. L." "What can this insolence mean," muttered Stanley. After a moment's reflection, he ordered the visitor to be shown in. Monsieur Leroy entered, looking not a whit more prepossessing than when we had the pleasure of meeting him last. His general appearance was, if possible, even less attrac-! tive than usual; his clothes wore dirty and disordered, and his unshaved whiskers gave his face a rougher look, and more sinister expression even than was habitual to it. He entered the room with a devil-may-care air, and without removing his hat, flung himself carelessly into the first chair that came to hand. Stanley, rising from his seat, eyed him with mingled astonishment, anger and disgust. Monsieur Leroy, without moving, returned his indignant gaze with an easy and uncon/uarnorl omila vvttivu *?***?*%/ "What does this impertinence mean," at length exclaimed Stanley ia a wrathful tone. "Have you quite forgotten, sir, the respect due to a gentleman in his own house?" "Not at all, sir?not at all," suavely replied the intruder, apparently quite unabashed by the inquiry. "I am only a little tired, Mr. Stanley, and would rather sit than stand, if it's quite the same to you." "You don't know what you are saying, sir," said Stanley, on whom the man's manner now impressed the conviction that he had been drinking. "If you cannot behave with more civility, leave the room, or I shall be obliged to use means more effectual than agreeable, to rid myself of your presence." . "Don't take that tone toward me, Mr. Stanley," said Leroy, still quite unmoved by the anger of the other. "As for not knowing what I am saying, I assure you I do know, perfectly well; my mind was never in a clearer state than at present, as I shall soon have an opportunity of showing you. I've called on a little matter of business, Mr. Stanley, and we may as well keep ou friendly terms with each other." "What possible business can you have with me ?" said Stanley, waxing more and more indignant at Leroy's audacity, yet curious to know what his motive could be in demanding this interview. "If you'll sit down, so we can talk comfortably, I'll tell you all about it," was the rejoinder. "I don't like to see you standing up in that way all the time; it looks too much as if you wanted to get rid of me." Staggered in spite of himself by the man's coolness, Stanley mechanically drew a chair forward and sat down. "I suppose you have come to ask some favor of me," he said, with a glance at the shabby clothing of the other. "You don't * look as if the world had prospered with you since we last met." "Afavor! well, I don't know about that," said Leroy with a peculiar smile. "It might be a pretty equal favor on both sides, I should imagine. I look poor, don't I, Mr. Stanley ? Well, lam poor; I am deucedly poor. I have not a cent in my pocket at this instant." "In the first place, where did you spring from V' said Stanley. "I understood you were dead." "Ha, ha!" chuckled Leroy. "She told you that, did she? I allude to my adorable spouse. She played the part of disconsolate widow very well, I don't doubt." "Your wife, sir," said Stanley, "informed me that you had come to your end some years ago, in Australia; that she had married again, and was for the second time a widow." "Diable ! She never told me that," said Leroy. "However, it's all the same; it affects me very little. I thought she took the name of. Ford simply for convenience." ? "Have you seen her since your return ?" asked Stanley. "Certainly I have. Immediately on discovering her retreat, I sought her out, and we rushed into each other's arms some weeks ago, in the sylvan shades of this charming abode." "She never told me," said Stanley. Leroy shrugged his shoulders and elevated his brows. "Who can account for lovely woman's caprice?" said he. "Possibly she had some reason for not imparting the information to you." "Very likely," drily rejoined Stanley. "However, Monsieur Leroy, all this has nothing to do, that I can see, with the business you spoke of." "You speak correctly," said his visitor. "It has nothing to do with the business whatsoever. However, the mention of my esteera ed wife has opened the door, in an easy and aotisfnntnrv wnv for (lift introduction of the very topic I am solicitous to bring before your notice?and that is, the nature of her occupation under your roof." "Your wife is my house-keeper," briefly rejoined Stanley. "I should have supposed that she would have informed you of the fact." "So she did," said Leroy ; "but I wanted you to confirm the statement." "And pray," said Stanley, "may I ask why?" "Because," said Leroy, regarding him with a keen look, "I have some cause to doubt it." "I do not understand you, sir," said Stanley, slightly changing color. "I repeat that your wife is my house-keeper, and has been employed in that capacity since the month of! ; October last." Leroy slightly nodded, j "I know that," he said. "But in what! j other capacity, Mr. Stanley ? That's the point! I am driving at." j "What other capacity ?" repeated Stanley, flushing again. "That's what I said," said Leroy, composed, ly. "In what other capacity, besides that of j i house-keeper, is ray wife employed in your j ! household ?" j "In none, sir," replied Stanley. "Your ! question is an enigmatical one, and I cannot understand the motive of it. A person fill-, i ing so responsible a position as that of house keeper, in a large establishment like mine, seldom finds time for the performance of other duties." "Very seldom, as you say," rejoined Leroy. "But sometimes, there are exceptional cases? as you and I know, Mr. Stanley, ha!" "I repeat, that I do not understand you," said Stanley, who, in spite of bis forced composure, was evideutly agitated. "Well, then, I'll make it a little plainer. First of all," continued Leroy, "are you sure there is no one within hearing ?" He glanced cautiously around as he spoke. "I am not afraid, sir, of anything I say being overheard," haughtily replied Stanley, maintaining, with an effort, his composed attitude and his steady gaze at his visitor. One of his hands, however, as it rested on his knee, was clenched together until the nails were almost buried in the flesh, as if he were endeavoring, by some violent muscular effort to brace his nerves and sustain his forced equanimity. "Oh! very well," said Leroy carelessly. "It was chiefly out of regard to your feelings that I asked the question; I have nothing to conceal I assure you?nothing in the world. I repeat, that I have strong cause to doubt the correctness of the statement you have just made to me. I have strong cause to believe fkof mo iwifo'a pool nonnnnt.i'nn is an entirely biiav mj ?"v? *""~"I j I different one from that of house-keeper; though the name may be conveniently adopted as a blind. Now do you understand me, Mr. i Stanley ?" "No, I do not." "Ah ha! not yet t Then see here, Mr. Stanley?just answer me one little question?Who occupies the room at the end of the western wing of this house, adjoining ray wife's apartment?" "That room," said Stanley in a husky voice, "is uuoccupied. It was boarded up, by my orders, in the fall of last year." "That room," said Leroy, bending forward, and speaking in a low, hissing whisper, "is occupied by your wife, Bertha Stanley /" Stanley started from his chair, cold drops of sweat gathering on his brow. "What madness is this?" he muttered. "You know as well as I do that my wife was j drowned, seven years ago, in a stream uot far I from your asylum in New York." "You know as well as I do," returned Leroy, "that your wife is at this moment alive, and confined in your house in the room of ' * -r V .. 1 .1 _?11 T wnicn 1 speaK. xou kiiuw aisw ua we? ?a x I do, that my wife is employed by you as her ! keeper. Deny this if you can!" Tliere was a brief silence. Leroy, cool and triumphant, sat at ease in his chair, regarding his victim with a quiet but malignant sparkle in his keen eyes. Stanley, trembling in every limb, yet still i trying to maintain the appearance of compos- j ure, stood grasping the back of his chair for ; support, guilt and dismay written on every feature of his pallid countenance. Collecting himself at length sufficiently to speak, he faltered forth with a ghastly attempt at a laugh? "It is time to put an end to this farce, Monsieur Leroy. Either you have been 1 dreaming, or your good wife has imposed on ! your credulity, in trumping up this story to amuse you." "Pardon /" said Monsieur Leroy composed-1 ly. "My good wife has told me no story j whatever. Apparently she had her motives foj i keeping dark on the subject, as well as yourself. No, Mr. Stanley, I have better evidence j than my wife's word, which, allow me to re- j mark, I do ?io< put implicit confidence in. I , have the evidence of my own eyes." "What!" exclaimed Stanley.. j "Of my own eyes," repeated Leroy. "That! room has a window, and that window is very ; imperfectly closed up. It is also at a con-1 venient height from the ground, so that a per-, son, by climbing on a slight elevation, can see | through it without much difficulty. Last: night I was in the vicinity of that portion of the building?my object being to obtain, if possible, an interview with my wife?and seeing a light shining through the chinks of the j shutters, curiosity impelled me to take a peep. With the aid of the fallen branch of a ! tree I assisted myself up sufficiently high to j gratify my curiosity in this matter. I did take a peep, and a very satisfactory peep, or at any rate a conclusive one. My eyes, Mr. Stanley, are very good ones, and never deceived me yet." "They have deceived you this time, however," said Stanley, resolved to keep up appearance to the last. "They have not deceived me," said Leroy, eranhaticallv. "Come, come, Mr. Stanley," . I he added, in a persuasive tone, "what is the ! good of shamming in this way any longer?; I am not a child, or a fool, to have you throw j , dust in my eyes. Confess that I have been I clever enough to find out your little secret, 1 and give me credit for my magnanimity in ! ' coming to tell you about it, the very first' thing, before I took anyone else into my con-1 ; fidence1" Stanley saw that all further denial was use- J less. A low groan escaped his lips, and drop- J ping into his chair, he covered his eyes with : his hand, and remained for some moments ; motionless, without uttering a word. "Come, come," said Leroy again, after a j pause. "The game is not all up yet; don't: be too desponding about it. I can keep a ; secret as well as anybody, and if you make it i worth my while to keep this one, why, I can | promise you that it will be as safe iu my keep- j ing as if it was locked up in an iron chest and J the key thrown into the Atlantic ocean." Stanley continued silent. He could not ] yet collect his thoughts sufficiently to speak j in a coherent manner; the shock his mind j j had received was too sudden and startling a I ! one for him to rally from it immediately. | Leroy got up and walked to the window, and stood leaning against the embrasure, with j his hands iu his pockets, carelessly whistling ; a French air, under his breath. Apparently j he was quite willing to give his victim all the I time lie wanted to recover himself. After a long pause, Stanley raised his head, and in a low, hollow voice asked? "What is it that you wish, or purpose to do in this matter ?" Leroy immediately came back from the window and resumed his seat. "Why, that's just what I want to talk about," he replied. "Iam glad that you have come to the point at last. Of course you have penetration enough to discover that I have a purpose?I can't become aware of such an important fact as this one we are talking about, and not expect to make some use of the knowledge. I couldn't be expected to keep such a secret for love, could I ? I'm too much a man of the world for that." "Stop beating about the bu9h," said Stanley, striking his hand on the table, "and tell me at once what you want." "Oh ! I must make haste, must I ? Well, it's natural you shouldn't like to be kept in suspense," said Leroy, in a soothing tone, which irritated Stanley's already tortured mind almost beyond endurance. "Briefly, then, Mr. Stanley, you must agree to pay me a certain sura, and I'll agree, honor bright, not to breathe a word to anybody of your family affaire." "How much is it that you want?" asked Stanley. "Ten thousand dollars," was the prompt reply. "Pay me that down, cash, or give me your note for the same, and I'll not trouble you any farther." "It is utterly impossible," said Stanley. "I have not so much in the world." Leroy looked at him for a moment, and gave a long, low whistle. "You don't expect me to believe that, I suppose," he quietly remarked. "Believe it or not," said Stanley, "such is the fact of the case. A short time ago I might have agreed to your demand, but I have lost heavily lately by a bank failure, and am comparatively a poor man." . "Dear,dear!" said Leroy shaking his head. "What a singular thing it is, that a man is sure to have been unfortunate and lost money, just before his creditors or some other troublesome people come to him for some. It's a great pity, but something must be done to remedy the matter." "I cannot give you what you ask," said o.?i? ? oittuiey. jLuau ia puoibivc. "What can you give me, then ?" asked Le-. roy. "I can give you four thousand," said Stanley, "and not a dollar more." "You are jesting," said Leroy, coolly. "Try it again, Mr. Stanley." "Not a dollar more," repeated Stanley. "Don'i you value your reputation at more than four thousand dollars ?" asked Leroy. "Don't talk to me of my reputation, sir," said Stanley, fiercely. "You have nothing to do with that." "You may find that I have a good deal to do with it," said Leroy, "if you don't agree to my terms. How would you like me to proclaim to the world that you, the traveled and polished Mr. Stanley, the fashionable gentleman and man of honor, had married a second wife while the first one was still alive ? Is bigamy considered a polite social custom, Mr. Stanley? You have more knowledge of the ways of society than I have." "It was, at least, an unintentional crime in my case," said Stanley, who appeared too wretched to heed the other's insolence, "for until the last six months, I had no knowledge of?of her being alive. Where she sprung from, God only knows. I sometimes think she must be a fiend in human shape, sent to torment me and make my life a hell!" "There was a great mistake somewhere," said Leroy, shaking his head, "and a very unlucky one, for you. Does the other know about it ?" "What other ?" asked Stanley. "I allude to the second?your present acknowledged wife." "Do not name her to me," said Stanley, covering his face again, with a sort of groan. "My poor Lucy 1" he muttered to himself. 11WJ k n ^ trtill /-?P Vinf?" iT uau niu UUIAJUJC \ji 11^1 i "Ah !" said Leroy. "You should think of her. The exposure would be dreadful on her account. No sacrifice that you could make ought to be considered too great, to shield her from the knowledge of such a catastrophe." Stanley writhed ; at that moment he felt a more sincere affection for Lucy than he had ever done before, and shuddered at the thought of the evil that he had brought upon one so young, so innocent and so unprotected. He spoke truly when he told Leroy that he could not agree to his demand. He had lost heavily of late, and did not know at present how he could raise so large a sum as that which he was now required to pay as the price of secrecy. It was torture to him to be in the power of this man, who he felt sure would not hesitate to employ the most unscrupulous means to accomplish his end. He could not yet determine on what course he should pursue, and was anxious to gain time for deliberation. After considering for a while, he said to Leroy? "You must allow me time to think over this matter; I can make no arrangement at the present moment. Come back to-morrow and I will give you an answer." "Well," said Leroy after a moment's thought, "that's only fair. I don't wonder at your feeling a little unsettled in regard to the matter; it's a pretty puzzling fix, I should think for any one to be in. What time shall I come back?" At this same hour?or stay?a little later. Say six o'clock ; that will suit rae better." "At your pleasure," said Leroy as he rose to make his exit. "And hark you, Mr. Stanley, take my advice and don't stick at a trifle, for you must recollect you have pretty high stakes to play for. I don't want to be hard on you, you know, but a man must look out for his own interests. An revoir /" CHAPTER XIV. THE HAUNTED ROOM. The troubled day came to a close, and night spread its sheltering mantle once more over the house at Mossgrove and its quiet and sombre environs. The moon arose in its glory, shedding its silver light over the dusky trees, the winding river, the sloping lawn ; and the peaceful stars looked down with their pure eyes on the illfated mansion, where the troubled household had retired to repose. Repose 1 the word seemed a mockery to more than one heart there. The good, the j innocent, worn out with care, slept in spite of j the burden hanging upon them, and the kind i j angel that sealed their weary eyes brought j temporary relief from anxiety and sorrow, j ' The hardened and unprincipled, indifferent to ; j the suffering of others, and guided only by j self-interest, slumbered undisturbed by the j voice of conscience or the sting of remorse. , But the guilty, tortured man to whom bitter j repentance for the past came all too late?was i ; there rest, was there relief for him ? Ah no ! ! vainly did he court slumber, vainly did he I close his aching eyes, and try to banish the agonizing thoughts that assailed his weary ; brain. Retribution had come upon him, and i he felt helpless to escape from the just conse: quences of his early crime. It was true, he might devise means by which toward off still, for a time, the final blow, the publicity of shame; but in the hands of so unscrupulous x-L __ 1 T.? oc. ; a wretcn us lie wuu nun ucm mo icinim | cret in his keeping, and wielded his power over him, he could never again feel safe from betrayal. There was the necessity, too, for immediate action, and he revolved many perplexing schemes in his mind, by which he might escape temporarily from the meshes that were closing fatally around him, but | none seemed to answer the desired end ; and j he tossed on his uneasy couch through the | long, long hours of the night, as though it j were a bed of thorns, and a nest of scorpions I his pillow. Truly, the sting of a scorpion is easier to bear than that of a guilty conscience. Another there was, to whom soothing sleep j that night was equally a stranger. The illfated prisoner in the so-called "Haunted Room" sought her couch, indeed, as usual; but she, too, was revolving strange thoughts and plans, with a cunning newly awakened in her darkened mind. Taught by experience, however, she feigned profound slumber until her j guardiam, imagining all safe, had extinguished the lamp and retired for the night in the adjoining chdmben Eleven o'clock struck. All was quiet; evj ery noise in the household had ceased ; every J light was put out, giving place to darkness aud silence, unbroken and profound. Then the quarters chimed, as it seemed to the impatient listener, with an interminable length of time between. x* iuuujr me iiuur ui uiiuuigutouuwik, icyuberating clear and loud through the wide hall, and echoing through the most distaut apartment, from the warning tongue of the huge old clock, that stood on its lofty pedestal like a sentinel at his post. One?two?three?four?five?six?seveneight?nine?ten?eleven?twelve. Noiselessly the maniac rose from her pillow, and crept with stealthy tread to the door that opened into her keeper's room. With her ear at the keyhole she listeued, scarcely breathing, to try and catch the slightest sound; but no movement was audible, and she retired at length apparently satisfied that she had nothing to fear. The moonlight struggled into her chamber I through the apertures in her closed shutters, ! affording a dim and imperfect guide to her ; movements. Groping in her bed she drew j from between the two mattresses a match box and a small end of candle, wrapped together in a small scrap of paper. Then she pulled all the bed clothes off, one by one, and piled them up against the door. Her own clothes, which lay in a heap on a chair, she then added to the pile. "That's for the last, she muttered; "I must make my own way safe first." She then approached the window, the shutters of which were nailed up, and further secured by wooden Lars placed across on the inside, atashort distance apart. The shutters were old and dry, and had shrunk in many places, but were still strong enough to defy any effort of hands as slight as hers, even had the new bars not presented an additional l'mnpHimonf The sash was fastened down by a nail, but as this had been put in witti no particular care, it was easily removed. The sash, itself, was light, and slid up and down without noise. Very cautiously, and with many an anxious pause, Bertha managed to raise the sash, so as to leave no barrier between herself and the shutters, except the bars, which were far enough apart for her hand to pass through. She now drew out a match from her box, and inserted it in one of the cracks in the shutter, pushing the sulphurous eud outside as far as it would go without tumbling through. Whenever she could find a crack sufficiently large, she repeated this performance, until there were about half a dozen matches thus disposed of. The next thing was to strike a light without making any noise. She was apparently aware of the difficulty of accomplishing this, for she hesitated a long time before making the venture. At last, crouching down in the corner of the room which was farthest off from the door, she commenced scraping a match very gently against the floor, and after several efforts succeeded in igniting it. She then lit the candle-end, placing it where the light was effectually screened from observation. Her object now was to light the matches she had stuck through the shutters, but this was a work of difficulty, for as soon a9 the tiny flame kindled at the inner end had reached the part inserted in the crack, it went immediately out, not having sufficient power to penetrate through the aperture. She was troubled by this unforeseen obstaI cle, and seemed perplexed to know how to overcome it. With infinite patience she proceeded, after some consideration to repeat the experiment a countless number of times, until finally, when her matches were nearly exhausted, her efforts proved successful. The little flame instead of dying out, took hold of a spliuter of the heated wood, and gradually grew stronger and brighter, creeping up against the dry shutter with even increasing vigor, until there could be no doubt that its destructive work was fairly commenced. Bertha's eyes sparkled with delight, and she sat down on the edge of the dismantled j ; bed to watch the progress of her work. Presently the shutter began to crackle, and j | the slender tongue of light broadened and ! j brightened into a ruddy gleam. A column J ! of smoke began to roll slowly into the room, ! j increasing in density as the flames spread ! even higher in their course. A look of fear now came for the first time into the eyes of the maniac, who had seemed ; up to this moment to apprehend no danger to herself. The suffocating sensation produced by the smoke terrified her, and she looked j wildly around in search of some means of es- j cape. The shutters being dry, were already nearly consumed, but the bars of thick, green wood were only blackened and scorched. Seizing the candle-end she placed it on one of these bars, the heat causing it to melt al*! most instantly and saturate the wood. Now the flames seized on it greedily, curl-, ing and crelping inward and upward, slowly yet surely performing their mission. Now the bar cracks?what a terrible noise it makes ! [ Bertha pants with fright, and gazes toward j the door, listening with every nerve strained? j no, there is no sound, the housekeeper still slumbers in profound and blissful unconsciousness of what is going on near her! The next bar is blazing now also ; soon both will be consumed ; if three of them can be removed she thinks she can pet throueh the ODeninc. Mean - ? " ! while the smoke grows denser, aud her nervous fears increase. The flames spreading outward, and growing stronger in the fresh night air, progress steadily toward the corner of the house, finding in the titne-seasoned timber a ready prey. A lurid glare now rises toward the sky, casting fantastic shadows on the ground beneath the trees in the dark shrubbery, and making the teuder light of the stars grow pale" by con[ trast. Now the whole of the wooden shutter gives way, aud falls outward, on the ground. The cold air rushes in, blowing the flames in all directions and scattering, for a moment, the cloud of smoke. Now there is a sound in the next room?surely the noise has awakened Mrs. Ford, and in another instaut flight will be impossible. Quick as thought the maniac applied a light to the pile of combustibles against the door, then with a desperate hand tried the burning bars. Two have given way?the third cracks, yields to her efforts ; the flame and smoke blind her, and she is conscious of a terrible pain in her arm?her sleeve is blazing, she feels the fire mounting up to her shoulder, its hot breath scorches her cheek ; she loses all self-command, and stand ing helpless in her terror, utters shriek after shriek for aid. The shrieks are echoed from the adjoining room ; the door is burst open, and the house-keeper, appalled at the scene that meets her eyes, and greeted by a rush of suffocating vapor, staggers back in bewildered affright, screaming "Fire!" and "Murder !" with all the force she can command. In an instant the whole household is astir, and hurrying footsteps, and voices raised in terrified enquiry, echo through the long corridor. Another moment, and Stanley has caught Bertha in his arms; he tries to smother the flames that surround her, but they baffle his efforts, and he looks vainly arouBd for a rug, or blanket, or othfer heavy article to wrap her in. He carries her, now insensible with pain and fright, to the bed, and rolls her over on the mattress, and at last, after repeated endeavors, succeeds in crushing out the fire. "My God 1" he cried, as he bent over her, "she is burned to death." At this instant Lucy came to his side. "Alfred !" she cried, in a voice trembling with terror, "tell me, who is she?" Stanley made no reply, but lifting the scorched and unconscious form in his arms, bore it from the burning room to a place of safety. TII _ __.t__i^ _p ii. i. ine wuoio ui me weai wiug wm uun blazing, and Stanley lushed out to obtain aid in extinguishing the conflagration. All was noise, bustle and confusion ; the frightened negroes ran hither and thither, hindering rather than helping each other; household goods were dragged out and piled up about the grounds; and, iu addition to this bewildering scene of terror, there lay on a sofa, iu one of the rooms furthest removed from danger, a seemingly dying woman, around whom was assembled a shivering, awe-struck group, not one of whom could in any way account for her presence there, or form the faintest idea of her identity. Lucy, in the midst of her fears and perplexity, mechanically applied all the restoratives she could think of, assisted by Melissa, who gave vent, without ceasing, to ejaculations of wonderment; and poor little Claude, rolled in a large cloak, looked helplessly on, shaking with cold and agitation. After the lapse of nearly two hours, and with much difficulty, the fire was at last put out, but not before a considerable portion of the house had been destroyed, and other parts injured almost beyond repair. Toward daylight, Stanley was siowiy pursuing his way to the house, having been on au errand to one of the outbuildings, whither some articles of value had been removed. "Good-raoruing, Mr. Stanley," said a voice at his elbow. "Allow me to offer you my sincere condolence, in regard to the misfortune you have sustained through this melancholy accident." Stanley turned with a muttered oath to encounter Leroy's keen, sinister gaze. In his present mood, he was ill-fitted to support an interview with his enemy, whose mocking voice awoke every fierce passion slumbering in his heart. "Monsieur Leroy," he said brusquely, "I am in no humor for conversation at present. Will you do me the favor to let me proceed undisturbed on ray way ?" "I atn grieved to disturb you," said Leroy in bland tones; "but indeed, Mr. Stanley, I joined you on purpose to have a little conversation, and I don't like to be balked in my aim. Cannot you spare me a few moments of your valuable time?" "No!" thundered Stanley, turning fiercely upon him. "Begone, I say, and don't tor . r~ _.i i A -- I inuui rue any JUriUCl : XVJLC IIICIC numuuugu devils worrying and tearing at ray heart already, without your being added to the number ?" "Ha, ha !" smoothly laughed Monsieur Leroy. "You are not complimentary, my good friend ; but I pardon your vehemence of expression, in consideration of the agitation of mind you are no doubt suffering from. But seriously, Mr. Stanley, I cannot consent to forego the pleasure of this little interview?I , will make it as brief as you please." Stanley laid his hand heavily on his shoul- 1 der, and a dangerous light gleamed in his eyes. ! "Monsieur Leroy," he said through his 1 closed teeth, "if you have any regard for your , personal safety, I advise you to leave me. I ] am in no mood to be trifled with, and I will i not hold any further conversation with you at i present." "Ah ! you threaten," said the Frenchman with a scornful smile. "Take care, my friend? j it is a dangerous game. Do you think that I 1 fear your scowling, looks? Take care, Mr. Stanley?our bargain is not made yet. I may make it a tougher one for you than you will like, if you irritate me too far." A terrible oath escaped Stanley's lips, and he struck Leroy with all his force across the face. With a yell like that of an enraged tiger, his adversary sprang upon him, and in an instant they closed in deadly combat. Under ordinary circumstances, they would have been pretty equally matched. Leroy was the broadest and burliest of the two, but Stanley, though more slightly built, was a man of powerful muscle, and made up in activity what he lacked in brute force. Now, however, he was unnerved and weakened by fatigue and excitement, and one arm, too, had sustained some injury, though not a very severe one, in his exertions during the fire. Half maddened by the contending emotions which excited him, he was no match for his cool. self-Dossesscd opponent, aud soon be came aware that be was getting the worst in the affray. A moment more, and he was on the ground, his adversary's knee planted on his chest. "You have struck me," hissed the Frenchman in his ear, "and I have never-yet forgiven a blow." He held in his hand a powerful cudgel, which he raised above the head of his pros5trate foe. But ere he struck the threatened blow, his countenance changed ; his grasp relaxed, and he rose slowly to his feet. Stanley's eyes were closed; a gurgling sound escaped his lips, and a stream of blood gushed over his clothing. "A blood-vessel brokeu," murmured Leroy. "I have done for him, I believe." He stood regarding him earnestly for an instant. Stanley lay motionless, the ghastly whiteness of his face contrasting terribly with the crimson tide that oozed from his lips. Leroy turned, and with a swift pace strode off toward the gate. About ten minutes afterward, one of the negroes came by, and spying his master on the ground came hurrying up to see what was the matter. His loud cry of dismay and surprise brought one of his fellows to his assistance. They thought their master was dead, and pro1 1 . \ iL. 1 ceeaea 10 convey mm co me nouse. Life was not extinct, however, for as they raised him he uttered a faint groan. This was the only sign of consciousness he gave, until they reaced the house and carried him to his own chamber. The terrified Lucy met them at the door. They could give her no explanation of the catastrophe, but at her direction laid him on the bed, and then hastened off to summon a physician to his aid. At length Stanley's eyes opened, and in a faint tone he murmured Lucy's name. She bent over his pillow, and laid her hand soothingly on his brow. "Lucy," he muttered, "I am going to die, and how shall I appear at the final accouut with this burden on my soul ?" A violent shudder convulsed his frame; his eyes closed again, and another swoon followed, from which no effort could arouse him. At last the physician came, and after examination pronounced the case to be a hopeless one. "He may linger for several hours," he said, "but there is no chance whatever of his recovery. Nothing can be done but to keep him as tranquil as possible, and try to make his last moments easy. How did this accident come about?" Lucy related all she knew of the circumstances. The doctor shook his head. "He has sus tained some sudden and violent shock," he said, "which has produced an internal and fatal injury. Have you no reason to suspect any foul play?" Lucy shook her head. "I am totally in the dark regarding the matter," she replied. "Until he was brought home in this condition, I had seen nothing of him since the fire. He may have exerted himself too much in trying to save the house, may he not ?" "He may," said the physician. But he evidently had his suspicions, which for the sake of Lucy's peace of mind, he would not express any further. "What a pitiable state poor Lucy was in! She was so wrought up by the intense excitement of the last few hours that she wa* scarcely conscious of her own identity, and felt as though she were moving in a hideous dream. She had no longer the power to think or act for herself, and mechanically followed the directions of the physician, who used all his skill to promote the restoration of her husband to consciousness, and who looked with infinite compassion on the pale and stricken young wife, deeming that it was grief for the sudden blow alone which had thus crushed and paralyzed her faculties. He could not read all the hidden emotions of her heart, nor penetrate the mystery of the awful experiences she had recently undergone. Those pages of her life were closed and hidden from mortal eyes. Ax I iL ? *1.. J ill lengiu outuiti) nua sluuuiciiwj icaiuicu | to be able to speak. When the doctor had j left, which he did with the promise to return j in as short a time as he possibly could, he sig-1 nified to Lucy his wish to converse with her | privately, as he had a revelation to make to j her which would admit of no delay. [conclusion next week.] How Long it Takes to Starve to j Death.?Bradley Grant, a rich farmer who j lived near Binghampton, New York, commit-1 ted suicide by starving himself to death. The ' time required was just six weeks. During all this interval he had not taken three ounces of any kind of food. On the first day of his long death fast, he ate part of an egg beaten up with a little milk. Of this he only supped two tablespoonfuls. His next meal was taken fifteen days afterward, and consisted .of but half a cup of tea and a piece of toast about the size of a man's three fingers. Then he went without food for twenty days. His last meal consisted of one ounce of toast, which he was induced to swallow. A few days before he died two tablespoonfuls of brandy and water were forced down his throat. This sums up all the food that passed into his 3tomach during the six weeks. He was well off in this world's goods, and no cause is assigned for the act. He left a wife and an infant child. He was reduced to a perfect skeleton before succumbing to his terrible selfimposed privation. ? ? B&* Why is a candle-maker the worst and most hopeless of men ? Because all his works ire wicked, and all his wicked works are brought to light. fpwuaiwtftt* ^mtng. LUCKY XUHBERS. Among the many curious superstitions which have retained their hold upon the minds of j men, that of the mystical properties of numbers j is as implicitly credited by some people of the > present day as it was when Cheops was building the great Pyramid more than a thousand years : before the Christian era began. A recent writer in Chambers' Journal says : | "Card-players have a number of crotchets I of this kind?'luck under the deuce,' bad luck uuder the nine of diamonds, an even number ; for the trump card. One theory says that even numbers are unlucky, because each can be divided into two, thereby denoting death ! and dissolution. One nation made the year ! consist of 359 days, in order that it should not divide into twelve equal months. Some of the | early Christians pronounced for odd numbers, because God is 1 and 3, and because He made i holy the seventh day. The number 7 and its j multiples were on other grounds made lucky; ! because a human being sheds his teeth at 7, ; becomes a vouth at twice 7. a man at thrice 7, and reaches his grand climacteric at nine j times 7. In some part of England, the housej wives put their hens on an odd number of ! eggs; because with an even number, they fear there would be no chicks. The current j year of our Lord is always a lucky number : in the estimation of some persons. Addison said, in the Spectator: "I have been told of a certain zealous dissenter, who, being a great enemy to Popery, and believing that bad men are the most fortunate in the world, will lay two to one on the number 666 against any other number; because, says he, it is the numj ber of the beast." This mystical number has | played a great part in luck speculations, j Some Apocalyptic interpreters will have it | that 666 is the Pope himself; while, on the | other haud, a Roman Catholic journalist has j recently striven to show that if Bismarck were spelled Bistmark, it would be exactly 1 equivalent to 666. Number three is greatly ; in favor for luck; school-boys insist thatfthe i third time will be fair, or will result in success. There is an old superstition or maxim, call it which we may, that three handfuls ,'of sand on a dead body are as good as a funeral. The Romans had notions about the breadth j of a camp fosse measuring an odd number of : feet; the holding of markets at intervals of ! an odd number of days; the taking of the I nakm'.i. rt + !nin....filn aC An rt/U nil tin Via. A f I1AA no . | ucuaua at iiitct vaio ux au uuu uuuiuvi u* , J the dinner at triclinium or a three-sided table, the Graces being three, the Furies three, and the Muses seven. Greek cities had an odd number of gates. The French peasantry have a knack of making out lucky and unlucky years for great personages by adding together the years of our Lord, the digits which compose that number, the age of the individual, and the number of years between his birth, marriage, or some other notable event in his life?an elastic sort of process, which can be made to prove almost anything we wish." ? NIGHT WORK. A good medical authority declares that the mischiefs of night work, where evil effects follow, arise more from the insufficiency and uncertainty of the light used, than from any other cause. The light should be white, strong and steady, and carefully concentrated by shades upon the book, paper, or other object of employment, a very different kind of light from the dull and cloudy yellow just now furnished by some of the gas companies. Insufficient, flickering, or too diffused light is one of the most serious causes of brain irritation which affects some of the people compelled to work at night. The body should be well supplied with nutriment, for it is a fact not sufficiently recognized that mental occupation and night work of any kind make ex ceptionally heavy draughts on the physical strength. To the young, night work?that is, occupation to a late hour?is more injurious than to the old; and both old ana young, whenever they can, should prefer daylight. But as in the thousand demands of necessity as well as of civilization, there must be those who aro compelled io turn night into day, a due regard to the support of nature must be observed. From six to eight hours of coutiuuous sleep in every twenty-four hours is necessary to every person. He who works till fourshould, therefore, be in bed till ten, and even then should have an hour's nap later in the day before he begins his night work again, j Many cases of sleeplessness are due not to ! overwork but to the overuse of tobacco and ! the abuse of stimulants. He who cannot I compose himself without a potation has overI worked himself; and to fall into the habit of j either "keeping up" or of getting attuned for ! sleep by application to the glass is dangerous. Better not work at night at all than to do it under such circumstances. The day is the natural time for labor; and he is fortunate whose occupation permits this natural arrangement as the rule of his life. Yet, as already observed, the conditions of society impose night-work upon many people. And there are many more who are occasionally compelled to resort to it Man is a facile animal; I and by the right use of his reason can adapt himself to circumstances. But reason must be consulted and obeyed. There is no "Society" for the prevention of cruelty self-imposed upon the human animal. He must take care of hi? own case, as but few others are likely to do it for him, or could if they would. Mr Seward's Coolness.?Mr. Seward won many moral victories in the Senate by his perfect coolness. Nothing could rouse his anger or make him forget the courtesy due to his colleagues, or the proprieties of the Senate Chamber. A Washington paper says: Not long ago, a gentleman was telling me a Senatorial anecdote of Mr. Seward, dating back to ante-bellum days. Mr. Seward had made a speech?something about the telegraph?when Mr. Toombs, of Georgia, rose to reply, and made a speech full of personal abuse of Mr. Seward. He wrought himself up into a rage, and lashed about in the most aggressive manner. He finished and took his seat. As Mr. Seward rose from his chair, every eye was bent upon him with the greatest auxiety. With calm, measured step he walked toward Toombs. It was noticed that his right baud was underneath the rear pocket of his coat. There was apprehension that he was concealing a pistol, and Mr. Toombs' friends crowded around him. When Mr. Seward reached him, he drew out his hand, and opening his snuff box, politely invited his adversary to take a pinch of snuff. n~A i? \r> TV?. ?Kf_ iJJLjf uuu 1 aaiu jjai. iuuiuuo , xui. kjctyard, have you no feelings ?" "Take a pinch of snuff, it will soothe your agitation." He then returned to his seat, and without any allusion to Mr. Toombs or his speech, made an able argument in favor of his measure, which he carried, as coolness and selfpossessiou will always win the victory over hot temper and passionate invective. fiST Two boys in Des Moines, Iowa, were caught the other day eating a stolen pie. The robbed housewife informed them that the pie had been set away poisoned for rats. It did not take the boys long to find their homes and their anxious parents turned them inside out with all sorts of antidotes. After it was all over the landlady confessed that she had not poisoned that particular pie. The boys, however, will not steal any more.