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lewis m. grist, Proprietor. 1 ^it Jnbepenbeitt Jfantilg Hetospaper: Jfar t|)t promotion if % |Mitital, j&trrial, ^.griraltnral attb (Jantmcrtial Interests of ljje $cnt|. j TERMS--$3.00 A YEAR, IN ADVANCE. YOL. 25. YOEKVILLE, S. C., THURSDAY, FEBRUARY 6, 1879. NO. 6. facttg. . SOMEBODY'S MOTHER. The woman was old and ragged and gray, And bent with the chill of the winter's day; The street was wet with a recent snow, And the woman's feet were aged and slow, She stood at the crossing and waited long, Alone, uncared for, amid the throng Of human beings who passed her by, Nor heeded the glance of her anxious eye. Down the street with laughter and shout, Glad in the freedom of school let out," Came the boys like a hock of sheep, Hailing the snow piled white and deep. Past the woman so old and gray Hastened the children on their way, Nor offered a helping hand to her, So meek, so timid, afraid to stir Lest the carriage wheels or the horses feet Should crowd her down in the slippery street. At last came one of the merry troop?* The gayest laddie of all the group; He paused beside her, and whispered low "I'll help von across if you wish to go." Kr* r> rl An Kio utl?An rr IT mi n CT ftrm OOi UOIIU VII UI?J OV4V..J, JV?<Q ? She placed, and so, without hurt or harm, He guided the trembling feet along, Proud that his own were firm and strong. Then back again to his friends he went, His young heart happy and well content. "She's somebody's mother, boys, you know, For all she's ageci and poor and'slow ; And I hope some fellow will lend a hand To help my mother, you understand. If ever she's poor and old and gray, When her own dear boy is far away," And "somebody's mother'bowed low ber head In her home that night and the prayer she said Was, "God, be kind to the noble boy. Who is somebody's son and pride and joy." JU ?tigiual Written for the Yorkville Enquirer. MISS CAREY'S BOX. BY AN OLD CONTRIBUTOR. CHAPTER XI. Claire was too desirous of retaining her godmother's favor to lose it by impudent behavior ; and thenceforward nothing could exceed the propriety with which she conducted herself, so long as she was under the old lady's eye, or Nanon's ; for the old servant, who had enjoyed her mistress' entire confidence, and had no love for the young girl, never scrupled to tell when she saw the latter act in a manner that she disapproved of. Nanon believed that Claire had designs upon Armstrong, of whom she was very fond, and nothing made her more irate than to contemplate the possibility of their proving successful. But Armstrong had no intention of ever marrying Claire. He simply amused himself with her as it suited his convenience. As for the girl herself, she liked him quite well enough, personally, to have been willing for such an arrangement; but then she knew he was not wealthy, and her ambition soared to a higher sphere than that which she could occupy as his wife, with only a modest income. Still, failing to secure the position she longed for, she felt that this one was not to be despised, and, therefore, judged it prudent to play her cards in such a manner as to leave it at her disposal whether she would accept it or not. She really believed that she had complete influence over Armstrong; though, even had she not labored under this y delusion, her love of admiration and innate coquetry would have led her to exert all her powers of fascination upon him, as she did, in fact, whenever she had a chance, upon all of the sterner sex who came within her reach. As the reader may be curious to know who this young lady really was, upon whom I have, perhaps, bestowed a longer description than was necessary, it may as well be briefly * - * 1 -1 i _ J Li i* ^ Siaieu mat, sue was me uuuguier ui a pciouu who had once been a school companion of Madame d' Alenibert, but who, in marrying very much beneath her, and relinquishing all former associations, had cut herself off from her family and the greater number of her friends. But Madame d' Alembert, from the force of past acquaintanceship, never quite lost sight of her ; aud when finally she died in poverty aud obscurity, deserted by her husband, and leaving a little girl to the cold charity of the world, her old schoolmate, compassionating the child, took her under her protection, stood sponsor for her, (although eight years old, she had not yet been baptized), placed her at school, and charged herself with her expenses. Subsequently, some relatives of the father, to make amends for his unworthy conduct, came forward and volunteered to assist in the care of the little orphan. who, after leaving the school where she was first placed, divided her time between the home of an aunt, who made her a sort of drudge, and Bellevue, the residence of Madame d' Alembert, who continued to fill the position of her chief benefactress and friend. Claire very well knew that if she behaved herself properly, she was likely to come in for a good share of the old lady's fortune, which was considerable. She, therefore, always eudeavored to please her, and though incapable of any deep or lasting sentiment of affection, she liked her sufficiently well to be willing to comply with her requirements, when they did not seriously affect her own enjoyment. By a judicious coarse of conduct, she had so far ingratiated herself in her _ godmother's good opinion as to have acquired some influence over her, and partially blinded her to her faults. Still, Madame kept a vigilant eye upon her, and especially where her nephew was concerned, did she watch her proceedings and bend her endeavors to keep a proper check upon them. She did not like to have the two staying at the same time beneath her roof, but it sometimes happened, as in the present case, that the contingency arrived unexpectedly and she was unable to prevent it. One pleasant afternoon, some two or three days after Frank and Armstrong had come to Bellevue, the three young people went to take a walk, Claire having behaved with such exceeding circumspection, that her godmother thought it reasonable to allow her to join the expedition. They had rambled on for some time, talking nonsenseas usual, when suddenly Claire stopped, discovering that her handkerchief was lost, and declared that she must go back and find it. They accordingly ? retraced their steps for some distance, looking along the road and among the bushes on either side, but without'success. "It is too bad," exclaimed Claire, with annoyance, partly real, partly assumed. "I do not see how I could have been so careless as to let it drop." "It isnot worth while making a fuss about," said Armstrong calmly. " Haven't you plenty ! more handkerchiefs at home ?" "Yes, of course; but I don't value any of them as I do this particular one. It has a story attached to it," was her reply. "Ah ! I suppose some lover once picked it up, or pressed it to his lip3, or scented it with some Extrait de mellefleurs for you, remarked Armstrong, "and the association makes it precious." "I have no lover who is a perfumer, Mr. Armstrong," retorted Claire, disdainfully. "Neither would I consider my property at all valuable from having been kissed by any masculine lips. This handkerchief has quite a romantic history, and it came into my possession in a very singular way. Ah, I see it? del, bow fortunate! how happy I am !'" she cried with true French vivacity, as she espied the missing article clinging to the lower branch of a tree, and sprang forward to reclaim it. * It was an ordinary lady's handkerchief, of j fine cambric, with a monogram worked in one corner. The letters "were "M. R.," as she showed Armstrong. They were fancifully interwoven, and surmounted by a flowery spray of leaves and vines. "Those are not 'yPtfr initials," he remarked, 03 he glanced at it. "I know that. They are those of its original owner, whose fate was a melancholy one. "Who was it ?" asked Armstrong. "I cannot tell you her name, for I know nothing more of her than one brief episode in her life, connected with the circumstances which led to the losing of this handkerchief. But it is really a thrilling little tale, if it be true." "Why not relate it for my benefit and that of my friend ?" asked Armstrong, partly interested, partly incredulous. He did not put much faith in Claire's sentiment. "If you and he really care to hear it, I will," replied the young lady, with an inquiring glance at Frank. The latter, of course, seconded the proposal, as he was bound in politeness to do. In fact he rather liked the idea of anything which would prove an interruption to the ceaseless badinage exchanged between his companions, which he was beginning to get tired of. "Let us sit on' this grassy knoll and rest awhile; I am weary of walking," said Claire, as she sank down with an air of graceful languor on an inviting little mound. And the two gentlemen having followed her example, she proceeded with her tale, emphasizing it ! with sundry expressive gestures, as she went on. "It was last March, mes amis, and I was at London for a visit. You may remember, Mr. Armstrong, when I went to stay with my cousin, Mrs. Bertrand, there ?" Armstrong nodded a lazy affirmative, as he lay on the grass with his hat tilted over his eyes. "Well, there was a favorite family servant who was sick ; and Mrs. Bertrand proposed one afternoon that I should go with her to Marianne's room, to inquire how she felt. So we went, and found her sitting up in bed, a good deal better, and quite inclined to converse. Of course it is not important that I should remember what she talked about. It was chiefly about different ailments and their remedies, I think, which did not entertain me much, and I was looking about the room at some odd pictures and things, and wishing very heartily that my cousin would propose going, when suddenly, on the table, I espied a handkerchief? this handkerchief?and the embroidery in the corner took my fancy. " 'How pretty this is, Marianne,' I remarked, as I took it in my hand. 'Did you work it yourself?'" " 'No, Miss,' she answered, 'I can't do that sort of work. My brother gave me that handkerchief, which he found by accident, in a carriage. It has my initials on it, which seems a queer circumstance, don't it? My name, you know, is Rexford, so 'M. R.' suits me exactly." " 4 Yes, indeed/ said I. How very nice that it should have suited you so well; but how did he find it?" "So then she went on to give me the whole history. Her brother, it seems, was a coachman onrl nno nierht. n. verv mvsterioua thin? I ?o? J ?J o happened. A gentleman went to him and told him he had a good job for him if he was willing to undertake it, and paid him five dollars right down before he entered into any explanation, as a sort of bribe, of course, to induce him to consent. The coachman was poor, and the money seemed too good a thing to refuse, so he agreed to do whatever was wanted of him. He thought in his own mind that it was most likely an elopement, or some affair of that sort 011 hand, and that it was none of his business to have any scruples. Then this gentleman went on tell him that he wished to be driven to a certain house, where a lady lived with some people who did not treat her well, and that he promised to bring her away ; that all the family were out that evening, but herself, and, therefore, it was the best time to go for her. "He said he would give him five dollars more, if he would do his part of the business properly and say nothing about it to auy one. Of course the man thought it very | nice to be able to make ten dollars in a single evening, and he promised him everything he wauted. .. . "Well, the gentleman got into the carriage, and was driven first to his own house, where 1 he helped another person to get in, and then ! they went off after the young lady. "There was a Jitrge. garden in. front of her residence, and the carriage remained outside j the gate, while the gentleman went up to the i street door, and the other person stayed be| hind. Once, while they were waiting there, this person?whether it was a woman or a man I don't recollect?made a signal to the driver as if wishiug to speak to him; but when he turned round to see what was the matter, the person wouldn't say a word, but just crouched back in the corner as if afraid." "Really, this is getting thrilling," said Armstrong, with a laugh. "Isn't it ? I told you you would be inter| ested," rejoined Claire. "And the best of it is, it's a true story." "I have my doubts on that point," said j Armstrong. "However, go on; I want to hear the end. Of course it was an elopej ment." Frank, whose attention had become fixed in spite of his previous indifference, changed his position a little and listened with his face slightly turned away from the narrator. A curious interest in her story had formed itself in his mind. "Well," continued Claire, "after a little delay, the gentleman came back to the carriage, and with him, true enough, a young lady. The coachman couldn't see exactly what she was like, for it was dark; but he did notice that she had on no hat, which he considered strange. "The carriage door was opened, and the young lady was helped in. Something was said which the coachman did not hear, but it seemed to him as if there was a sort of scuffle as the door was shut However, his orders were to drive off the instant they were in the carriage; so off he went, as fast as he could, back to the house they had come from, where j the gentleman lived. "When they stopped there, the young lady was quite insensible, and had to he lifted out. She had fainted away." "Depend upon it, she was only acting," said Armstrong. "No, she was really unconscious, and looked actually as if she was dead. The gentleman said something about her being very nervous, and the excitement proving too much for her. The coachman caught a glimpse of her face as she was lifted out, and he declared it made - * .11 1 hira teel quite uncomiortaoie to see now wnite she looked. He began to feel, then, if maybe he had been bribed into doing something wrong. "The gentleman having carried the beautiful young lady into the house?" "How do you know she was beautiful ?" interrupted Armstrong. "Of course she must have been. I can imagine exactly how she looked. Having carried her in, he returned and paid the driver, and charged him to remember his promise of secresy, as the welfare of the lady and of every one who cared for her, depended upon it. Then he bundled the other person out of the carriage, and the coachman drove off." "And was that all ?" "All for that time. When the coachman went to look in the carriage, after he got back-" "Got back where ?" "Oh ! I don't know?to the stable, I sup pose, or wherever he kept his horses. Don't tease so ! When he got back and looked about, he found the lady's handkerchief that she had dropped under the seat of the carriage." "How could it possibly drop under the seat ?" questioned Armstrong, tormentingly. "It was there, at all events, and the coachman found it. At first he thought he would carry it back to the owner, but he reflected that it was too late, and the house was a long way off. So he changed his mind, and de termined to take it the next day, instead." "But he didn't." "No, he didn't; for that very night he got a dispatch from his father in England, telling him to come home and see his mother, who was dying, and he started right off at daylight." "Taking the handkerchief with him, however." ; "Yes, he put it in his pocket, and never thought about it any more; but when he got home he gave it to his sister, the very person who told me the story." "But what about the sad fate of the mysterious young lady? You haven't told us that." "Oh!?well, there was no certainty about it; but a rumor was set afloat afterwards, that something terrible had happened to her. She was never heard of again. When the man went back to California?" " Where f" suddenly interrupted Frank, speaking for the first time. He was trying to repress his excitement, but he looked strangely startled and pale. "California?it was in San Francisco that it had happened. Did I forget to tell you ?" "Go on, pray," said Frank. He mastered himself by a strong effort, and listened with assumed composure, as she continued? "There is really not much more to relate. Marianne could not tell anything definite about it. Her brother went back to San Francisco, and there in some paper he saw a piece relating to the affair. Indeed, there was quite an excitement over it, and a large reward was offered for the young lady's recovery." "Why, then, he was a fool not to tell what he knew," said Armstrong. "Why didn't he go in for the reward ?" "Marianne was confused about that part of it. She either could not or would not tell what else he did. But she said as I liked the handkerchief, she'd be glad if I'd take it She seemed to have taken a sort of fancy to me?people do, sometimes, you know." This last remark, and the coquettish glance which accompanied it, were quite thrown away upon Frank. He was absorbed in thought. The conjecture, amounting to a positive belief, which Claire's story had awakened in his mind, thrilled him to the core, and it was all he could do to refrain from betraying his excitement. His impulse was to jump up and rush away, on the instant, on the track of this new discovery ; but he remembered that what he had so far heard could be of little help to him, without his gleaning, first, some more particulars. "I think," he said at length, speaking slowly and meeting his companions' eyes fully, in order the better to maintain a show of calmness, "I have heard something of that history before. I should like to know, really, what its true ending might be. This coachman, you say, who was a party to the young lady's disappearance, is now in San Francisco ?" "I do not know," said Claire. "He was, at the time that I saw his sister. She lives with ro PKq t*l oa RoptPHiid in WriPCMfpr Plflfii1 London. Frank carefully noted the address, though without appearing to pay any special attention to it. But his resolution was immediately taken to see this Marianne Rexford, and learn her brother's name and address. That day, at dinner, he announced his intention of leaving the next morning. His hand, he said, was nearly quite well, and his business would not permit him to remain any longer enjoying the dolce far niente of B Jevue. Madame d'Alembert doubted the wisdom of bis proceeding on his journey yet, and Armstrong urged him to remain a few days longer, while Claire gave him several glances of unmistakeable entreaty, which perhaps, under different circumstances, might not have been wholly without effect. But be wa3 proof now against all persuasion, and, agreeably to his resolve, took leave of his hospitable entertainers early on the following day. His destination was now, of course, London ; and there he arrived in due time. He sought out Marianne Rexford, and had no difficulty in finding her at the address which Claire had furnished him with. She was a comely looking elderly dame, very pleasant in her manner, and answered his questions without difficulty. "My brother, sir ? Yes, ray oldest brother is in California; has lived there many years. I You were wishing to write to him ?" "I wish to communicate with him?on business," said Frank guardedly. "I was directed to come to you to learu his precise address." "Yes, sir. Thirty-one and a half Sansome Street, San Francisco, is where I direct his letters. I don't know whether he lives there, or what; but that's where he may be found." "I am very much obliged to you," said Frank, as he noted the address in his pocket book. This much accomplished, he lost no time in proceeding to Liverpool, where he took his passage on a steamer about to leave for New York ; and soon after found himself, without any farther obstacle intervening in the way of his progress, embarked on the broad bosom of the Atlantic, with his face turned towards the goal of his anxieties and hopes. In New York he stayed but a single day, and then started on the overland train for San Francisco. He reached that metropolis on a windy June afternoon, too late to do anything but refresh himself and take brief observations of his surroundings. So he put up at the Grand Hotel, and as soon as possible after dinner, being fatigued both in body and mind, sought his chamber and went to bed, where he slept soundly until morning. After breakfast he went to thirty-one and a half Sansome street; a small dingy office wedged in between two larger places of business. "Is a hack-driver here, of tbe name of Rexford ?" he inquired of a small red-haired youth lounging about the door. "Hack-driver? I guess not; don't know anybody of the name." "Ask, will you ?" said Frank, impatiently. The red-haired faoy turned his head over his shoulder toward the interior of the office, and bawled out? "Mister Summers, is there an individual in these quarters by the name of Rexford? Profession, a hack-driver. Here's a party as wants to know." A man came forward to answer the inquiry. "Rexford ? Yes, I know him," he said to Frank. "He ain't here now, but I guess you will find him at his stand, right by the Plaza. He'll be there unless he's off on a job." ? .1 Til Oil I J p U. iiT " w nere is me r mza : a?*eu jc mua, ? am a total straDger in this city." "Oh ! well, it's easy enough to find. Just you keep right up Sansome?that's this street? till you come to Clay ; then turn that way? to your left?and keep on up to Kearney, and you'll see a big green square, and a line of carriages along the sidewalk. Anybody'll show you." Frank thanked hira, and went on his way. Five minutes' walk brought him to the Plaza, which was, as the man had said, easy enough to be found. CHAPTER XII. Frank approached a little group of hackdrivers who, in default of more profitable employment, had collected on the sidewalk to discuss the gossip of the day?possibly the rise and fall of mining stock, a topic interesting to every class in this part of the world?and politely addressed one of them. "Can you tell me, my friend, where I can , find a person by the name of Rexford ?" he inquired. "A pureon be the name of Rixford?is it a dhriver ye'll be maning?" was the counter inquiry, in a rich Hibernian brogue. "Justso; I was directed to look for him here." "And a purty good diriction it was. If ye'll take the throuble to stip along the line till ye come to the last hack but one, ye'll find him and his tame. That's bis stand." Frank "stipped along the line" as directed (after thanking his informant) and found, sitting in the doorway of the last carriage but one, deeply absorbed in a newspaper, a stout good-tempered looking man, who bore the n T 11 ? i i r* i stamp or donn Jtsun on nia Droaa ngure auu i bluff rosy countenance; a person decidedly superior looking to the generality of his fellows-in-business who surrounded him. He looked up as Frank stopped before him, and folding his paper, rolled himself out of the carriage door to his feet, anticipating a job. "Is your name Rexford?" asked Frank, his eagerness making him rather more abrupt than usual. The man looked at him a moment as if in surprise. He little knew what an object of intense interest he was to his interlocutor. "You've hit it, sir," he replied slowly, at length. Then as Frank hesitated, not quite sure how to proceed, he added, "Can I do anything for you ?" "I would very much like," said Frank, glancing around him, "to have some conversation with you in private. That is," he added, with an afterthought, "if you are indeed the person I take you- to be. Have you a sister in London, named Marianne Rexfo rd ?" "Yes, sir, I've a sister in London, and you're correct as to her name. Do you know her? I needn't ask if you are an Englishman, because it's a self-evident fact." "Yes, and I am just from London. I saw your sister there. She directed me where to find you. It's a subject of great importance that I wish to speak to you about?" "My sister is all right, I hope, sir? You don't bring no bad news from home ?" interrupted the man anxiously. "No, no; I have heard no bad news. Come, I'll get into your carriage, and you can drive me somewhere?anywhere, where we can have a private talk. I'll pay yon for 4a*? ttamw flmfl " 1U1 JUUI Willie* "All right, sir," said Rexford. He held the door open for Frank to get in, then mounted the box and drove off. They stopped before a plain but decentlooking lodging house, and Rexford saying that here was where he "hung out," and that in his own room they could converse without fear of interruption, conducted Frank upstairs to a small chamber in the third story, somewhat bare but very clean, and invited his visitor to sit down. There was somethiug frank and honest in the man's countenance, as well as in his way of speaking, that prepossessed Frank in his favor. He did not believe that a man of such a character as his appearance indicated, could wilfully have become an accomplice to a crime; and this feeling made it all the easier for him to introduce the subject he had come prepared to discuss. "Mr. Rexford," he began, after the other bad carefully closed the door, to guard against intrusion, "I have bunted you up, in order to glean from you the particulars of an affair in which you were concerned, some time ago, and in which I feel a vital interest. I hope you will assist me to the best of your ability, in my efforts to discover the truth." Rezford's face assumed a very serious and troubled expression. He put the tips of his fiDgere together, and planting his elbows on his knees, leaned forward and looked steadfastly at the speaker. "Go on, sir," he said, gravely." "Perhaps," continued Frank, "you may have some idea of what I am alluding to. You remember the fact of having been employed to drive a gentleman one evening to a certain house in this city, where a young lady is?j ?j *u:??? i_ iiveu, auu ui buiD juuu^ loujr uciug pun iuiv a carriage and driven off, without the knowledge or consent of her family, and never being heard of since ?" "Never heard of since she entered hit house, you mean, sir," corrected the man. "She got out of my carriage all right, as I hope you know?that is, not all right, for she had fainted away; but nothing else was wrong about her then. Whatever happened, happened after my responsibility was removed." "That is what I meant. I see you recollect the occurrence perfectly," said Frank. "Recollect! I should think so," was the rejoinder. "I've thought of it many times since, and I'd give my eyes if I could ferret out the truth of the matter. It would weigh very heavy on me, sir, to believe that I bad been innocently made a party to a bad, wicked deed. I never thought of any harm when I undertook the job, beyond its being a runaway match, and I didn't see as it was my business to have any scruples about such a common affair as that, 'specially as the gentleman spoke very fair, and paid me handsome. I thought, maybe, I was doing the young lady a good turn, if she was treated unkind at home. But from what I've heard since, I 'most think I'd better have let it alone." "Some one else would have been employed instead," said Frank. "But what have you heard ? Pray keep back nothing from me." "Are you a relation of the young lady, sir, may I ask first ?" rejoined Rexford. "Not a relation, but a warm friend?one who feels the deepest interest in her fate. I am endeavoring, if possible, to discover what has become of her, since all the efforts of employed detectives seem to have been fruitless." "I'm afraid, sir, your efforts won't be any more successful than theirs. It is very generally believed now, that that unfort'nate young lady came to her end by some foul means." "But is there proof of' this ?" asked Frank. "No, sir; no positive proof. But they do say," said the coachman lowering his voice, "that in the house where she was concealed, there was found a stain of blood which wouldn't come out; and that queer noises used to be heard there before it was burnt down." "But if this was known or rumored," exclaimed Frank, excitedly, "was it not easy to follow the track of the wretch who lured her off, and force him to confess his crime ? Is it not known who he was ?" "Softly, sir. What I'm telling you has just lately come to light; and you must remember that I had to go abroad immediately after the affair happened?or perhaps you didn't know that I had?and in that wav I ? " "** 7" never thought about it again, until bo long after that my evidence could be of no use. The former owner of the house she was taken to is dead, and bis wife removed to some other place, nobody knows where; not a soul in the neighborhood was acquainted with the parties who rented it, or even knew their names; indeed, it was a very lonely neighbor* hood, with not another dwelling-honse on that block but that one, and it was a tenement, and both sides hired by him." "Hired by whom ?" "The gentleman, sir, who carried the lady off. Queer, wasn't it, that he should rent the two ?" "But does no one know his name?" "I've never found anybody that does," was the reply. "He must have kept very dark. I suppose his landlord knew it; but, as I said, he was dead before I came home. The house, as I said before, too, is burnt down. That happened just after the owner's death." "How about the rumor you spoke of awhile ago? Who started it?" "What rumor?" ' "About the?the blood," said Frank, shuddering. "Oh!?well, that may be only a tale ; leastways, if the stains ioere there, nobody knows how they came. But about the noises. A fellow who used to pass there going home o' nights, said once or twice he heard groans, and a cry as if somebody was hurt. But he j didn't attach any importance to it at ihe time. Only later, when parts of the story began to leak out, he spoke up and told what he wanted to tell." ft i n i_ ti\ "1 cannot conceive," saia jrranK, now uu deep a mystery can have hung over an event of this sort. Nobody seems to know anything that can be of the slightest use. I believe, if this had happened in London, the matter would have been sifted to the bottom i long ago." "So I think too, sir; and yet the detective force here is very sharp. You see my going | away was the main trouble. Of course, if I'd stayed on the spot, my evidence would have been everything to them ; and I'd have given it without scruple, as soon as I'd known from the advertisements, and so on, that something was wrong, though I tocu bound to secresy." [ "Have you given it since you came back ?" "Oh, yes, I've told 'em all I know, but it seems to come too late." "How long did the people stay in that house, after it happened? Is it known?" asked Frank. "After the lady was taken there, you mean, sir? I'm not sure if it's known; anyhow, it couldn't have been long. A matter of a few weeks only, I believe." And this was all that Frank could learn from his present informant, of whom?unreasonably, perhaps?he had expected much more. One thing he felt assured of, and that was, that Rexfoi-d was exceedingly anxious to have the truth found out. Of the man's I innocence in the unhappy affair he had no doubt "Well," he said, at the conclusion of the interview," since you have told me all you can tell, there is no use in our talking any longer about it; but you can do one thing more for me, and that is to drive me to the office of the Chief of Police, or whoever is the proper person for me to speak to in that department." "The best person you can speak to," said Rexford, "is Charley Stapleton. He's the best detective on the force, and has worked hard in this very case." "Well, where can I find him ?" "I am not sure that you can find him, at this late hour of the day; but you can leave word at the office for him to come to you, and he'll be round to your hotel, or wherever you choose to see him, as soon as he's at leisure." "I'll go to the office, then. Is it far from here?" ".No air, just u few blocks. Jiut you may \ as well let me drive you there. 'Twon't mak j any difference in my time." "Well, I may as well settle with you before we go," said Frank, taking out his pocket-book. ? "That's all right, sir," said Rexford, with a little waive of the hand. "We'll call it square, if you please." "What do you mean, my good fellow?" asked Frank. "I mean, sir, that I don't require any pay. I'm willing and anxious, the Lord knows, to do all I can to help you in your search, and give any information that can lead to the truth, though it's little enough I'm able to do. Put up your purse, sir." "But I cannot think of such a thing," protested Frank. "Consider how much time I have made you lose." "I don't look upon it as lost time, sir, and I seldom get a job at such an early hour, unless it's a lady going to shop. Anyhow, I consider this my business as well as yours." Finding remonstrance useless, Frank ceased to urge him, fearing to offend the British pride with which he knew how to sympathize. He, therefore, thanked him, and once more entering the carriage, was driven to the office where he hoped to find Detective Stapleton. That individual, however, was not in the city. Frank learned, to bis disappointment, that he had gone to Sacramento, and would not be back for a couple of days or more. "Ask for officer Meiggs," suggested Rex lord, "lie Knows an aDout it, 100. Officer Meiggs proved to be forthcoming, and Frank was soon closeted with him in a private room. "The case you speak of is a very interesting one, sir," be said, when his visitor had opened his business with him. "One of the most interesting on record. But unless we get some farther clue, I'm afraid there is little chance of its being cleared up." "It has gone on a long time," said Frank. "But it seems to me that something more might have been done at the start." "No, sir; there you are mistaken. No stone has been left unturned in the matter. I'll venture to say there is no detective force in the world smarter than ours," said Officer Meiggs, with the air of a man qualified to make the assertion. "We've had our sharpest men continually on the lookout, ever since it happened. Are you a friend of the lady, sir ?" "Yes," said Frank, briefly. "You can't furnish us with any additional evidence in the case, can you?" "No. I am but just arrived in America. T 1-?' ~ ? ? "tki ??+ kiii rrnok Aftsi+a O KoTTfl X J&UUW JJUblilUg UI It UUt OUVU Jttvw wo umiv been reported to me." "The facts of the case," said the officer, summing them up on his fingers with a business air, "are briefly these. A villain?or a supposed villain, we'll say?for some reason or other, conceives the design of abducting a young lady from her guardian's house. Discovering on a particular evening that the family, all but herself, are abroad, he goes on that evening, in a hired carriage, to the house. Asks to see the young lady, who comes to the door. Makes up a story about a siek person waiting outside in the carriage. Sends house servant out of the way to get a glass of wine, young lady unsuspiciously accompanies him to the gate, enters, or is forced into carriage, and is driven off to No. 659 ? street. Next morning the whole city, more or less, is J astir to discover what has become of her. No trace can be found. Driver has gone off on Overland train; nobody to give any evidence. Search is made in every direction in vain. Of course, nobody knew anything about the house she bad been taken to. There was absolutely no clue. You admit that, don't you?" he inquired, pausing to look hard at Frank. "So far, there seems to be none," Frank admitted. "There was none, sir. Positively none. The parties concerned were very liberal. The old gentleman, Mr. Crofton,gave carte blanche to spare no expense in the search. We hunted not only San Francisco and California, but the United States. We hunted not only the United States but Europe. We hunted not only Europe, but other quarters of the globe. But you see we had no evidence. All we could do was to give an accurate description of the lady and of the date and mode of her disappearance. By and by comes back the fellow, Rexford, who was employed to drive the carriage in which she was carried off. He gives his evidence, as far as it goes. But when search is made for 659 ? street, no such number is found. The house has been burnt down. The former tenants have long since disappeared. Who is the landlord ? or rather who was the landlord ? One Mulcahy, a carpenter by trade. Mulcahy is found to be dead. Where is Mulcahy's wife? Mulcahy's wife is non-come-atibu8; packed up her traps and left for parts unknown. Where are Mulcahy's relations? Nobody knows if he had any. His friends ? They can't offer any testimony worth a straw. One fellow says he recollects Mulcahy telling him he had some queer people as tenants in that house; a man who rented the whole tenement and lived only in one side. What was the man's name ? Nobody recollects. One old woman thinks she heard Mrs. Mulcahy say it was Clay, or Gray, she ain't sure which. There are thousands of Claye and Grays all over the world. Then somebody else says there was a crazy woman lived in the house. Somebody else again pretends he heard queer noises there at night. Now what does all this testimony go for? It's worth about that, according to ray judgement, so far as helping us to find out what we want, goes," concluded officer Meiggs with a snap of his finger and thumb. It sounded very hopeless, certainly. Frank, who had listened moodily while these discouraging facts were being summed up, asked, after a silence? , "What is your opinion about the matter? I mean, what explanation of this mystery have yon arrived at in your own mind?" "Oh ! I've tome to the conclusion, long ago, that the lady was made away with," was the unhesitating rejoinder. "If she were anywhere above ground, I'm reasonably sure we should have found her before this." "But there is no imaginable motive for such a horrible deed. She had not an enemy in the world," said Frank, whose blood ran cold at the answer. "It's not easy to discover motives for all the wickedness that goes on in the world, sir. Villains commit villainy for the mere pleasure of the thing. In a big city like this, there's more of that sort of work goes on than any one could believe, who didn't see as much of it as we do. Sometimes it's found out?very often, of course?but sometimes, again, it's so cleverly worked out that it don't come to light until too late for any redress to be oh* tained. "Do you ever read the police reports ?" "Not I," said Frank. "I have no taste for such literature." "It isn't very pretty reading; but it just goes to convince one what an amount of rascality can be carried on, by smart plotters, before it's got scent of. This fellow, whoever he was, who made off with Mies?Miss?Rathbone, ain't it? Yes, Rath bone?must have been pretty sharp, and pretty bold, too. In the first place, bis plot was a clever one. He must have been on a steady look-out, to be able to discover the exact time when he could find her alone. Then he risked a great deal in trusting to that driver's promise of secresy. Though I've no doubt he had it settled how to get out of the way pretty quick, if he found he'd let out about him. Rexford?that's the driver?Bweare he was no party to any evil design; thought it was an elopement, and had no suspicions. I rather think he speaks the truth." "I have no doubt of it," said Frank. "He seems an honest fellow." "He has a good character here. Besides, it is not to be supposed that he would have been let into the secret, on account of the risk. It's a most unlucky thing that he should have doramned iust when he would have been of most service to us. We were put on a false scent about him, by being told that he had gone to British Columbia, and then that he was dead. Besides, it was only on a supposition that we tried to hunt him up; we were never certain, until he turned up here some months later, that it was really he who had been employed in the job." Here the detective took out his watch and consulted it, which Frank accepted as a hint to leave. "I am sorry," said the latter, as he rose to terminate the interview, "that you have not been able to tell me anything satisfactory. Perhaps, at another time, if you have no objection, we may discuss the matter again." "Well, sir, I've no objection. I am sorry lo seem to hurry you now, but the fact is, I've an important appointment at twelvemost complicated case; testimony of considerable weight to be taken?a murder case; subject, a young artist of this city, found shockingly mangled in his own bed. We have bare suspicions of the murderer, but are on his tracks. I'm a little behind my time as it is, but it doesn't matter." "I am sorry to have detained you," said Frank. "Oh! it's of no consequence. I tell you wh*t I'll do, if you like; I'll send Stapleton round to you when he comes back to the city, and he'll give you a full and particular aocount of all that we've done in this case of yours. That might be a satisfaction." Frank thanked him ; and having left his card, with his present address on it, in Meigg's charge, he wisned him good morning, and went back to the hotel. [to be continued.] THE RAILROAD LAW. AN ACT to prevent Ur^Jast Discrimination by Common Carriers. Be it enacted by the Senate and House of Representatives of the State of South Carolina, now met and sitting in General Assembly, and by the authority of the same: Section 1. That railroad corporations, and all other chartered companies acting as common carriers within the limits of this State, shall charge tor the handling and storage of goods, wares and other property, and for the oarriage of freight aDd passengers, such rates only as are reasonable. - Sec. 2. That no charge for the carriage of goods, merchandise or property, to or from any place or station, shall he deemed reasonable within the meaning of this act, which is in excess of the usual and established charge made by the same corporation or combination of corporations for the carriage of the like kind, class and quantity of freight for any greater distance over their line or lines in the same direction : Provided, That if such corporation or combination of corporations can show a greater necessary expense to itself, or to themselves, for the carriage of goods, merchandise or property over the shorter distance than that which is incurred for like carriage over the longer distance, a proper proportion of such excess of necessary expense snail be deemed a reasonable additional charge. In the construction of this section, the sum charged or received for the transportation of freight, shall include all interminal charges, and the road of a corporation shall include all the road in use dv such corporation, whether owned or operated under a contract or lease. "But nothing in this section shall be construed so as to require any corporation or combination of corporations to regulate their charges for shorter distance by their proportion ot through freight beyond their line or lines." Sec. 3. No railroad corporation or other chartered company doing business as common carriers within the limits of this State, shall charge, demand or receive from any person, company or corporation for the hauling, storage, loading or unloading or transportation of freight, or for any other service, a greater sum than it shall at the same time charge, demand or receive from any other person company or corporation for a like service, upon like conditions, and under the same circumstances; and all concessions of rates, rebates, drawbacks and contracts for special rates shall be open to and allowed all persons, companies and corporations alike, at tne same rate per ton per mile and by the car-load, upon like conditions and under similar circumstances; and any discrimination which violates the spirit and meaning of this section shall be deemed unjust and unreasonable. Sec. 4 That any railroad corporation or other chartered company acting as common carriers within the limits of this State, which shall for itself, or for itself and other chartered companies acting in combination with it, charge or receive any sum which is unreasonable within the meaning of this act, shall forfeit and pay to the person, company or corporation paving such overcharge, twice the amount so charged in excess of reasonable rates, to be recovered by action in the proper AAIII^O *kio Cfn Tkflf fk^ WUUAU3 U1 U1U3 UVOIC I X AVVXUCU) XUQK VUW action be commenced within one year from the accrual of the right of action. Approved December 24,1878. 'c4' " 5