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■—— — ■ CHAPTER VI I am more of a wizard than I had my- aelf imagined. When I told Sinflre three day* since that 1 expected Henry to be here in a few days, I told her a white fib; at least I ex pected him no more than I hare done any time doling the last three or four years. He might come, of conrse, bnt the chances were about 10,000 to 1 that he would not The troth is I was merely trying an experiment Various more or less ragne indications—some of them trifles light -a air—had suggested to my mind the notion that Sinflre and Henry had already met perhaps in India, and that their meeting had not been without an effect upon them both. What sort of an effect! I cannot pretend to say. But taking into oansideration Sinflre's beauty and Henry's Incorrigible susceptibility and the power of fascination of both of them it did not seem altogether unlikely that they might have fallen desperately • in lore with each other. So far, so'good; there would be no par ticular harm done. It was the sequel that was questionable, for if it were prob able that they had come together it was certain that they were together no long er. They had separated, and the fickle ness of Henry’s disposition made me sur mise that Sinflre had not been the one to blame. In other words, I feared that he had abandoned her. Whether his wrong had stopped there I had no means of knowing. I could only hope—and be lieve in lack of proof to the contrary— that be had not shown himself a villain. Yet there was that in Sinflre's bearing- assuming my theory to have some foun dation—that seemed to point to an ex perience much deeper and more tragic than the mere jilting of a handsome girl by a thoughtless fellow. Her misfortune, if she had been unfor tunate at all, could have been no trivial one. Her self possession, her reserve, the very transparency—so to call it—of her . expression, which, like the transparent sky, concealed within its depths all mys teries—these things, and still more her abrupt and practically unexplained ap pearance among ns, impressed me as tes timony to her being the victim bnt not the resigned victim of some grave injus tice. She purposed to right herself, or if that could not be to avenge herself, and to that end had she come to Cedarcliffe. Such was my line of argument. And there was something more. 1 did not believe that Sinflre was the daughter of my uncle. I believed her to be of gypsy blood. How she came to know anything of my uncle's affairs, and how she came by his letter, I could only conjecture, but the problem was not insolnble. It was harder to account for her cultiva tion, her perfect manners and her famil iarity with the ways of society, bnt great natural tact and intelligence, joined to an unfaltering purpose, can accomplish miracles, and, moreover, there might be (and indeed must be) circumstances in her past life, of which I know nothing at present, that would partly explain it Still there is an enigma here that I don't pretend to fathom. But let us recapitu late,the situation as 1 conceive it at pres ent Sinflre is a gypsy who at some time, in some way. has been brought into re lations with polite society and learned its ways. Either before or after this time she met my brother Heary. and they fell in love with each other. After the affair had gone a certain length, be it more or less, Henry deserted her. Her acquaintance with him had brought her into contact wttb my uncle, whom Hen ry perhaps was staying with. After Henry left her she attached herself to my uncle, he being childless, or having lost his children, and a widower, and won his confidence. At Us death he left her what small property he had and gave her the letter which she brought to ns, be being prompted thereto, let us say, by a knowl edge of the wrong done her and a desire to see it righted. She eame to us, ex mat was oennmoing me. Is it me nrat faint prick of the goad that I feel now, or am I about to relapse into a torpor more deathlike than before? One thing or the other will happen, I am sure, but standing here at the parting of the ways I can hardly say which course I incline to take. Why should I bother my head about It? When the time comes, although I shall seem to make a free choice, I shall do as has been predestined from the begin ning. The conditions and events of one's past life determine his present action. What has been steers one round toward what is to be. In this sense we are crea tures of fate. Nevertheless the future remains un known. And that fact, which seems a disadvantage to us, is in reality our sole weapon against blind necessity, for if we saw all beforehand we should be de feated before the struggle began, but as it is the surprise of the unforeseen may sometimes stimulate us to act above our selves. Then I stood in the dining room door and taw Henry sitting at the table. Well, then, I will cease to prophesy what may happen during the next few days or weeks. But I set out to record a piece of news which has an important bearing on the situation. The other evening as I entered the house by the veranda I heard a masculine voice talk ing in the dining room. It was not John's voice. 1 felt myself grow hot and cold. And then 1 stood in the dining room door and saw Henry sitting at the table. CHAPTER VII My chief regret is that I was not pres ent when Henry and Sinflre met To one who knew what to look for, as I did, that could not have failed to reveal something. Bnt when 1 came in the meeting had already taken place, and Sinflre had retired to her room. “She is always so thoughtful—so much tact,” mother remarked. "She fancied we could talk more freely with Henry if she were not present, though really 1 look upon her as quite a member of the fain fly, apart from her being my niece.” All the time that Henry and I were exchanging our greetifl^s and congratu lations and our first questions and an swers I was speculating about him and Sinflre. He has been changed, improved and also in some respects injured by his life in the world, but on the whole he appears more improved and less injured than might have been anticipated. His being 80 years old instead of 26 is enough of itself to account for a great deal. The youthful outlines of his face have ma tured. It is the face of a good humored man of the world, somewhat unprincipled and reckless perhaps, but what is called a thorough good fellow, and then there is that gleam of genius in his eyes and in some of his unconscious manifestations that must always mark a difference be- pecting thaf sooner or later Henry would , tween him and the type to which he return and that she would then be able , otherwise belongs. to force him to come to terms—either to many her or to account to her in some manner. She would even be capable of stabbing him through the heart if it should come to that Such was the as pect of my theory at the time of our in terview in the laboratory. The result of that interview, so far as It had any result, was to confirm me in the leading points of my theory that she was a gypsy and that Henry was no stranger to her. —It was not conclusive, hut it was certainly not contradictory of these hypotheses. It would involve the disappointment of John's hopes, and it would complicate my own attitude to ward Sinflre. Ought I to expose her *< an adventuress? No. For two reasons— first, that it ■ not absolutely certain that she is one: econdly, that even if she be all I imagine she still has human rights bf her own, and the affair is Henry's rather than mine. If it came to an open trial, I could almost bring myself on general principles to espouse her cause against Henry, my best beloved brother though he is. But here Is another point She must be aware of my suspicions of her. Will she refuse to allude to them, or will she speak to me openly? If she does speak, trusting to my friendship for her, what should I do? I must either brutally cast her off or become Involved in her intrigue against the rest of the family. That would be a strange predicament for a re tiring, unaggressive man of science like myself, and there is no telling where it might land us. I greatly prefer to stick to my time honored role of onlooker. Bnt If I do intend to expose her It would be much easier to do ao now, before any irrevocable words have passed between os, titan after she has thrown herself on my honor. If she surrenders me her sword, 1 cannot turn it against her. And yet, if not against her. it must be for her. What is the matter with me? My will as well as my judgment seems par alysed. I can adopt neither the active nor the passive course. 1 feel bj if changes were going on within me or were at hand. A few weeks ago, I reool- r longing was for an awakening— t to goad me out of tfas tenor circumstances coma ne tts gouty or s low bred or vulgar manifestation. And pot he could forsake a woman. Sinflre being out of the room, John tramped restlessly up and down smok ing a cigar (which of lata ha has substi tuted for his pipe) and putting an occa sional word into the conversation, while mother sat by looking more like a Rem brandt than ever, listening, inquiring and complacent, with a bit of embroidery In her hands. Henry sat in an easy chair, carelessly but faultlessly dressed, talking, i easily and picturesquely, addressing him self now to one, now to another, making scene after scene rise before ns, often yielding to that delicious laugh. But 1 could not help wondering all the time whsther his thoughts were with us at all or with what he was saying. Were they not with that dark haired girl up stairs, and was he glad or sorry or apprehen sive? Surprised I was sure he must be, and I did not believe he could be indif ferent It got to be late. Mother rose at last and bade us good night, giving Henry both her cheeks to kiss. John sat for a while longer, doggedly yawning the top of his head off, hut finally he, too, suc cumbed and went off. Henry was al ways a late bird, and now he seems to think that night was made for anything but sleep. So in order to be more at our ease he and I went over to my apart ment and disposed ourselves comforta bly in the library. “Did you notice that pretty cousin of ours, Henry?” said I "Rather. A thoroughbred beauty, 1 call her. A bit reserved, though, but thatTl soon wear off. You and Jack are both in love with her, of course?" “Of course. But she hasn't returned our passion yet. Perhaps her heart was touched before she came here." “■When 1 settle down, 1 should like to marry a girl like her. Bnt fancy old Un cle Ned having raised such a paragon! It seems too good to be true.” “Yon met him while you were abroad, I suppose - ?” “If I had known the kind of family he had, I should have made a point of look ing him up. But as it was I missed him. I must have been within reach of him several times when I was in India. He held some position under the govern ment, I believe, and it obliged him to travel about a good deal But—well, there were o*her circumstances. It would have been awkward. Things don't al ways come out just right when one knocks about the world as 1 do. But then few people are such fools as I am!” Here Henry shook his head, unscrewed his flask and took a pull after offering it to me. *‘My last friend!” he said, with a laugh, as he returned it to his pocket. “It is a wonder to me, though,” he went on after awhile, “how you man age to exist in the way you do here, Frank. I al ways thought and I say now that yon are the man of the family John is a good fellow, but be has no brains. I have brains, but I’m a good for nothing. You have braina and tb“ practical element too. Father made a great mistake with that primogeniture craze of his. You ought to have been the heir of the Mainwaringa. Think what might be done in this country with (60,000 a year! And what is Jack doing with it, I'd like to know. If you had his chance, you’d make yourself honored and remembered for a hundred years to coma A man with yonr pale, square face and big black eyes can do anything, only givs him a start. You could marry Cousin —what's her name?—Sinflre?—odd name, isn’t it?—and breed a race that America would be proud to own. If you can get rid of John, Til make you a present of my birthright.” he added. laughing again as he lighted a cigar. “The brandy would hurt you lees if you didn't smoke so much, Harry,” aaid I “No hygiene for me, thank you, doc tor," he replied cheerfully. “I shall live long enough, do what I will. Besides however go -d order you might keep m in while I'm here, 1 should relapse agaii the moment 1 got away.” "You’re not thinking of leaving us eurely?" “I don’t think of it, but I shall be off before long just the same. I know my own frailties. Many a time have 1 come to a place that seemed to be all that the heart of man could desire and have laid to myself that l would ne/er leave it But after a few days or weeks, as the case might be, I found myself somewhere else. ‘The fault, dear Brutus, is not in the but in myself, that I'm a vaga- idf [to bz coktixuxd.] A Solid Oak Suit of Ton Piocos for $35.00! Biggest Vatue in the Country* OB’S^TURKEY had to lean against the fence to gobble—You c an gobble a great bargain by buying this suit of ten pieces for $35, and lean upon our guarantee that you have gotten big value. We believe in variety. New designs please better than old. - - $« _ Strong Furniture is better than poorly made. The stylish and neat better than the common, have it that is beautiful, durable, stylish, new and at prices that are extremely low. For all good kinds come to us. We -P. S.—You will find me next to the Jail. J.D. BHIRD. The Darlington Shoe Store We are receiving daily our stock of Shoes for the Fall and Winter! [MEN’S, LADIES’, MISSES and CHILDREN’S] And beg an inspection of the same when in need of nice Footwear. Our stock is bought in large quantities direct from the very best manufacturers, which ensures new fresh goods, and we propose to sell them at a very small margin. We call special attention to our $3.00 Shoe for Men, made by the ROCKLAVD Company; genuine calf, Goodyear welt, all style* in congress and lace. Rubber Goods of every description, consisting of Mackintosh Garments for Ladies and Men, also a complete *'■■■■' We r~" sell the line of Rubber Shoes for Men, Boys, Ladies, Misses and Children. TRUNKS, VALISES, SATCHEL^ UMBRE^L^^ND^HluJ^J^I^RfWeRY DESCRIPTION. NEWEST STYLE HATS. sep it—4m ''S/Woods dfe 3V£illin.g’. A MOULDED RUBBER, A PERFECT RUBBER. EVERY DESCRIPTION. Yet it in eaay to see that his physical and social nature—the life of the sensei, and external faculties—has been too much for his genius. His spiritual intui tions have never gained control of him He has done nothing but “hare a goud time" or aim to have it. The pictures he might have painted, the books ho migh, have written, the wrude he might have composed, are all in the limbo of the un born. It is a great pity, though I don't think Henry himself is oppressed by any regrets on that score. He probably thinks he could set to work, if he chose, mid produce a masterpiece at any mo ment. But the time for that possibility is gone by. He has taken his final direc tion, though he may not know it. In some respects he is already an older man than either John or 1. There are lines about his mouth and at the corners of his eyes that tell a tale in a man of 80. And dnring the 24 hours that he has been with ns I notice that he not only ■mokes constantly, hut that he drinks altogether too much. He does not drink as John dots—until he is drunk and done with It. He is never drunk, but he is al ways taking “nips” of brandy from his pocket flask, and I fancy be empties it at least twice a day. Nevertheless, barring a little nervous disorder . kis health seems fairly sound. The congenital cheexfnl- ness of his disposition is doubtless a great sanative agency. Meantime he is as handsome as the heart of woman could desire. If his traits of either mind or body were a bit leas masculine than they are, he would be too handsome—a mere lady's man. But whatever else may he said about Henry, he is a man—a thorough male creature. There is not a feminine fiber in him. Even the tenderness that ever and anon informs his tone and manner is of a wholly masculine quality. His votes is a sort of muffled bass as uncommon as it is winning, and his laugh is Irresistibly humorous and contagious. I wish nature had given me such a laugh. In figure he is well set up—not too tall- j but one can see he is leas athletic than company in the he was four years ago. In every aspect he has distinction—the mark of a gentle man. One feels certain as soon as one ■eta ayte on him that under % MtaiUe Is Your Life Worth Anything to others? Are there not persons dependent on your earnings for their support? Are they pro vided for in case of your death? The simplest and safest way of assuring their protection is life in surance. Business, pro fessional, and working men generally, should in sure, for their brains or their muscles, are their capital and income too. Death stops them both. Insure in the Equitable Life and death cannot stop your salary or steal your capi tal, and your loved ones will be safe from want W. J. RODDEY, Oeauml Agmrt fbr th« CaroltBM, ROCK HILL, Soytli Carolina. 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