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^Holdehhii Copjrlfht 1M bra CHAPTER XXIX. Continued. "Ha! and bow are you off for money? Got none, I suppose." "Ob, not quite so bad is tbat! I hare the four thousand two hundred dollars you gave me this morning Intact, and the greater part of the thousand dollars which you gave me Just b? fore I went to England." "You are no spendthrift, I am glad to tind; but the sums you mention are qiute useless to a man to take a. wife, v.-ir Although In vour ease the wife w>.!i be wealthy, there will be many things which must, if only for decency's sake, be paid for by you and by no other. Of course you win want to travel for two or three months before you make your final plans for tenement, and during that time you v!tl appear to better advantage if you reti-ain from drawing upon your wife's estate, so I will place a sum of money to your credit at Drexel's, and provide you with a cheque-book. You may regard it as a loan and return it to me later, if you will: or you may accept is as a gift?just which you prefer." With these words my uncle rose from his seat and cast away the end of his cigar, paying not the least attention to the thanks with which I greeted his extraordinary offer. "I must really smoke less tobacco." he said; "that makes my eighth cigar today, and it is not three o'clock. I have smoked more this week than I generally smoke in a month?i Ruppose because of the worry I*ve been subject to. By the Powers. I wish I knew that that girl was safe!" As my uncle turned to accompany me downstairs I noticed that the expression of his face betrayed consid erable anxiety, and tnat nis general demeanor lacked much of Its accustomed buoyancy. CHAPTER XXX. TJXCLK 8A.X DOTS. About three weeks after the events related In the last chapter I sat writing in a beautiful room which nfy uncle had ordered to be specially arranged and set apart for my use for so long as I remained bis guest, when Constance unexpectedly entered and. smilingly handed me a letter. Having accepted the missive and paid its fair carrier with that which among lovers is accounted coin. I moved from the table to a settee near the window; for no one could have too much light who at- j tempted to decipher the caligrapliy of the Rev. Mr. Price, which consisted of! a series of hastily scrawled symbols i without the remotest resemblance to any known letter?in brief, that kind j of writing which breeds errors, blinds I compositors, maddens proof-readers, and moves the irritable to profanity. I It took me at the least ten minutes i to acquaint myself with the writer's j meaning, and while 1 was so engaged | my faithful Connie sat on the floor at j my feet and toyed with three sequins which had recently been attached to my watchchain?the identical coins alleged to have been found in the room which my uncle occupied the lafet time he stayed at Holden hurst Hall. "Can you make it all out?" asked | Connie, looking up. "All but a few words, dear." I answered; and then proceeded to read the following letter aloud: N. ?, East Fifty-ninth Street. New York City, October 27, 18?. Dear Miss Marsh:?This day, the * l. M r* T *ve 01 my aepanure ior jdu^iquu. x have received from the worthy rector of Holdenhurst Major, the Rev. Mr. 8ilas Fuller, my esteemed friend and former colleague. Intelligence of a grave nature that my Christian conscience will not pertnit me to conceal from you. though in acquainting you herewith I Incur a risk of being credited with low and personal motives. The Rev. Mr. Fuller informs me that on the ult., an old man. who had been for many years in the service of Mr. Robert Truman, died very suddenly, from some unexplained cause, during an altercation with Mr. Ernest Truman. The altercation, which was in part overheard by another servant, is supposed to have related to money. Circumstances attending the burial of the old butler are no less suspicious that the manner of his death. Interment having taken place by virtue of a certificate given by the local doctor, a personal friend of the Trumans. A few of the more intelligent among the inhabitants of Holdenburst are asking (not unreasonably. I think > why an inquest was not held, and are hazarding various guesses as to what circumstances the Truman family desired to conceal in avoiding so rightful a course. Though to my lasting regret there may never be any love between us. I trust tha\ my respect for your honor and happiness is undiminished: and I earnestly hope you may see At to assure yourself, ere it be too late, of the character of the man you have engaged to marry, as I am unable to contemplate without the most painful . feelings your alliance with a man upon whom rests the suspicion of manslaughter or worse. Believe me. dear Miss Marsh, always your faithful friend, EVAN PRICE. tiis - irstHallh Nootl. i*r ALTER BLOOM FIELD ?' bkbt Boxxkb's Sour. "What a mean, spiteful fellow Mr. Price is, to be sure!" exclaimed Constance. "I never liked the expression of that man's face, nor his manner, but I am surprised he should -write such a letter as that. What good can he hope to get from it?" "Don't you see, dear, how much he would like to separate us? I have already told you the facts upon which he has based this letter.". "Yes, Ernest, and please don't tell me again. I'm afraid I'm a little tired of speaking and thinking about these things"?alluding to the sequins which she was turning round and round with' her delicate white fingers. "But suppose Mr. Price could separate us, how would that benefit him? He knows I would not marry him in any case. I have told him so in plain words many a time." "Spiteful and mischievous as the man Is, I don't in the least doubt, my dear Connie, but that he loves you as sincerely as his nature allows him to love. Indeed, it is difficult to conceive of any man not loving you who has once seen you, and it is the quality of never to entirely despair of achieving its object until that object is irrevocably lost. This letter was written yesterday, so by now Mr. Price Is on his way to England. Before he reaches Liverpool you will be my wife, and when he learns that fact perhaps he will cease to interest himself in our affairs. Only six days! Fancy that, j pet!" i i "Yes, fancy it! How sudden it has | j all been! I am in disgrace with my 1 Irrienas ior aeseruiig lucui, auu >u v.^fendlng myself I have laid the blame . on you for monopolizing my time. I say, Ernie, dear, one of the six girls I whom I have asked to be bridesmaid has declined." "Who Is she?" I inquired. "Miss Christlson?you know who 11 mean; the young lady who can't marry j I without losing her fortune." j "O yes: I remember her. Who will, take her place?" "Inez Juarrez." "You must forgive Miss Christlson ! on account of her absurd and cruel circumstances." "Of course, dear, but " At that moment our conversation was interrupted by the loud and continuous ringing of electric bells within the | house, and the hasty running of serI vants up and down the stairs. Con| stance and I started to our feet and ' listened for a moment, and the coni fusion continuing we left the room I to ascertain its cause. Outside the j door, upon the landing, we met my j aunt Gertrude, who was descending ! I the stairs dressed for going out, and ! I no sooner saw her face, veiled though it was. than I perceived that she was} painfully agitated. "Wnat Is tne matter/" we t>orn asaeu, | an with one voice. j j "Oh, Connie, dear, don't stop me! A j j clerk at Mills Building has just tele-1 phoned to say that Sam has been seized with sudden illness, and I am not to lose a moment In going to him. I fear he is dead, though they say he is not." I "Dead! Impossible! An hour ago he was here and well!" But aunt Gertrude could not hear the exclamations either of her sister or me, t for she had scarcely paused in her descent while imparting this terrible inj formation. A world of confused and painful thoughts filled my mind, and a strange pallor overspread the face of the dear one at my side; the color faded from her lips, and but for my timely support she would have fallen. The next moment the streer door was heard to close, and the carriage containing aunt Gertrude was driven rapidly away. Leading Constance back into the j room, we both sat down upon a couch i and regarded each other in silence. 11 consulted my watch; the hour wanted twenty minutes to midday. Uncle Sam j had left home to go to his office at 10 o'clock, he being: then in sound health and high spirits. Constance was the first to speak. "I can't believe, Ernie, dear." she said, "that anything very serious can be the matter, though Gertrude seems so frightened. How could there be?" But the unconcealed agitation of the fair speaker belied her words, and I was in no condition to support them by argument "Let us go into Sam's study and inquire by the telephone how he is now," 3he presently added. "Yes, certainly; that is a good thought. But doesn't uncle keep his study locked?" "Yes; but Gertie also has a key of it, and I don't suppose she stayed to lock it in her haste." The suggestion was no sooner made than adopted, and the study door being open, as Connie had surmised, she entered and at once made her inquiry. I can never forget her appearance as she stood with the tube applied to her ear. her youthful beauty showing grandly despite the pallor Induced by her anxiety, while 1 watched with deadly interest the varying expressions of ber face as a clerk at the Mills Building informed her of uncle Sam's condition. Presently Connie restored j the tube to its place, and throwing her j arms around my neck, burst Into tears ( In the manner of one whose fortitude fails at unexpected release from soffie supreme dread. "What has happenedV I asked, catching my braath. "Sam learned on arrival at his office that Miss Wolsey had died suddenly in Paris, and the news so upset him that he talked incoherently for a time, and then had some scrt of seizure, greatly frightening his clerks; but h? is conscious now and Gertie is with him." There are few tasks which the complex relations of humankind impose upon us more painful or difficult than l>eing called to comfort a sorrowful one whose burden presses with equal i or greater weight upon ourselves, and I could scarce restrain my own grief while endeavoring to pacify Constance, whose agitation arose entirely from the present circumstances of uncle Sam and aunt Gertrude ? circumstances which, though I was by no raeaus in- | different to them, were in my case obscured by consideration of the tragedy ?? T"? \faneh hoH n?rpr I IU railOi WUOiauvc muu ov . , seen Annie Wolsey, nor was It until quite recent days that she had been informed of the existence of that un- j happy woman; and not only that, but for other and stronger reasons It would have been absurd to expect that Constance should regard the death otherwise than as the welcome extinction of an unseen but potent power for mischief. While recognizing this to the full, I could not but think of the girlcompanion of my childhood; of how after Annie's brothers and sisters had one by one all been laid to rest in the shadow of Holdenhurst church she alone remained, and was the only delight of her widowed father's life; of how, later, she had fled from him who loved her so well, and how tirelessly he had sought her again until at last his efforts were crowned with success, though only to precipitate the needless and awful waste of her young life. I thought aiso of the cruel effect this disaster must necessarily have upon my grandfather, and wondered ! if that careworn old man was yet ac1 quainted with it. The fear to which i my uncle had several time6 given expression now being realized, it occurred to me that its ill effects upon my pow1erful friend, said to be already severe, might possibly be of a permanent character. Something of these troublesome thoughts and speculations must have 1 ? u mw foitn haro in oteii appuieul iu iuj ? ?... ? duced Connie to smile at me through her tears, and to repeat those vows with which we had consoled each other in previous difficulties?that come what might, and we were both alive, nothing should again separate us. Constance and I quitted the study and returned to my room. When asked to deciphet Mr. Price's letter I was engaged in making a fair copy of a list of my future wife's possessions, which ' uncle Sam had roughly drawn up for , my use?a heavy task, to which I had already devoted two whole days. Though not more than three-fourths of I my transcript was completed I per- I cetved I was too disturbed to advantageously apply myself to it again that day. and therefore hastily put away my papers and devoted myself to Constance. After nearly an hour had been spent in a profitless exchange of opinions and the venturing of various surmises, we decided to go together to Mills Building and ascertain by actual observation- exactly upon what our anxiety was founded. When we arrived at Mills Building we found ray uncle's offices deserted by all but one clerk, and the usual business of the place suspended for the rest ofihe day. Telegraphic tape was automatically unwinding from a score or more cylinders, and falling unread into the baskets placed to receive it. j On my uncle's desk, in an inner private room, lay a pile of correspondence, the greater part unopened. The clerk I in charge was brushing his hat preparatory to locking the doors an de-' parting, and had we been a few minutes later we should have found the office closed. From this individual we learned that Mr. Truman had become violently agitated immediately after reading a letter, the envelope of which bore the Paris postmark; that be had rapidly paced up and down his room, incoherently talking to himself meanwhile; and that altogether his behavior had been so extremely different from his usual habit of self-postessian that the people about him became alarmed. Mr. Truman's secretary, Mr. Fisk, who enjoyed his employer's confidence more than anybody else, took the letter from Mr. Truman's unresisting bands, and read it to ascertain what had created this disturbance. 1 The letter, which was very brief and couched in affectionate terms, stated j that the writer would that night seek oblivion in the waters of the Seine, and ( that she commended her son to his > care. It bore the signature of Annie TVolsey. i "And how is Mr. Truman now?" I inquired. "Is he better, and has he gone home with Mrs. Truman: "I think he is better than he was," replied the clerk. "We were afraid he had become crazy and sent for Dr. Herrmann. Dr. Herrmann, who arrived before Mrs. Truman, said that Mr. Truman was suffering from intense excitement, but that with proper treatment there was no cause for alarm. The doctor soon afterwards took his patient to Astor House, where he now la." To be continued. TheWater Power of France. The water power now running to waste in the rivers of France is calculated by a French engineer named Tavernier to be between 3,000,000 horse power and 5.000,000 horse power, and only 200.000 horse power of this enormous total has yet been utilized. |lHoldehhii " ' Copyrlcht 1806. br R? CHAPTER XXX. Continued. Thither Constance and I at once repaired without waiting to hear anything more the clerk had to tell. There in a private room we found uncle Sam. attended by his wife and Dr. Herrmann. The two latter were making preparations to take (heir patient to ( his home, for which purpose a carriage waited at the door. My uncle, who was lying on a couch, appeared very depressed, and the expression of his eyes struck me as peculiar?quite unlike anything I had observed betorfc He took not the least notice of Connie or me, but turned his face to the wall soon after we entered the room, and pressed his hand to his forehead as if in pain. I seized the opportunity I while Connie was quietly conferring [ with her sister to ask Dr. Herrmann what he thought of the case. "Mr. Truman has always overworked I himself," said the doctcr. "and there is some danger cf brain trouble consequent on the bad news be has received: but it may very likely be avoided with care and quietude. lie is a man of immense vitality." At the moment of our arrival at the hotel preparations were in progress for getting ray uncle back to his own house. This was not easy to do. as he could not be got even for one moment to sneak or think of anything but the 'VTs from Paris, and he seemed to resent the presence of anybody except bis wife, though he did not so express himself. However, Dr. Hermann and I with some difficulty succeeded in inducing him to enter the carriage and be started for East Thirty-fourth Street, accompanied by his wife and doctor, Constance and I returning by another way. As soon as uncle Sam arrived home be -was put to bed in a darkened room and ice was applied to bis bead, the patient submitting to these unpleasant preparations without making the least protest?an additional proof. If any were needed, of how completely his mind was absorbed in painful contemplation of the tragedy which he had so much feared. After Dr. Herrmann had departed aunt Gertrude took me aside. "I fear your uncle is down fcr a serious illness," she said. "I am tcld ha must be kept vA-y quiet, and to ensure that I will nurse him myself. But he wearies me and distresses himself by begging without cessation that I will go to Paris and take charge of?of that English womau's son. and bring him here. I would not hesitate to do so if my husband were well; but I dare not. I will not, leave him in Lis present state. Will you help me?" "This appeal, the purport of which I could not misinterpret, alarmed me greatly. "I would gladly go to any part of the world on your business." I answered quickly, "if only it lay :n my power to do so; and, apart from my love for Constance, I can tbink of nothing more gratifying than doing anything to oblige you or nncle Sam, but I have sworn an oath that I will never agaih leave your sister until she is my wife, and she is pledged to uc in equal terms." Aunt Gertrude smiled faintly. "I have already telegraphed to tnree or our friends In Paris." she said, "urging them to discover and protect the child at any cosf, and to let us know as soon as (possible that this has been done; but I have not yet received any replies." "You have not allowed sufficient time. J It is barely two hours since you were { summoned to Mills Building." "I have already asured your uncle that if the child can be found I will adopt it as my own, and that assurance has rallied him more than anything else that nas been said or done. If only I could show him a telegram, proving that the child is now in good bands, I think be would soon be himself again." "I believe you will receive such a telegram some time to-day." "We will hope so." said aunt Gertrude quietly. And having uttered these words she returned to her husband's room, and I sought Constance. CHAPTER XXXI. AT NEWPORT. Uncle Sam rapidly became worse after he returned home, and soon his con- i dltion excited the utmost alarm. Two renowned physicians exerted their ] skill for the bene3t of the patient, who < was never left without the attendance i of one or other of them. He was said 1 to oe sunenug irom pnrcuuii- lucuiLgitis, induced by too prolonged tension i of the faculties?ar inflated way of describing the simple fact that bis mind had temporarily succumbed under the j i anxiety and grief to which it had been j < subjected. j 1 For many weeks aunt Gertrude: < nursed her husband with untiring de- " vction. and in her anxiety that nothing ! should be neglected or ill done she did : much work that might well have been left to other hands. My marriage with i Constance was indefinitely postponed.' 1 and no thought given to any matter I but the present condition of the patient, j \ for whom even his physicians acknowl- i edged they feared the worst . j i irst | - j - -- pj I : irT ALTER BLOOMFIELD h?bt B jxiieb'd Sobs Mrs. Fisk, wife of my uncle's confidential secretary, was induced by aunt Gertrude to undertake a journey to Paris for the purpose ef bringing to New York young boy whose welfare seemed more than all else to engage my uncle's lucid moments. Mean while telegrams arrived assuring us that the child was well and in good hands, which assurances were duly ' conveyed to the patient, on whom they I appeared to have a beneficial effect. I Week after week passed away, and still the patient ^hovered iincertRjnly between life and* death, Mrs. Fisk safely returned to New York with her Infant charge, a haudsome. bright-eyed, , intelligent boy of exceeding vivacity, happily ignorant of his mother's fate and his father's danger. The little stranger, instead of being regarded as an unwelcome addition to my uncle's family, as might not unreasonably have been expected, was received by aunt Gertrude with the tenderest consideration, and everything needful for his well-being was provided. By sundry apparently trivial but really profoundly significant words and acts aunt Gertrude soon showed that the newcomer had found a place no less in her heart than in her house. Though my uncle was informed of the arrival of the boy the doctors for the present forbade the child being presented to their patient. The nature of my uncle's business was such that it necessarily came to a standstill as soon as his direction of it ceased?a direction which hitherto he had never failed to exercise, personally when in New York City, and telegraphically when absent therefrom. Mr. Fisk was regular in his attendance every morning at my uncle's house, and never failed to report the patient's condition to a host of his inquiring friends. And thus November and the greater part of December passed away, the spirits of the little household In East Thirty-fourth street being raised one day only to be dashed the next, according to the changeable condition of the patient, whose malady once or twice touched a point of extreme danger. But at the near approach of Christmas, when New York City lay covered with a thick mantle of snow and the sky was none the less clear because the temperature was extremely cold and Icicles of prodigious length depended from parapet and casement, the patieut took a very decided turn for the better. He talked less and more rationally, and was generally calmer, and he slept better and partook cf more nourishment Though my uncle's medical advisers were not. at the first appearance of these signs, assured they portended a favorable issue, they did not hesitate to recognize in the gocd symptoms, after they had endured for some days unabated. the beginning of complete recovery. And so, Indeed, It appeared. By the "'J ~ Tnniiorr nn/>1p SfltTl hfid SO UilUUlC U1 UUUUUl J far recovered that he was permitted to sit by the fire in his room, and there one day he dispassionately discussed with me the tragedy which to quote his own words, had "thrown him off his balance." His wife's loving care of the boy familiarly known as "the cardinal" occasioned him much satlsr faction, which he gratefully acknowledged in various way. and It is to that circumstance I have always attributed, more than to all else besides, his complete recovery. At^thls juncture "the cardinal" was taken every morning -by aunt Gertrude into the patient's room, where he was permitted to frisk about like a spaniel at his father's feet, and his gambols and his pertinent replies to questions which he could not possibly understand amused and delighted everybody present. In the early stages of the patient's convalescence it was customary for( Connie and me to read to him In turn. The reading was always selected by uncle Sam, and consisted for tLe most part of the daily papers and current fiction. One day I ventured to inquire if he would care to listen to some literature of a higher standard?a choice work by one of the great poets, for instance. "No, no," said uncle Sam, "not fori the world. I like poetry too weu." I confessed my inability to understand tt c reply. "Poets," remarked uncle Sam, "are a pitiable handful of creatures. Their divine gifts are compensated by powerlejsness to cope with the manifold :reacheries of mankind, and consequent starvation and misery, and though by some strange accident one of the tribe not long ago slipped into the House of Lords, that was a blunder which will not be repeated; the majority gravitate quite naturally to the workhouse. I love poetry, but can never read it without my heart aching for me poor wretch who expended his brain power In profltlessly weaving it No, no. Ernest: cpen the Trumpeter and tell me whether,the Rothschilds have succeeded in floating that loan for the Austrian Government." Slowly but surely the patient retrained strength, but February was almost spent before the doctors would sanction his removal to Newport Not antfl after he was able to go about tho house unaided did the permanent changes wrought in him by the illne9 through which he bad passed become fOHy apparent, and then it was seen that his once light browu hair had be* come almost entirely grey, that there were lines in his face which had'net been observed before his illness, and that his step was a trifle slower and less elastic than of old. I thought bll cheerfulness and his frank cynicism had escaped unaffected until he surprised me one morning by informing his friend. Mr. Rosenberg. In my presence. that it was his intention as soon as he returned from Newport to close Ills speculative business affairs, and devote his remaining days to safeguarding such dollars as be had already acquired. leaving the pursuit of wealth to younger or more ardent spirits. By the opening of March uncle Sam's family?in which, of course. I include myself, for long before this time I was regarded by everybody as belonging thereto? were comfortably settled in his villa at Newport, .Rhode Island, where it was thought the ocean breeaes. and continued withdrawal from business ceres might restore him to his former condition of a:enta! and physical vigor. ^ Chatham Villa is one of the numerous artistic summer houses which abound iu the southern portiou cf Rhode Island, and stands in extensive, pleasure grounds overlooking Narragaasett Bay. As yet the weather was very cold for living in snch an open situation. but the sky was almost always clear and bright, and scarcely a day of the seven weeks that we remained on the island passed without Constance and me. thickly clad with tors, taking an invigorating walk, in wnich exercises we were sometimes accompanied by uncle and aunt, the former of whom wonld point out where the 8000 British troops and their Hessian mercenaries were quartered during the American Revolution, and the wastes where once flourished the fine groves which they cut down for fuel; and he would sometimes further describe how my countrymen had destroyed nearly 500 of the bouses and all the shipping then harbored there. Although, all things considered, I must always look back upon my first sojourn at Newport with mnch gratification?indeed it could hardly be othr ^ erwise, for I enjoyed the almost uninterrupted company of Constance while I was there?I was rejoiced as the pe; rlod fixed for our stay drew towards its close, and that for the best of all possible reasons. Before leaving New York it had been arranged that Constance and I were te be married at a Presbyterian charch on Fifth avenue the first day of May. and we were to return to the City one week prior to that event. In accordance with the wish of everybody con-/ cerned. the ceremony was to be of the I simplest possible character, and an hour after Its accomplishment we were V to leave for Saratoga, where a suite of rooms had been engaged for me at the Grand Union Hotel. Preoccupied as I was with the anticipation of my approaching happiness, I could never forget my father, and in f ray more reflective moments was disturbed at hearing no news of him. either direc^y or indirectly, but I could j not think ot any better way of amend- "r Ing the unfortunate rupture between us than that which Constance had proposed?a plan not yet practicable, increasing my already great impatience with the slow-moving hours. The eve of our return to New York at length arrived. April was^drawing to Its close, and the weather was so cranial that we sat with comfort In ? ? ?? group by the opened glass doors which lead on to the veranda that overlooks / the bay. Uncle Sam and I were smoking, a habit which by long use our respective ladles had grown to tolerate at all sorts of unseasonable times and places. Aunt Gertrude was engaged working a monogram in silken characters on a strange-looking purse of fine network which she had designed for her sister, while the latter nestled at my side wistfully turning over an album of photographs. "The cardinal" had just been carried off to bed by his nurse, after amusing us for ten minutes by an exhibition of his precocity,^ his customary evening privilege. -BiF^ Sam was in high spirits, and more \ his former self than at any time i his illness. After intently ob- i .-o. ? iug his wife's work for some minuies (my aunt had completed the C and j was now outlining a T. not an M), he < suddenly exclaimed: "Ernest, you are ? a lucky dog." to which inelegant asser* tion I signified my assent, at the same time taking Connie's hand ia mine. "Scores of English lords, heavily weighted with titles and debts, sigh la > vain for an achievement such a* ;j yours," continued uncle Sam. "What 5 a pity it is that man, always quick to i perceive his misfortunes, is so fre- ( quently blind to the good things which - > fall to his share!" "That will never be my case," I oh- | served. To be continued. Here la the Real Thing. A prominent colonial planter, well bred (38). affectionate, excellent char- i ucter, healthy, good, tall, fine lookicfc'-3 broad instruction, honorific gradec, j highest European standing, owning un- 9 developed properties of immepse worth, J wishes speedy marriage with wealthy, ,3j independent young lady or widow, lov- J ing and ambitious, willing to become ? millionaire by investing a moderate f starting capital in her husband's e#r J tates; strictly confidential; state parti* *9 ulars.?New York Herald. 3 North America was first discovered. by Sebastian Cabot, a Venetian, In tlit9 service of England, in 1497. I