The watchman and southron. (Sumter, S.C.) 1881-1930, March 04, 1891, Image 2
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By J?IIM HAWTHORNE.
Cciyvij.ht, 1SSO, by ?menean Press Association.]
lCOXTECtTED.1
SYNOPSIS.
IN CHAPTER 1 Gen Inigo, a prominent im?
presario, confides to Hamilton Jocelyn, a man
about town, that Marana, a Russian prima
donna, engaged at enormous expense to open
j his new opera house in New York, has cabled
that she cannot keep ber coutract. Jocelyn
oSVrs to find an acceptable substitute at once.
CHAPTER 2 introduces to the reader Beatrix
Randolph, a thoroughly trained amateur,
possessing a remarkable voice and struggling
under financial and social reverses. She lives
with her widowed father on heavily ineum
bered estates np the Eudson.
CHAPTER 3 brings Gen. Inigo and Jocelyn,
who is an old acquaintance of tbe Randolphs,
to their retired homestead, and Beatrix is en?
gaged at a large salary to impersonate Ma?
rana, using the Russian's name.
IN CHAPTER 4 Mr. Geoffrey Bellingham, a
rising young architect, who is superintending
work on the new opera house, suggests some
changes to Gen. Inigo and wins a high com?
pliment.
IN CHAPTER 5 Jocelyn, acting as a friend of
all concerned, arranges temporary quarters
for Beatrix in New York and secures a
chaperon for her, inadvertently showing him?
self to be a mac of shady antecedents, living
by his wits.
CHAPTER 6 brings the heroine, in the
assumed character of Marana, before New
Yory society. She meets Geoffrey Belling?
ham at a dinner given in her boner by a rich
patron of the muses._
CHAPTER VUL
TES SUCCESS AXD GLORY OF HER CAREER,
"TTianli you," she sai/i,"and thank you
for these floors."
On the day appointed for the selling
of tickets for the first performance the
extent of the popular interest that had
been aroused was indicated by the length
of the "ene" of buyers, "who made a line
from the box office all the way round
the block, and who began their session,
or station rather, upward of twenty-four
hours before the office opened. Ac?
counts of their nocturnal experiences,
their jokes, and their good humor ap?
peared in the morning papers, together
with plans of the interior arrangements
of the opera house, the precautions
against fire and panic, the unequaled
splendor and perfection of the scenery,
and the cost of the whole enterprise.
The usual safeguards against the iinpt>
sition of speculators were taken, and
met with the usual success. By five in the
afternoon the house was sold from ceil
I ing to .cellar, and the impresario, lean?
ing in an insouciant attitude against the
bar of the hotel, with his hat on one
side and his' face broader than it was
krag, treated his numerous friends to
?dr?nks and received their congratula?
tions.
This was on a Saturday. On Monday
the performance took place "before the
most fashionable, cultivated and appre?
ciative audience ever assembled on a
similar occasion in the city of New
York." So recent and eminent a tri?
umph is not likely to have been forgotten
by those who witnessed it. The opera
selected was "Faust." It is perhaps the
most satisfactory one for a first appear?
ance, not only because of its musical
merits, but because everybody is famil- ;
iar with it, and can estimate the com?
parative success of the newcomer iu
"creating" afresh the immortal charac?
ter of Marguerite. There had been a
great number of rehearsals, and Mlle.
Marana had grown somewhat weary of
the repetitions, and latterly had begun
to iear that when the great night came
she would, if not unnerved by stage
-fright, at any rate be unable to go
through the part otherwise than me?
chanically. All spontaneity of action
and sentiment would be gone from her.
She staid in her apartment all day cn
Monday, refusing to sec any one, and
even dispensing the greater part of the
time with the presence of Mme. Bemax.
She wished to dismiss the whole subject
of the opera from her mind, and to aid
herself in doing so she fixed her thoughts
upon her brother Ed, and recalled all
his ways and escapades and the happy
times tiiey had spent together. She
pictured him and herself running races,
and climbing trees, and finding birds'
nests, and tending their red and white
roses, and going on hunting expeditions
after woodchucks and squirrels, and ?he
brought back to her memory the talks
they used to have together, when they
would lay out before themselves the
course cf their future lives-what they
would do and what they would be. How
different from their anticipation it had
turned ou t! But he was her brother just
the same, and she loved him none the
less than she had ever done; on the con?
trary she loved him more, for he had
given her an opportunity to show her
i-jve by repairing an injury which, he
had do?>?.
It waa pleasant to think that, when he
returned home, expecting to meet only
distress and reproaches, he would find
instead prosperity as great, if not great er
than before extravagance began, and all
owing to his own sister! If he had done
wrong, his sister thought, the discovery
that she had worked to repair it would
be more certain than anything else to
make him henceforward do right. Then
she began to speculate a~ to what sort of
wron;; he hal done-whether it were
anything more than thoughtlessness and
extravagance. A few weeks ago she
would have said that it could benothing
mor--; but she had been forced to see j
and hear certain things of late which ;
made her hesitate. She had seen what
some young men, possessed of money j
and freedom, were and did; why might !
not her brother Ed be like themV She j
put tho thought away from L r; she j
would not believe evil ot' lier own br rfher. !
He was a Randolph and a gentleman, j
He might be selfish and reckless, hut he j
would never do anything wicked or dis- !
graceful, lt was more to bc feared that j
he would deem her to have disgraced
herself in stealing another womau's j
name and reputation. It was all very I
well to plead that she had been per?
suaded into it half ignorantly, half,
against her will; the fact that she had '
?one it remained. Well-it was too late j
to turn back now!
The long hours passed on, and as the
evening approached she found herself
thinking not of Ed, but of another per?
son, who had come into lier mind, not by
her own invitation, but involuntarily; or
possibly he had been in the background I
all the while, and advanced as the other
receded. She had had no conversation j
with Bellingham since that day at the I
theatre, but they had met several times !
and exchanged a few words, and there
had been something in his manner that
had strengthened and reassured her, she
knew not why-something that seemed
to show that intuition was acquiring |
more weight with him than reason. And
yet he had not seemed happy nor at ease;
but his uneasiness was of a kind that
soothed and inspirited her. It was like
the trouble of a cloudy dawn, out of
which the sim at last rises clear. He was
not treacherous nor intangible, like so
many men; his qualities were large and
firmly based; he could not play monkey I
tricks, and talk one thing while he thought
another. The process of his feelings was
honest and open; he was reserved and ret?
icent precisely because he could not be
insincere.
The prima donna longed with all her
soul to be as frank and undisguised as
he. She felt that could she be so all
would be well between them: but that
until then all would not be well. And
she said to herself, how perverse' a mis?
hap it was that this disguise of hers
should have become necessary just when
they met; had she met him at any other
time of her lifo he would have known
her as she really was, and his intuition
and his reason would have been at one.
But then, again, her pride arose, and she
vowed that if he did not care enough
about knowing her to discern her real
self beneath the false disguise he should
never know her at all. But did what she
called her real self exist any longer? Had
not the disguise destroyed it? And, if so,
could she expect him to discover what
was no longer there? She pressed her
hands ?ver her eyes and breathed heavily.
The time of waiting was now over,
however. Mme. Bemax was knocking
at the door, and coming in with made?
moiselle's cloak and bonnet in her hand,
and-saying that the carriage was ready
and that they must drive to the theatre
at once in order that mademoiselle might
have time to put on Marguerite's dress
before the curtain rose. The prima
donna stood up, and tho realization of
what lay before her aime sweeping over
her mind like astorm. She was slightly
tremulous and felt cold and feeble.
Mme. Bemax made her drink a glass of
wine, and conducted her down to the
carnage, one seemed hardly to know I
where she was, she could speak only
with an effort; a benumbing preoccupa?
tion had got possession of her. At the
carriage door a gentleman was waiting,
clad in evening dress, with a light over?
coat. Her heart beat for an instant,
then became oppressed and tremulous
again; it was only Jocelyn. He helped
her into the carnage, and got in after her
and Mme. Bemax. He began to say vari?
ous things in a caressing, encouraging
voice; she exclaimed 'sharply, ;,Don't
speak to me! I must think my thoughts!"
The rattle of the wheels on the pave?
ment agitated her; she could not keep
her hands or her lips still. Sometimes
she fancied they had been driving for
hours; sometimes that they had scarcely
started. When at length they arrived
at tho theatre everything seemed at
once familiar and strange; she had seen
it all scores cf times before, but never
with the eyes she saw it with now.
Several persons addressed her, but she
walked on to her dressing rooxn without
appearing conscious of any one. The
room was small, but prettily decorated;
there were two full length mirrors in it,
and ii was fragrant with flowers. On
the table was lying a bunch of l\lm
guerites, tied about with a narrow blue '
ribbon.
The knot by which the ribbon was
fastened caught the prima donna's eye:
alie had seen something like it before.
It was not an ordinary knot, but one
such tis sailors make. She took up the
little white and golden cluster and
looked them over; there was nothing to
show whence they came-nothing but
the knot. While she was putting on ?
her dress her mind occupied itself with
this little mystery, and tlie oppression
of her heart was relieved. She put the
Marguerites in her girdle, feeling kindly
disposed toward them, for tiley had done
her good. Then a desire suddenly took
possession of her to go ont and see the
audience. Tlie overture WAS still in
progress, and she might cross the stage
and look through a peep hole in the cur?
tain.
Mme. Bemax assented, and accompa?
nied lier. The stage was dimly lighted,
and a number of people were moving
hither and thither upon it: the scene
shifters were giving tlie last touches to
the arrangements. Mlle. Marana, with
a light shawl over her shoulders, glided
unobserved up to the great curtain and
looked through.
The spectacle was like nothing else she
had ever seen or imagined. The lions?
was brilliant with light and alive with
movement and murmur. But the thou
sands of faces, row after row and tie:
above tier: the glance of innumerable
eyes, all turned toward her: all come
there to see her!-it was astoun ring and
terrifying! Those innumerable eyes
nothing could escape them, nothing be
invisible to them. They were overpow?
ering, hostile, exterminating! All im?
pression of individual human beings was
lost, and the audience seemed to be a
sort of monster, without sympathies and
responsibiiitieSj immense, incontrollable,
omniscient-a merciless, multitudinous
inquisition! How coull a single girl
contend against them? By what miracle
could her voie.- and presence reach and
subdue them? Rather her spirit would
evaporate from her Hps before them and |
leave her inanimate.
As she stood gazing there some one;
crossing th'4 stag.- from the wings passed ;
in-ar hw. She knew the step, and turn
ed. Yes. it was Bellingham. He recog- j
uized her and paused, apparently sur- j
prised to see herthere, but Iris? xpression
Could not be diseovere ! in the shadow;
'"Does the house Katisfyyou. iintdemoi- !
selle?" he said, approaching her. As he'
did so he glanced tit the flowers ia her
girdle. Tit * ghmee did i: ? escape her,
;;.! 1 then she knew where it was she Rad
seen tito knot before, lt was that day
?.{" their interview in the corridor: his j
fingers had been busy idly tying and un?
tying ''U of string.
'.Idi i.it know voa would 1)0 here,"
sli?- said in a whisper. "I am glad. '
'.Th: y expect a cal! for the architect."
he replied, "and I mus? make a bow."
"Will you be in the audi? rice while I
sing?" i
"Yes. Why?"
'\Show mo which seat is yours. '
He stepped to tin- peep hole.
?.You see that chair lia1.!' way down
tlie center aisle? That is mino."
'.Thank you," she said: .-.?nil thank
you for these flowers. 1. feel made over
anew! Now I can sing."
She put out her hand and Geoffr
took it in his.
For a moment it seemed to them as
they were alone together. When tv
persons meet in complete sympathy i
other human association seems so triflii
in comparison that they cease to 1
aware of it.
At this moment the ovrrture came 1
an end. and the order was issued for tl
stage to be cleared. The prima dom
found herself again in her dressing root
but not in the same nmod as she had le
it? She was warm, composed and happ;
She looked in the tall mirror, and for tl
first time saw Marguerite reflected ther
Then into her serene and awakene
mind entered all the tenderness, sin
plicity and i>athos of Gretchen".1; lovel
story, and she felt the spirit of the Ge
man peasant maiden take possession (
her. The appurtenances of the stag
the mechanism of the effects, the glai
of the footlights, no longer had pow?
to disturb her illusion. They seeine
themselves an illusion, and only th
story- was real. And when the monier
came that she stood before the might
audience they were to her no longer
hostile and opposing presence, wit
which she must struggle in hopeless coi
test, but a vast reservoir of human syn
pathy, aiding her, supporting her, cou
prehending her, supplying her with Iii
and inspiration, and responding a thoi
sandfold to every chord she touched.
As her voice flowed out and abroa
from her lips it seemed to owe its er
chanted sweetness and resonance not t
her, but to its echo in the hearts of he
listeners. Whence, then, had come thi
marvelous change in the mutual reh
tions between her audience and herseli
She was conscious only of the joy of ur
restrained expression; the audience, onl
of the delight of ear and eye; an
Geoffrey Bellingham, sitting with folde
arms and charmed pulses in the mids
of the assemblage, had no suspicion thu
any part of this triumph of harmon}' am
beauty was due to him. His eyes an
all his senses were turned toward hei
but how should he imagine that ami<
the crowd of that great amphitheatr
her glances were conscious of no fae
but his, and that all the stupendou
magnetism of their silence and their ap
plause was centered and concentrated ii
him.J Pie had even forgotten that hi;
Marguerites were in her girdle.
As has already lx>en intimated, how
ever, it would be superfluous to give am
account of this memorable performance
from the audience's point of view. Com
petent judges, who attended many repe
t?tions of the opera, have declared thai
Mlle. Marana never afterward surpass?e
the standard of excellence she attainec
on this first occasion. It was the topi<
of the time, and the fame of it spread
all over the United States, and wai
spoken of next day in London and Paris,
The public, which is so inhuman anc
tyrannical in its apathies and antipathies,
is like a child and a slave in its favorit?
ism and its homage. It idolized the in?
comparable Marana, and would have
built her a house of gold, with jeweled
windows, if she had demanded it. The
unknown girl from the upper reaches oi
the Hudson was crowned queen of New
Y'ork for the sake of two or three hours'
sweet singing.
It is seldom that Adam, and even divin?
er Eve, in tlie days of their youth, are
wholly insensible to the worship of theil
fellow creatures. They may say and be?
lieve that flattery cannot make them
alter their own estimate of their merit:
nevertheless, the eye that sees admira?
tion in all other eyes involuntarily waxes
brighter and more assured, and the pres?
ence before which others bow down, if
it do not bear itself more commanding!}-,
can at least scarcely avoid a graceful
condescension. Doubtless it is not the
merit but the homage which the merit
causes that creates the elation. And by
and by the suggestion will insinuate it?
self that there may, after all, be some?
thing exceptional in the nature gifted
with such talents, apart from tlie talents
themselves. From this point it is not far
to the conclusion that exceptional natures
demand exceptional treatment and con?
sideration-should not be made account
iible to ordinary rules; should bo a law
unto themselves. No position is more
susceptible than thi? of being vindicated
by plausible arguments, aiad a poor argu?
ment war med by good will has always
been worth a dozen better ones chilled
and torpid from the breath of disinclina?
tion.
Now Mlle. Marana, though she could
not estimate the influence upon others
of the personal quality of her voice,
could not help knowing that she-sung in
tune and correctly: but, inasmuch as
many other women could do this, she
was forced to infer that her being made
queen of Now York must be due to some
personal quality, as aforesaid. This just
persuasion gave her pleasure on more
accounts than one; but one account was
that it seemed to justify in some measure
thc deception which she was maintain?
ing before the world. Though still
chargeable with purloining Maraaa's
name, she might, perhaps, acquit her
conscience of damaging that Lady in her
musical reputat ion. if she were listened
to with as great favor as the genuine
Russian diva would have been, surely
the hitter could not complain of any
very great practical injury. On the
contrary she would have earned an
American renown without hoing
troubled to sa much as open her lips.
True, renown was all she would earn:
but she Ind voluntarily given up thc
offer of other emoluments before the
false Marana had ever been thought of.
Of course a lie is a lie; after every ex
cuse has been made for it: yet there
may because for congratulation if a lie
prove to contain no other mischief than
the simple invasion of a truth.
In this opinion she wai?, it need scarce?
ly be said, cordially supported by Ham?
ilton Jocelyn and Mm .. Bemax; nor way
her father disinclined t> take an opti?
mistic view o?* the situation. The latter
gentleman, by tho way, seemed to have j
taken a fresh start in life sine- his trou?
bles came to head, therein following the
example-of many prominent citizens of
New York and other places who, when
other sources cf supply run dry, are ac?
customed 1') tap with golden success the
unfailing spring of insolvency. Mr. Ran?
dolph had taken rooms in a small but
elegant flat <>:i Fifth avenue, and was
living the life of a rejnvt nate 1 bachelor
and man about town. The possession
of a momentous secret flattered hissense
of self importance, and tho incumbency I
of a minor sinecure in thc municipal j
government; which he hal obtained
through wu. inigo's friendly interest !
with tlie l)- ?t rrratio mayor, enabled
him to assume the air of one who is <>:i .
confidential terms with statesmen. Lie ;
bad been at considerable pains to devise |
ambiguous explanations of his possession j
<-i" revly money and of the singular dis?
appearance of his daughter, and had j
been somewhat disappointe 1 to discover j
that noone seemed tv.? be aware that he j
had ever lacked the .former or owned the j
latter. j
Thc world, Mr. Handolph thought,
must be a barbarously large" as well as a
reprehensibly inattentive place, since it
had failed to follow with solicitude the
course of his domestic concerns. How?
ever, if there was neglect on one side of
the account, it was balanced by con?
venience on thc other, and the unsus?
pected father of the great prima donna
made a virtue of impunity.
He visited his daughter twice or thrice
a week, besides being present at her per?
formances: but it afforded 1dm a certain
gratification to surround their inter?
views with an elaborate network of ?3
crecy and intrigue, as if he were an
enamored Montague seeking to com?
mune at peril of their lives with aiove
lorn Capulet. There was evidently a vein
of romance in this old gentleman which,
had it been properly cultivated in due
season, might have considerably enlarged
his character.
To return, however, to the prima don?
na's conscience. It \w\ld probably have
subsided into a condition of comfortable
acquiescence in destiny had it not been
for the stimulus unconsciously applied
to it by a gentleman of her acquaintance.
She could never meet Geoffrey Belling?
ham without wishing that Mile. Marana
had never been bora, or at least that
she herself might have achieved her fame
in some straightforward and unencum?
bered way. When a certain tender look
and smile, very winning in one whose
features were naturally severe, came into
his face the pleasure it gave her was
marred by the reflection, How would he
look if he knew what I am? It is true
that he believed her to be a woman whose
moral character was currently supposed
to be less immaculate than a good many
aliases would render that of Beatrix Ran?
dolph: none the less she felt, when inhi3
presence, that her one actual sin was
more burdensome than all the vicarious
naughtiness of the unknown Russian.
She told herself that Geoffrey had per?
haps made up his mind to condone Ma?
rina's delinquencies, taking into account
ber foreign training, her temptations,
and tlie loose standard of morals that pre?
vailed in Europe, but that he never would
forgive Beatrix for having deliberately
misled him-she, an American girl,
brought up amid all the enlightenment
and fastidious rectitude of the great re?
public. This was the crumpled leaf in
her bed of roses, and it chafed her re?
lentlessly.
But persons whose perception of their
value-social, artistic or other-is on the
way to beguile them into making a golden
calf of themselves in the wilderness. may
have reason to be grateful for the im?
plicit criticism of some severe eyed young
lawgiver, whose exhortations are none
the less effective because they happen to
be the utterance of the silent voice of
character.
CHAPTER IX.
HOW SHE WAS BETRAYED AND SLAN?
DERED.
One forenoon, as Wallie Dinsmore was
seated in his study, with his slippered
feet pointed toward the fireplace, the
newspaper across his knees and the Afri?
can lemur munching a lump of sugar on
his shoulder, ho heard me doorbell ring.
He rubbed his forehead between Iiis eyee
and uncrossed and recrossed his extended
legs by way of a?ousing himself, for his
serenity during the last half hour had
been gradually verging toward the so?
porific stage. A few moments afterward
there was a knock at the study door, and
Wallie, resting his chim on the apex of
a triangle made by his elbows and joined
hands, said, "Come in!"
The visitor entered, and coming up to
Wallie's chair took the paw of the lemur
in his hand and shook it. The lemur
chattered and Wallie looked up.
''Hullo. Geoffrey," he said, "I was
just thinking about a cottage at New?
port. Sit down and let me tell you my
idea. Have a cigarette-or a cigar?"
fe ^*<^dSr m^hz
ii Ufil p? &rJtt&?-?vft>*\
.JJ \1\ .fei?l?^ra8k
Yo- /// Cv-- v^r*>-?j?-^; ?tt&r&Z\
Sh-c turned again and threw her arms
about Randolph's nick.
"Have voil any smoking tobacco?" re?
turned Geoffrey, taking a pipe from his
pocket.
"I guess you'll find some Cavendish in
the jar. You know where tin) matches
arc."
Geoffrey supplied himself, and then
drew a ('hair to thc other side of the fire?
place and smoked for several minutes in
silence. At length lr* said, "Were you
at the op*-rn last nightT
"Xo. What was it?"
.. 'Semirainide.* "
-Good?"
-Yes."
'.Your theatre seems to snit her." i
Wallie remarked. "By the way, there j
must be a col un tn about last night in j
the naper. Yes: here it is. 'No such j
rendering of the music of this part lias
ever--and so forth and so on. She's a :
bj;-; success."
"She deserves-it, doesn't she?"
"She can sim:, sir-she can-sing."
replied Wallie, with the quiet slowness j
that was his oulv* form of emphasis. :
"Six- puzzles me!
..What':; the puzzle?"
"If she's been through the wars, where ?
are her scars? She looks fresh as a lily
and sweet as new mown hay. Where's
the cloven, foot?"
"There is none." said Geoffrey, with a i
lac? ?nie convie? ion.
".S) I'm inclined to think, and so I'm j
puzzled."
"There will be stories about any worn- ?
an." rejoined Geoffrey: "mostly lies." i
"But somu of tho European stories
about Mlle. Marana--well, they would
lead one to suppose that she had changed
her nature, and everything elscexccpt
her name, when she lauded in thL I
conn try."
""Well, since her name is the only'
thing she could change, it follows - i
And our opinion shoul 1 bo formed on
what we sec au 1 know, not on hearsay/'
"You are only quoting what I said to
yon when yon didn't want to come to
the dinner." sai 1 Wallie, wit h a chuckle.
"To bi? sure. I hadn't seen her then."
' 1 thought you had seen lier abroad."
"Well-I mean I hadn't seen her be- ,
fore in New York."
"There lias been nothing against her
sine<.' siie came?"'
"No; on the contrary I think she h;
had the opportunity of refusing sever
eligible offers, and she has done so f<
all thc world like a true American girl
"Who were the men?""
"That would be telling. Why do vc
ask?"
As Geoffrey made no reply, but smoke
with a good deal of sternness, Wall
continued after a while, "I suppose yoi
wisdom teeth are cut, young man?*'
"She's a lady, and I-wish her treate
as such, that's all!* said Geoffrey
"What were you saying about a cottar
at Newport?"
Before this topic could be gone int
the friends were interrupted by the ei
trance of another caller-Mr. Alexandr
Randolph.
"Who the devil is he?" demanded Geo:
frey, knocking out his pipe.
"Never met hun till this autumn. H
won't hurt you. Sit still."
"Ah, good morning, Mr. Diusmore,
said Randolph, entering in state wit!
bis gray eyebrows and imperial; ,VI ca
remain but a moment." Here he caugh
sight of Bellingham. "Am I in th
way?"
"In the way of making the acquaint
ance of Mr. Bellingham-Mr. Randolph,
said Wallie. "Sit down, gentlemen
Eave a cigar, Mr. Randolph?"
"1 thank you-never before luncheon
To come to the point at once-I am of ;
committee of gentlemen to extend ;
complimentary breakfast to Gen. Inig<
on the 14th of this month. Can w<
count upon your attendance?"
"The 14tn? Let me see," said Wallie
opening a drawer in his desk and takint
out a memorandum book. "Yes, ther<
seems to be nothing on that day. M ucl
obliged to you and tho committee, Mr
Randolph."
"The hour is 1 o'clock," said Randolph
"Gen. Inigo deserves a breakfast,'
Wallie remarked. "He deserves thre<
meals a day. He has catered very wei
for us."
"That seems to be the general impres
sion," said Randolph, giving a twist tc
his eyebrow.
"We were just discussing the prim:
donna," Wallie continued. .'You know
her, ofx'onrse. Mr. Randolph?"
"I-ah-I have-that is, slightly. J
have heard her sing; I may have mei
her socially; one meets so many people
it is difficult to say."
He colored while he spoke and seemed
a good deal confused.
".She's a very pretty woman, and
seems to be pa virtuous as she is pretty,
strange to say," the other went on.
"There's a discrepancy between her con?
duct and her history."
Mr. Randolph colored still more.
"I-Fm an old fashioned man, sir," he
said, whisking a silk handkerchief out
of his coat tail pocket and passing it over
lu's forehead. "In my day we-we took
the virtue of a lady for granted; and J
must say I-of course, I have no right tc
be the champion of this lady, sir, but"
He stopped, and Bellingham said:
"Any man has a right to respect a
woman he believes honest, and to make
others do so in his presence. If that's
old fashioned, Mr. Randolph, count me
in!"
'.Thank yon, sir," returned the other.
He rose and put back his handkerchief
in his pocket.
"I must take leave of you. Mr. Dins
more," he added. "A man like myself
has a great many affairs on hand. We
shall look for you on the 14th, then.
Good morning: g .-od morning, Mr.-ah
-Bellingham."
"I am more puzzled than ever," said
Wallie, when Randolph was gone.
"What now?"
"In the first place he couldn't quite
make up his mind whether he'd met her
or not; then he got flurried because I
suggested there had been stories about
her: and, finally, he took to flight rather
than discuss her any more. Now if he
doesn't know her, why should he flare
up so about her? and if he does know her,
why does he pretend he doesn't?"
"He's an old fashioned"-began Geof?
frey.
"That's gammon," interrupted Wallie,
"and you know it! Tho f:ill of man is
an older fashion than Mr. Randolph.
Did any sane man, young or old, ever get
into a state of mind because the correct?
ness of an opera singer he didn't know
was called in quotion? I can't make it
out-unless he means to marry her!"
This speculation was received by Geof?
frey in dead silence, and for a consider?
able time neither of tho men said any?
thing. At last the question of the cottage
at Newport was brought up once more
and canvassed until they parte 1.
Bellingham walked slowly toward
Madison square, willi Mr. Randolph,
among other things, on Iiis mind. Still
meditating he turned up Fifth avenue,
and before long found himself opposite
.Mlle. Marana's hotel. It occurred to
him that he had never yet called on lier
in her own apartments, and he resolved
to repair that neglect. Accordingly he
went to the ci nee and inquired if she
were in. Tho clerk glanced at the key?
board and said "Yes" abstractedly. Bell?
ingham got into tho elevator and
went up.
The passageway, after the bright sun?
light of the street, seemed rather dark.
Not knowing which way the numbers
ran, he remained f ir a moment where
the elevator left him. Just then a door
was opened on the right, a gentleman
came out, and advanced along the pas?
sage toward him. When about ten paces
distant, ho stopped, turned back, and de?
parted hastily in the opposite direction.
But Bellingham had recognized him: it
was Mr. Randolph.
Tlie incident made little impression on
him. however. He turned to the left,
looking fer tlie number, bur finding ho
was going the wrong way he retraced
his steps, ami presently found himseli
standing before the door from which
Mi-. Randolph had just issued. It bore
Mil". Marana's number. He knocked,
and Mina Bemax opened to him. On
his inquiring whether the prima donna
were engage !, the lady said she would
see. So he walked in, and stood by the
window, and in a few minutes Mlle
Mara.ia appeared. She greeted him
with such evidently spontaneous pleas?
ure that any slight misgiving ho may
have felt was immediately dissipated.
"I began to think you were never go?
ing to come." she said.
..I'm so much out of the way of mak?
ing calls that I'm surprised to fie. I my?
self here; You have a great many ca*Il- j
"Well, a goo 1 many come, bat I see
very few -only old friends. .Vu I of j
course.** she added,"'JUS 1 never was \-? '.
New York lx'fore. thai is tho same as
saying 1 seo hardly any ono."
"I met a man lately who knows you, 1 ;
think -Mr. Randolph."
"Mr. Randolph?" She pronounced the ?
name in a changed tone an 1 blushed.
"Alexander Randolph." h.' repeated,
looking at her.
Sh . dropp ; 1 h >r eyes. "I -believe-1 '
have- heard his name," she said.
Bellingham said no more; he felt dis- I
maye.I and bewildered. V notedly
there was ?rn? unpleasant my>? cry about
this fellow Randolph. "??eard his name,'
indeed! Had not tho man been in he:
company five minutes ago?
"I saw you at tho opera last night," re
marked the prima donna, recovering her
self. Bellingham merely nodded. "Wen
you disappointed?*' she asked falteringly
"No, I was like the rest of the andi
enco," he replied in a dry tone.
"You are not like the rest of the an
dience to mo," she sa?d. "ever since tin
first night I have sung to you. I wouldn"
tell yon, only-I thought you knew it!*'
"I know nothing about you," returnee
Bellingham roughly.
"You speak as if yon didn't care t<
know anything," she said, holding u?
her head.
Bellingham controlled his rising tem
per. A weaker man would have pro?
tected himself by irony or sarcasm, bu?
he said exactly what he thought. "3
care more about- what concerns you." h(
said, "than about anything oise. But ]
will not look away when I am being de
ceived. Yon and this Randolph are botl:
pretending to be strangers to each other.
I saw liim come out of this room just be?
fore I came into it. Do you deny thal
he was here?"
"He was here," answered she, turning
pale.
"There is only ene other question. Are
you going to marry him?"
This was so unexpected that she
laughed. It was a nervous, almost hys
tarinal laugh, it is true, but Bellingham
naturally did not understand it "I am
nt>t going to marr,' "MT. Randolph," said
t?io prima donna, with a heartbroken
sense of humor.
"And you will not tell me what your
relations are with him?"
"2vo; they are very peculiar relations,"
she replied lightly, for she was getting
desperate. "You must think what you
please-think the worst you can. it
makes no difference. I will tell you
nothing!"
Bellingham gazed at her fixedly. "I
cannot believe that you are a wicked
woman," he exclaimed at length. "I
don't know how to believe it! Why did
you deceive mc? I was ready to take it
for granted that you were-like other
women on the stage. But you made me
believe you were pure and innocent. Xo
woman ever acted innocence before as
you have done it. You look like inno?
cence incarnate at this moment-at the
actual moment you are admitting. What
is it you want? I would have asked yon
to marr}' me-as soon as I ha l persuaded
myself yoxi loved me. I loved you with
all my heart and soul. Did you merely
intend to lead me on, and then refuse
me, like a common flirt? Or would you
have married me and still kept up your
relations with-well, I can't talk about
it I There is always some motive even
in the lightest wickedness, but ? can see
none in yours-and yours is not light!"
Mlle. Marana was standing erect
twisting her lace handkerchief between
her hands, her face pale, her eyes wide
open, tearless, full of restless light. She
never looked at him. It seemed physi?
cally impossible for her to do so.
"I have never been spoken to like
this," she said, in a faint, panting voice.
"Will yon leave me, please? Will yon
leave me?*'
Bellingham moved to depart, but he
stopped and turned back.
"I have always meant never to be un?
just to any human being," said lie. "It
is possible that the very love I felt for
you may havo made me unjust to you.
If you can tell me that there is nothing
disgraceful in this secret of yours-tell
me, for God's sake! Are 3-ou what you
seem or something else?"
"I am not what I seem!" she cried ont
passionately; and now she looked at him
with a blaze cf fierceness in her eyes.
"Yon have doubted me, and that is
enough. I will never explain-I will
never forgive yon! If yon are a man do
not stand there; go out!"
Bellingham was shaken to the bottom
of his soul. The voice and manner with
which her. every word was uttered
seemed to contradict the purport of the
words themselves. Even yet he could
not but believ : uer innocent. But there
was nothing '. arther for him to do or say.
He went ont.
He descended thc stairs slowly and
emerged into tho street It was the
middle of the day; the avenue was com?
paratively deserted. A few carriages
were taking their occupants home to
luncheon. Bellingham stood on the
curbstone, looking up and down, and
vaguely wondering what he should do
next. By and by it struck him that it
would not make much difference which
way lie went. In no place in th.? world
conk! ho find what he had lost. It was no
where; it had been annihilated. All that
bad made lifo delightful was gone from
him. and he was left ironically behind.
He had never really possessed it, even; it
was a mirage-a phantom, which he had
tried to grasp, and it had vanished. But
the strangest part of the business-al?
most ludicrous-was that ho remained
behind, standing here, alive and well, in
the sunshine on Fifth avenue!
He sauntered leisurely northward to?
ward His; park. Two or .three times he
passed some ono he knew, and returned
their greeting with a nod. But all the
while he saw that lithe, erect figure, with
her palo, lovely face, her 03.es bright
with pain or anger, her white hands
twisting her handk^rchiL-f. Could it be
that she was depraved, false, beanies.--?
Every stern word he had spoken had
'jeezi echoed, as it were, by thc exquisite
sensitiveness of her beauty. If she were
false would she not have K en true at
that last moment, when nothing moro
was to bo gained by deception, wh n to
!:o sincere was essential to the enjoy?
ment of thc triumph her falsehood nad
gained her.
He roached the park: there was still a
vivid greenness in the grass, though the
trees wore rich with the splendor of
autumn. He wandered along the curv?
ing paths, feeling nop1 insure, but p un.
in thc quiet beauty that surrounded hifn.
Keeping to the left, whore there seemed
to bc fewer sauntercrs like himself..ho
found himself at last near the extreme
northern limit. Ile ascended a little hill,
and cn ivs sr.mmit, beneath the golden
shade < f a group of trees, there was a
space cf leaf strewn turf on which he
flung himself down. Therumble of The
horse cars on thc avenue came faintly to j
!..'-. . and now and then tho voices of ;
laughter <.;* people passing at a distance;
the shadow < f passing clouds drifted !
over him. lind ? vcr and anon'a golden,
leaf : detached itself from a bough abov !
his head and floated wavering earth
ward. But no oue disturbed him, though
he lay (noreuil the afternoon, somet mes
with his face buried ea his arms. .-<>;: e
times supporting hw head upon his han 1.
Ho v tdered what she bad been doing ]
since they parted. Had she been laugh
ing over his discomfiture and planning
fresh ri: tel priser? lt was n< t possible!
The sun went down and the shad >ws
of twilight rose. Bellingham lookc.l
toward the east, and saw the disk of thc
m-tvn mount above thehorizon. until tho
wh ile round sphere swung aloft, orango ;
against the violet background. The '
evenly and still, but ihs
lethargy which had fallen upon Belling?
ham began to bo dispelled; he became
restless and anxious. He could no
longer stay where he was; he descended
.?he little hill, crossed over to the a-venue,
and still going northwestward came to
tko bank of the Hudson. The bank was
high and steep; he clambered down it,
and found the remains of a decayed
wooden pier jutting out into- tho water.
Upon the end cf this ho sat down, and
the silent current swept and eddied past
Iiis feet. The sound of a clock striking
somewhere caught his ear. This was the
hour for her to arrive at the theatre. iL
little while longer and she would be upon
the stage. Would she look toward hi*
seat, expecting to see him there? No, she
would never expect him again! Would
she miss him?
More than another hour passed away,
and Bellingham sat so still that one
might have fancied he was asleep. Bat
he waa not asleep--he- was thinking, and
now his thoughts were becoming clearer
and more consecutive than they had
heretofore been. The moon had now
soared high aloft, and stood silvery
bright above the sliding' reaches of the
river.
All at once Bellingham sprang to his
feet. He pulled ont his watch: there was
yet time. He began hurriedly to climb
the bank.
It had been borne in upon him, he
knew not how, with a sudden, over?
whelming conviction, that ehe was not
guilty, but pure and true: that the mys?
tery was uti innocent one, that all would
be well, if he could but see her and speak
to her: It was possible for bim to reach
the theatre before she left it, but he
must use diligence. He was somewhat
faint from lack of nourishment during
the day, but he ran on until he came to
a station of the elevated railway. He en?
tered a train and was off. His heart was
light and hopeful.
The. train halted at a station near the
rear of the theatre. As he got out he
saw that the performance was over, and
the audience had disperse.!. But she
would not h;ive left yet. No; there was
her carriage waiting for her at the stage
door.
He ran down tho iron staircase, but as
he reached Vue bottom he stopped. Mlle.
Marana came out of the stage door, lean?
ing upon the ann of a man-of Mr. Ran?
dolph. Mrs. Beroax followed, but en?
tered the carriage first Randolph ap?
peared to exchange a few words with the
prima donna; then she turned and put
her foot on the carriage st9p.
But, as if swayed by a sudden and in?
controllable impulse, she turned again
and threw her arms about Randolph's
neck and kissed him again and again.
Bellingham saw this, and then he faced
about and mounted the iron stairs once
more, while a mocking voice in hi3
heart seemed to ask, "Are you satisfied
now?"
[TO BE CONTINUED ]
Curiosity Aroused.
'Goin fur, mister?'
The question was asked by a long
nosed, thin-lipped man with pointed
chin whiskers, a slouch har, and a
hungry expression ol' countenance.
He was resting his elbows on the
scat in front cf him, which seat was
occupied by a passenger ia a grey
check suit.
The passenger addressed turned
partly around, took a look at his
questioner, and sized him np at once.
*Ycs, I am going to Nashville/ lie
replied, 'down in Tennessee. My
business there is to sell four shares
of bank slock, dispose of my interest
in a farm of eighty acres, ten miles
from thc city, and invest thc proceeds
in a clothing establishment on North
Cherry st rcct. I am from Beai dstown,
Cass county, III. I got on the train
there at 9:35 this morning. lt was
forty-five minutes behind time. My
ticket cost mc $11.65. 1 shall take
ihe sleeper when the sun goes down.
Ila?I my dinner about an hour ago.
Paid 75 cents for it. This cigar cost
me 10 cents. I have been a smoker
for aliout thirteen years. My name
is Chauncey McConnell. I am 30
years old, have a wife and four
children, came originally from
fiarrO'isburg, Ky., and am a member
of the Congrega!ional Church. I was
formerly a druggist, but sold out to
a man named Trca?tway, an?! am not
in any business now. I am woith
perhaps $10.000. My father was a
cooper, and my grandfather a sea
Captain. My wile s wattie was Carr
before I married her. Her father
was a surveyor. That's all I know
alK)ut her family. We Jive in a two
story frame house, an?! the children
have all had the mumps, chicken-pox
and measles. When I reach Nash?
ville I expect to stop at the Maxwell
House.'
Ile stopped. T?ie long-nosed man
regarded him a moment with inter?
est, aim then asked, in a querulous,
dissatistie?i way :
.What did your great-grandfather
do lb:- a linn' ?'
Recovered Her Spceeli.
?diss Julia Morris, a Dubuque
[IowaJ young lady, who for over a
year lia? been unable to articulate,
recovered her speech tlie other day
VA a remarkable manner. A year
ago her brother was stabbed to ?loath
before her eyes. She fell in a swoon
and lay une??nsei<ms for several da\s.
When she recovered she was unable
to make an audible sound. The other
morning she was conversing with a
lady, writing her questions and
answers as usual, when, smhlenly
a.nd wit liout effort, she replied, iu
response toan inquiry, ;I don't think
so.' It was the first time she had
spoken in a year. She is unable to
explain how the jrift returned to her.
A DI TY TO YOURSELF.
It is $urpri.?ing that people will u>e a com?
mon, ordinary {?ill when they can seeuro i
valuable Knglish one f?r the same motley
l>r. Acker s KnglUh pilis are a yuh ?re cure
f?>r>ick headache and all liver fou hies. They
;??e small, .??weet, easily taken and do not griue.
Formate i>v J. F.W. I >e Lor me. y
CAN'T SLfct'P N IUHTS
Is the complaint of thousaa ls sn??erins: from
Asthma, Consumption, Cough.*, etc. I'i-i yoi
ever try L>r. .'.'-ker's Iingii.?h li erne? h ? It i?*
the i>esc preparation ku??wn (or all Lung
Trimble?1 -obi on a poMtive ?ruaran tee at
2oc and 50c. Kv .J F. W. tvborzne. S
To allay. p*ins>, subdue snfianinmiion, beal
foul sores and ?licet.; *:..>??t jiro.npt and
satisfactory results are nWt.ti'-ed by u??'ng that
o'd reiiai ie remedy, Pr. J. ll. Melgar.'?
Volcanic Ui! Lil iment. vj.ml
LADIES "
Needing atonic, or children who want build
in-: in>. should take
DKOWVS'tKO* BiTTF.?lS.
It is pleasant to x-.i ce, euro* Malaria, Indi,
??osti?n, uiiiooruc&s and Liver Complaints,