Historical Newspapers of South Carolina

Below is the OCR text representation for this newspapers page. It is also available as plain text as well as XML.

'Be Just and Fear not-Let all the Ends thou Aims't at, be thy Country's, thy God's and Truth's" THE TRUE SOUTHRON, EstabKsbed ?Tun?, 1368 SUMTER, S. C., WEDNESDAY, MARCH 25, 1891. New Seriea-Ye?. X. Ko. 34. ?ttel??tod 5WiTT Wednesday, N. GK! OSTEEN, SUMTER, S. C. T11RM8 : Two Doll ifs per annum-in advance. A O ? t*t18? MB HTS . Qoe Square, first insertion...00 ?very aukseqoen t insertion..... 50 _ Contracta for three months, or longer will te mado at reduced rates. - AH comwemcatiocs which subserve private Interests will be charged for as advertisements., Qbitnark? and tributes of respect will be soar ged for. fB Smm NATIONAL BANK, Or SUMTER. 8TAT8, CITY AND COUNTY DEPOSI? TORY, SUMTER, ?5. C. Paid ap Capital.$75,000 00 finrpliisFuad. 9,250 00 Transacts a General Banking Business. Careful attention given to collections. SAYINGS DEPARTMENT. Deposits of $1 and upwards received. In? terest allowed at the rate of 4 per cent, per annan?. Payable quarter!j, on first days of January. April, inly and October. &. M. WA LL ACS, Vice President. L. S. Canso?, A ag. T Cashier._ SUTES SUMTER* S C. CITY AND COUNTY. DEPOSITORY. Transacts a general Banking business. Also hes A Sar?gs Baak Department, .^r^.w of $1.00 and upwards received. Interest calculated at the rate ef 4 per cent, per annum, payable quarterly. W. F. 8. HAYNSWORTH, A. WHTTS, Ja,, President. Cashier. ?1 W. DELOBMK, Agent? I -D KA LBS IN HUH 4 HIS, TOUT SOAPS, PERFUMERY AND ALL KINDS OF Druggist's Sundries USUALLY K KPT IN A FIRST-CLASS DRUG STORE. Tobacco, Snuff and Segars, GARDEN SEEDS, &C>, ILSO faints, Oils, Varnishes, GJ.ASS, PUTTY, &c. -aa? DYE STUFFS. -o Physician's Prescriptions carefully, eontponoded, and orders answered with care and dispatch. The public will find my stock of Medicines complete, warranted genu? ine? and of the best quality. GaO and see for yourselves. Inf&nta and Children. Castalia prompte? Pige? Hon, and overcomes Flatulency, Constipation, Sour Stomach, Diarrhoea, and Feverishness. Thus tb? child xs rendered healthy and its deep aa&nxal. Castorfs* contains no Morphine or other narcotic property. "Carter?a is so -well adapted to children that I recommend it as superior to any prescription ?rOWttto me." H. A. A RC Ri H, M. D., in Sooth Oxford St, B recklyn, N. Y. r **? oee Csatoria ia my practice, and find it epeei??y adapted to affections of children." j* <ur SnsaaTsox, M. D" 1057 2d Ave., Nev York. l< From rjersonal knowledge and observation I can sar that Castorfa is an excellent medicine for children, acting as a laxative and relieving the pent op bowels and general system very mach. Many mothers have told me of its ex ceUent effecS upon their children." Da. 6. a OSGOOD, Lowell, Mass. JamCar?iOaCoaPAi?T,^ rray Street, N. Y. Advice to the Aged? Ac? brines Infirmities, sue b. a? slna tdtefa bowel?, weak fttfdtteya and blad? der tad torpid liver. have a specific effect on these organs, itisaulstlag the hovels, giving natur? al dise?are; ss witt oat straining or EuTAETXrTG VIGOR to tko kidaeys, Madder ?nd liver, .gfeegr aro adapted to old or yoong. SOU? inTEBYWHERE. CATARR COLD HEAP. Try the Cure Ely's Cream Bal m Cleanse!* the Nasal Passages. Al? lays Infiainmaiicii. Heals the Sores, gestores the Senses of Taste, Smell encl Hearing. A particle is applied into each nostril and ft. axneaUe. Price 50r. at Vraggist* or by Zafi. BLYBROTHEES,56 Warren St ^ew Tc ora. Bi^^E^?Ni -a""C little r<4lnaMlirrr >.?^n n.r.'Jo it flP^fe^^jC^^^MHS?^,^ cur. Othmar*tifinga*weil. Whv I yjpy SETTTHBE Soi?*C?\?tn ovor)f500.0? k M?0rnii''r? xr?- r.K'i y earning from ti to f . yJtBT StO?0?r. Ail ?ff?-?. VAV ?how voa bow TL JL. JWS? *'?<! ??rt TOO. Can work in ?prtn-tim? ? j?^?r*' ,r a"' KJJT rooney for work ^?flKfcit E-''i'tire unknown amone lb'm. ^^???^^??^ ?* NEW au?! w?in!crf>il. Purlieulnr.fr-?. H.H?J?eat?fe Co..Box ??QlMortli?Mtl,Miane ^gp^HB%^ tCOCn. 00 a rn, i. Iw inp mirle b.T John R ?MB By Tib. ?""?<1"?!'' ' ro>jr.X.Y.,at work for LV Kr?der, ^B_^^^^??-;3?jL y cu nj ny not tiiwkc 0. much, but we mri flR ofi'wiiTooQiii.-li:? how to ram from t-i to nSuySfon. J!..th ?ex?-., all ope-.. Ii. ?nv i?,rt of ?w ff 4fc?Ainericji. yon rou cotnturnre n: borne, jriv ^^^^m^r *Tery worker. We ??rt YOU, forn>>biii? ?Lj^rf eorrrythin- EASILY, Si'??I>ILr leJjme<l. y^VHP*! rAUM LXAl.-S KKK E. A-i.lrcnjatei:.e, Beatrix Randolph. By JULIAN HAWTHORNE. Copyright, 1890, by Axrerican Press Association.] ICOXTIXUEIXI SYNOPSIS. IN CH\PTKR 1 Gen Inigo, a prominent im presario, ton5des to Hamilton Jocelyn, a man about town, that Marana, a Russian prima doona, engaged at enormous expense to open his new opera house in New York, has cabled that she cannot keep her coutract. Jocelyn offrrs 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 reveries. She lives with her widowed father on heavily incura bered estates np the Hudson. CHAPTER 3 brings Gen. Inigo and Jocelyn, who is an old acquaintance of the Randolphs, to their retired homestead, and Beatrix is en? gaged at a large salary to impersonate Ma? rana, using the Russian's name. IM 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 ?ll concerned, arranges temporary quarters for Beatrix in New York and secures a chaperon for her, inadvertently showing him? self to be a man of shady antecedents, living by his wits. CHAPTER 6 brings the heroine, in the assumed chu*acter of Marana, before New Tory society. She meets Geoffrey Belling? ham at a dinner given in ber honor by a rich patron of the muses. IN CHAPTER 7 the new diva finds herself among friends, enemies and lovers, and sufferers annoyances common to novices a::d -peculiar to the operatic stage. Jocelyn and Inigo quarrel and the former is accused of having a mercenary interest in Beatrix. IN CHAPTER 8 the new Marana appears io her first performance and is "crowned queen of New York for the sake of two or three hours* sweet singing." In the midst of the triumphs her thoughts are on Bellingham, with whom she shares her happiness. On ber part, however, this happiness is not without alloy beal use of the deception she is practicing before him. Ber father now arrives in New York. IN CHAPTER 9 Geoffrey Bellingham meets Mr. Randolph in asocial way and has some suspicions aroused. He afterward witnesses familiarities between father and daughter, which, of course, he cannot understand, and seeks explanation from the diva. These she declines to make. Afterward Bellingham sees Beatrix embrace ber father as she leaves ber carriage at the stage door. CHAPTER 10-Orerborne with chagrin and jealousy Bellingham sails for Europe, where be meets Edward Randolph, the spendthrift brother of Beatrix and author of her father's financial distiess, escorting the real Marana on atonrof pastime. The news from America has stirred the wrath of the pleasure loving pair, and young Randolph denounces Inipo and his spurious Marana, threatening exposare and prosecution. Bellingham advises bim to return to New York and look after his father, taking Marana with him. CHAPTER ll-Jocelyn, finding his rival, Bellingham, out of the way becomes bold and forces bis attentions upon Beatrix .In the end she dismisses bim from ber presence. CHAPTER 12 brings Bellingham back to New York, and also brings yoting Randolph and the real Marana. Bellingham n e ts father and son together, and has reason to suspect the identity of Inigo's diva. IN CHAPTER 13 Marana asserts ber love for Edward Randolph and ber power over him. .?nd declares her purpose to force reparation f om Beatriz. CHAPTER XIV. HOW THEY WERE LOST ZN THE STORM. "So yon hwve returned. Mr. Bellingham?" From the Albemarle to Wallie's house was not a long distance, but it bad be? gan to snow, and the keen northerly wind drove the flakes straight into the faces of the pedestrians and afforded Wallie a good excuse for keeping his month shnt, or opening it only for mono? syllabic answers to the questions which Ed from time to time addressed to him. With all his pains he had undoubtedly bungled the interview with the Russian star-just at the juncture, too, when he was beginning to entertain the best hopes of success. How swiftly and ef? fectively she had turned the tables upon bimi What terrible versatility and self command she had! With v. hat a wicked roguishness had she fired that parting taunt at him about his motive in es? pousing her rival's cause! "At any rate ! Fm glad I let her have the last word!" I said Wallie to himself; but that was somewhat cold comf or . He left Ed in the drawing room and went to find Mrs. Cadwalader and Beatrix. He sent the latter to her brother and remained in conference with the former. Beatrix came softly into the drawing room and saw Edward standing near the farther end of it with his back toward her. She paused, and remained motion? less, gazing at him. Her heart went out toward him, and yet she shrank from him. She wished to be in full sympathy with him, but Marana seemed to stand I between them. For when she had I learned from Geoffrey's letter to Wallie that Marana was Ed's companion she had been forced to the conclusion that the relation between them must be an unlawful one, and the circumstance that Marana, rather than any either woman, should be the person holding this posi? tion had affected ber with a pecnliar horror. There seemed to be something wantonly repugnant in it. She might have prevented herself from definitely realizing the fact had a stranger to her? self been involved; but Marana!-site had li.ved under her name and occupied her place so long as to make her feel th,?.t she was in some way personally mixed up in the catastrophe. In a few moments Ed turned round and saw bis sister. The personal magnetism of eye to eye with those who are really dear to each other overcomes, for the time being, all scruples and recoilings. When, there? fore, ber brother gave a glad start, and stepped toward Beatrix with an inarticu? late exclamation of affection, she forgot everything except that he was her brother, with whom she had spent her childhood, who had cut his initials on the banister of the old staircase, whose white roses she had worn on her bosom until within the last few montlts, by ' whose side she had ridden, and in wh company she had ransacked the woe she found herself with her anns rot his neck, kissing him, smiling with \ cheeks, and murmuring: "Dear Edi de darling boy! Oh, I am so glad to hi yon againr' "'How well you are looking, sis!" said at length, taking her by the elbo and looking at her. She was, inde beautifully dressed, and her face \ rosy with the emotion of the mome and, passion aside, he cared more for 1 than for any one else, but he had i th? eyes to discern the traces of fatig and anxiety on her face; it takes a loi to do that. When a man looks at his ? tex he thinks of the ^ast; when he loc at his mistress he thinks of the prest and the future. "Why, but you're a great swell nc arcot youT Ed continued laughing His temperament varied quickly, a without any moral reason, between < tremes of depression and joviality, had no idea my little sis was going come out on the top of the heap this wi I always said nobody could boat y singing, though, and nobody can, thou Vera is perfect in her way, too." "Vera?** she repeated, glancing quickly. "That's her name-Ve?a Marana. A my dear, I've got a heap to tell you abo her! By the way," he said, laughir "people here, I suppose, think you kne more about Marana than any one eh Well, you do look a little like her that's whas first made me look at h( But I want you to know her; Tm certa you'd take to each other. She's the des est woman in the world, and as gen? ons and good as she is lovely." "Good?' repeated Beatrix, whose fa during this speech had run through gamut of expressions and now rested bewilderment "Good! I should think so. Do y( imagine Td want you to know her if si wasn't everything a lady should be, ai * great deal more? You ought to hai heard the way I sailed into poor old da just now for calling her names. I gue he wont do it again!" Beatrix clapped her hands together u; der her chin with a cry of almost hy tericjoy, and instantly embraced h< brother again with all the adde ardor that can be given to affection t remorse. She had wickedly wronge him by allowing herself to imagine, eve for a moment, that he or anybody coi nee ted with him could ever be anythin but patterns of honesty and virtue. Fe fear of making bad worse she forboj to explain to him the cause of her sue den demonstrativeness; he should t made conscious of her repentance oui by the tenderness and observance whic she would lavish upon him. The thougl came into her mind also that, by he love for her brother, she could in som degree compensate herself for the loss c her other love-for she told herself tha it was lost, and had been repeating th statement with tenfold diligence eve since learning ' that Geoffrey had re turned to New York. Ed, who was never particularly ol servant of the feelings of others, excep when his own feelings were bound up ii them, passed over all this little tumul of emotion without any suspicions, and in response to his sister's eagerly ea pressed interest in the subject, talke< about himself and his affairs to tb heart's content of both speaker and He tener. Ee no longer felt the hnmiliatioi and helplessness of his position so keenl; as an hour ago. The companionship o this sister, whom he had so recklessly impoverished, and to whose energy ant gen ius he was under such weighly obli Rations, insensibly began to put him ii better humor with himself and his pros pects. It is not difficult to take a reas sirring view of our conduct when on: natural bias thereto is stimulated by th? sympathy of one who emphasizes th< significance of all the favorable features and brushes out of sight all" the ungainly ones. Eil gave his sister a picturesque ane stirring account of liss first meeting witt Marana, their mutual captivation, whal she had said, what ho had answered, what she had answered, and what he had said. He made it appear plainly that his spending a. hundred thousand dollars was a proceeding rather meritori? ous and self-sacrificing than otherwise, inasmuch as it would have been un? worthy a Randolph not to make a splen? did appearance in the eyes of the woman he loved, and amidst such rivals as those with, whom he had to contend: and. moreover (as lie truly observed), he him? self was the worst off of any of the fam? ily when the money was gone. "And of course,'' he addend, "I had no idea at what a rate I was going it: 1 declare, sis, I never was more floored than when dad wrote me that we were 'ruined by my criminal extravagance,' as he put it. Besides, we shouldn't have been ruined at all if he hadn't gone blundering down into Wall street. That's the way the money went, after all, and I can't help suspecting the ?ld gentleman is as much to blame as I am." "Well, dear, that's all right now; and I'm glad the money was gone, since it gave mea chance to help. But, Ob, Eid! do you think Mlle. Marana minds much? She can't think worse of me for doing it -in that way, I mean-than 1 do of my? self; but what should we have done, you see, if I hadn't done it?" "I elon't blame yon a bit. sie-remem? ber that!" her brother replied. "I'm proud of you; there's not another girl in the country who could succeed as you have. And it's a great deal pleasanter for me to come home and find the bills paid than if i'd found you ail Jiving in the poorhouse-which was what I ex? pected. All I'm sony for is-however," he broke off magnanimously, "that cxtn't be helped, it's only my luck!" "Dearest boy! do tell me everything!" Ed heaved a sigh. The sense of his misfortunes, dispelled for a time by the auimation of his self vindication and anecdotes, now returned upon him. "i'm the most unlucky devil alive, and there's no use tallang about it." ho declared despairingly. "Oh, Ed! if you can be married what greater happiness could there be?" said his sister, with a suppressed sigh for her own unimportant misery. "Exactly! but we can't." "Oh, you can! Who says not? Don't ever let anything prevent yon!" Beatrix exclaimed with great energy. There is sometimes a bitter consolation in urging upon others conduct which we would fain embrace ourselves. "If vor. love a person everything is right and wis?, ex? cept to let yourself be parted from them. But that is almost wicked!" "What must be must!" responded Ed in a still more hopeless tone, but not without a secret hope that some method might be devised to escape the inevitable. Beatrix paused, thinking intently, and with increasing agitation. "1 behove I know what you moan." ; she said at last, with a deep undertone ! of sad affection in her voice. "You think you ought not to marry her because I ? am your sister-that is, because I have wronged ber. Oil, Ed, that is it! Y can't deny it, dear. Yon would sacrif all your happiness <*o as not to seem take her part against me. I might ha known that it could be nothing less i ble than that; but it shall not be-y must not dream of it! When she kno' how sorry I am-and she shall know everybody shall know it! Til tell y how it shall be," she continued, sprir ing up from the sofa on which they wc sitting together, and pacing up a: down, passing the fingers of one hand intervals over her forehead and hair. . length she stopped in front of him. "To-morrow evening is my last p< formance," she said. "After it is ove: will ask Gen. Inigo to tell the andiene or perhaps it would be better if I we out and told them myself, all the whe story, how I came to take her place, ai who I really am, and all! After that s w?l forgive me; m make her rorgi me for your sake; and then. Ed, deai she concluded with a misty smile and tremor of the lip, "you need not afraid to make her my sister!" "Ifs splendid of you to think of su< a thing, dear little sis!1' exclaimed h brother, drawing her down to bim ai kissing her. "But it would never do go to work in that way; in the first pla it might knock all your popularity on tl head. The public doesn't understai generous and elevated conduct as I do "No matter if they don't understai it. I have already made up my mind one thing, I shall never sing on the sta* after to-morrow." "What a notion! See if you don't." "No, indeed. I had decided on th before-before I knew anything aboi your affairs, you dear boy! The deb are paid, and papa and I can live in tl old house again, and that is all I evi meant to do. Being on the stage is n< pleasant in some ways, and besides well, at any rate Tm determined, ar when I am determined I never chang and I will tell the audience so to-morro night" "No, no! I tell you," cried Ed, becorj ing lively again, "if singing won't c for you on the stage speechifying's OT of the question. You'd be like the* women's rights geese. There's no nece sity for it, either. If Vera knew ths you wouldn't feel hurt at my marryirj her I dare say she'd como round a right. The only difficulty then won] be that I should seem to be, in a certai way, dependent on her. But I have bee thinking the last few days that Fd g into some profession-engineering, c architecture, or something of that kind and then I guess i could be makin money enough in a year or two to tai the edge off the thing. I'm not a foo. sis, though maybe I have acted rathe like one." "You are the dearest and best brothe in the world," said Beatrix, with th gentleness of profound conviction; an on the heels of this moderate statemon Wallie Di lismore came into the roor and invited IM ward to sit down to cold lunch with him. "The ladies woul not wait for us," ho observed, "and i would be foolhardy for us to wait fo dinner. Of course Miss Randolph an Mrs. Dinsmore^ will pour out our bee for us." Edward assented; but Beatrix, after moment's hesitation, excused herself oi some feminine plea, and, refusing an; escort or offer of a carriage, set out o foot toward ber home, as sho had accus tonied herself to call it The evenini was now at hand, though it lacke< something of 4 o'clock. The sidewalk were covered with a drifting layer o white. and the flakes still swirled an< dangled downward from the obscur* blanlcoess overhead. As Beatrix, walk ing briskly, approached Madison sq uar the frigid glare of the electric lamp from the summit of its immense mast marked itself out on the storm like : gigantic tent of light.. Warmly wrapped in her fur line< cloak Beatrix did not mind the snov and wind: they gave her a kind of pleas ure; she felt strengthened and heart ened by tue robust pungency of the at mcsphere. It reminded her of her win ters in the old place far np the Hudsoi -the days of frozen forests and gigantic snowballs, and the long icicles hanging from the eaves on the southwest corner. Well, her work was all but done, and she might begin that life again as seor as she pleased. But could that life evei begin again for her? After all the events and experiences of this sei ison could she, in a moment, become Beatrix Randolph once more? Elad not the name of Ma? rana carried some spell with it, whose effects would never leave her? As she speculated thus, and her heart began tc sink again, she turned the corner o? Fifth avenue and came into collision with a gentleman who was proceeding swiftly in the opposite direction. Her head was bent, her veil was over her eyes, the air was full of snow and the confusing dazzle of street lights; it was impossible that she should know who this man was, and yet she did know at once, and she even fancied that she had anticipated the meeting a moment before it occurred. And, first, a great wave of joy seemed to swell and mur? mur in her heart, and then she called to mind all manner of unwelcome and crippling considerations, and drew her? self together in a defensive attitude. Physically she stopped, breathing quick? ly, and removing one hand from her muff to keep down her veil. She thought he would perhaps not recognize her. But a man can recognize the woman he loves by a glimpse of the movement of her shoulder far oft in a crowTd-nay, by the toss of the feather in her hat The magic of love consists mainly in its stimulating us to use our senses; and then we are surprised to dis? cover what a marvelous capacity and keenness those senses have. The heaven? ly intelligence of angels can only be the result of the depth and ardor of their power to love. "Mademoiselle"-he began, and stop? ped, for he had never called her by her real name, and though he knew now what it was it had no personal associa? tion with her in his mind. "I was go? ing to find you," he continued. "I was not lost So you havo returned. Mr. Bellingham?" "I must speak to you, Miss Ran? dolph!" "Is it necessary on this corner? A singer must be careful of her throat, you know." "Take my arm. Til get a hack for you." "Thank you: I am doin.^ very well." She walked on and ho walked beside her. The facilities for conversation were certainly not good, even had the readings been there. Ile was six or seven inches taller than she, and he was obliged to sloop and speak loud in order to insure her hearing him, while he was in danger of missing or misinterpreting the raufHed murmur of her replies. But there v>\: ; i:i Allingham a great deal of constancy and concentration of purpose. "I don't expect you to forgive me," he said. "Only understand that I can never forgive myself. Saeh a blunder should have been impossible to a man j who felt toward you as* 1 did- If I bad | been worth your caring for I should not have made it" "It was natural; you could ?ot have done anything else; I da not blame you," said Beatrix through her veil. Geoffrey did not wholly catch her words; he understood her to say that such a mistake wa? only to be expected of him, and his face fell. She perceived the change in him, and faltered out, "I mean that I do forgive you!" But a Fifth avenue stage, rattling by just then, drowned this sentence altogether. "I don't mean to persecute you," he remarked, speaking in a monotonous tone, as they walked onward side by side. "I didn't return from Europe for that; I I merely wanted you to know. I used to think that, whatever happened, I could ! always think and act like a man who ' believed in goodness and-purity. But t failed at the important moment, and you may be right-it was only naturaLin aie. For a long time-many years-be? fore I met you I had nothing to do with women, and thought as little as possible ibout them. You seemed to me, when I first saw you, everything that I most canted, and, at the same time, every ;hing that I most disliked. It was the ?xmtradiction between what I felt you were and what I thought you were. That began with our first evening and went on exaggerating itself until the end That's mystery, Miss Randolph. After all it's only a longway of saying, 'I made a mistake and beg your pardon.' " Beatrix heard all this, and the more she heard the more tormented she felt and the faster she tried to walk; but the sidewalks were slippery, and at last in crossing the street her foot slipped, and she would have fallen if Geoffrey had not caught her arm. She stopped, press? ing her hands, which were clasped in? side her muff, against her heart, and glancing this way and that, like a bird that knows not which way to fly. She was in just such a half frantic, half hopeless mood as often prompts women to acts which appear-and perhaps really are-insane. She knew that on the pass? ing moment depended probably the fail? ure or success, the happiness or misery, of her whole future life. She knew that everything was going topsy-turvy, ab? surdly and gratuitously wrong. And she felt paralyzed-wholly unable to ut? ter a word to set everything right A word would have done it What pre? vented her? Ir part, perhaps, the very urgency of her desire, which tripped up its performance. But what appeared to be the real ob? stacles were utterly trivial material acci? dents, such as being in the open street being buffeted by the wind, being ob? structed by her veil, being unable to see the expression of Bellingham's face, be? cause it was in shadow. The more des? picably small the hindrances were, and the more out of proportion with the thing they were hindering, the less could Beatrix prevail against them. So it often seems to be in this world; it is not only that the mountaiu in labor brings forth a mouse, but that a mouse prevents the bringing forth of a mount? ain. Bellingham also was wretchedly aware that he had ruined whatever little chanct he may have had; that he had spoken boldly and perfunctorily, with a frozen tongue, although his heart was on fire. He could not help it; he could have died for her on the spot, but he could not put into his voice or face as much life as would have kept a gnat in motion. It was all over. "Will you stop this stage for me, please?* Beatrix had said as another of those gorgeous vehicles came swinging and lumbering along. "With pleasure!" Bellingham replied, not ironically, but mechanically. The stage pulled up; he handed all he loved in the world up the step; he s\w her fall into a seat, and then, with a jerk and a hoof clatter, stage and all disappeared in the gloom and snow. Bellingham re? mained for a few moments in the middle of the road like a policeman till, recol? lecting himself, he saw before him the hospitable entrance of Delmonico's, and went in there. CHAPTER XV. TILE GREAT MARACA. The nert night was the last of the opera season, and the prima donna who had attained such unexampled popular? ity with the New York public was to bid them farewell in the same charac? ter in which she had made their ac? quaintance-the Gretchen of "Faust." She had intended to spend the day as mnch as possible in solitude; she wished to tliink-to work into her mind, and ar? range the throng of ideas that were crowding one another there; to review what was past, to contemplate what might be to come. But it all turned out differently. She was allowed no re? pose from morning ti?l night. There was a multitude cf petty mat? ters to attend to, many people to see: at another time much of this might have seemed to her of no little impor? tance; but now all passed before her like a troublesome dream, and when night came she could not have given a clear account of anything that had happened There had been an unexpected and pain? ful scene with Madame Bemax, who had fallen into a sort of frenzy, and grasped the skirts of Beatrix's dress, and poured forth a long and revolting story about the wrongs site had endured from Hamil? ton Jocelyn; had ended by calling her? self a wretch, and declaring that unless Beatrix pardoned her she would kill her? self. Beatrix pardoned her immediately, with only a confused understanding of wlxat she was pardoning her for; but she could see that the woman was in great distress of mind, and that was some? thing she could sympathize with. She had seen Ed and her father and Wallie Dinsmore; there had been a great deal of discussion and some disputing, end? ing apparently in a sort of conditional reconciliation; but she had been unable to keep her attention fixed on the sub? ject long enough at a timo to compre? hend the bearings of it. She had also seen Inigo, who was in an agitated frame of mind, jumping up from his chair and j sitting down again twenty times, asking questions which he tried to answer him- ? self, talking abont his reputation, about I his fidelity to his contracts, about his j financial liberality and about Mlle. Ma-1 rana, whom he alternately abused and ? praised, and between whom and Beatrix j he seemed anxious to bring about an in- j tervtew. Beatrix was willing, even ! desirous, that the interview should take place: but nothing of the sort happened, | and the inference was that Mlle. Marana i must have declined. Altogether thc evening fell ominously. But as Beatrix drove to the theatre in a covered sleigh a kind of calmness, almost happiness, came over her. These regular meetings with her audiences had grown to t>e an indescribable resource and sup? port to her. k They enabled her to throw aside herself and her affairs; to appeal from the narrow and interested circle of ^^^^^ Simply catvght Beatrix tn his arms c Wssed her. her private friends and enemies to 1 vast, impersonal, careless, good humo: world of the public, who loved and ; piauded her artistic self, and knew s cared nothing about her real thong and existence. How would it be wi this resource no longer remained to h She put that question aside, and the p ter at the stage entrance, who attacl great importance to tho smile of gre ing he received each evening from 1 diva, reported on this occasion that 1 dear lady had seemed to be in especia good spirits. Moreover she had slipp into his hand a snuff box (he was a ED overian and took snuff) containing, i snuff, but a $50 bank note. A few hours before the theatre open Wallie Dinsmoro had met Geoffrey B lingham in that general rendezvous American celebrities the corridor of 1 Fifth Avenue hotel. "I've been looking for you for the h twenty-four hours," he said, "but this the last place I expected to see yon in. "Maybe that's why Tm here," respoi ed Geoffrey laconically. "I wanted you to dine with me yest day." "I went to Delmonico1 s." "Europe has demoralized you." "Perhaps. I saw Hamilton Jocel there, and Inigo. That fellow's a scon drei." "Inigo?* "Jocelyn. Do you know what he h been d?mg? They had both of thc been drinking and it leaked out. 1 has been defrauding Miss Randolph ol part of her salary-about twenty-five thirty thousand dollars." "Then the agreement was for to thousand?" "Inigo paid that to Jocelyn for he Jocelyn kept "back part. It seemc have been a sort of arrangement betwe? Jocelyn and Inigo-I imagine Inigo i lowed it to keep Jocelyn quiet. It was rascally transaction, as I told them: tl fellow ought to be locked up. He's n to be found today, and I expect he cleared out" "Very likely. That Mme. Bera: seems to have had something again him, too. But if this new Marana ci only bc pacified I shall be content to 1 the rest go. Of course you will be i the opera to-night?" "No." "That's absurd! You must come." "No; why should I? You have chose to suppose that there was something b tween Miss Randolph and me. I nev< cared to undeceive you-it would ha\ been giving the affair too much impo tance. But, whatever there might hav been, there is certainly nothing no* nor ever will be." "If I was deceived then I don't se why you refuse to come to-night" "I simply dont care to," said Belling ham abruptly. Wallie looked at him, and decided tba the wisest course would be not to pres bim any further. They parted, and Bei lingham went to his rooms, lit a lamj and sat himself down to read. Bo when the hour for tile performanoe ap preached he closed the book, dressa himself, and drove to tho theatre. H could not resist this impulse. When h arrived the overture was just conclue1 ing. "I shall not be able to get a place, he said to himself; "it is just cs well. But when he presented himself at th ticket office tho clerk, who recognize* him, remarked with a smile, "Just on seat vacant, Mr. Bellingham, and tha is the ono you used to occupy tho firs of tho season: will you havo it?" I seemed like manifest destiny. "Al right," said Bellingham. He took th? ticket, entered the house, and sat down As he did so the curtain rose. The interval between this night an. the one on which he had last been her enabled him to draw a comparison be tween the Gretchen of the debut an< this of the farewell. There was a senti mental feeling perceptible among th< audience. The American people are fonc of sentiment, when managed dramati cally: and this, no doubt, had its effect on the singer, and warmed and sweet ened the music of lier voice. But, sucl accidents aside, it was evident thai she had improved, though precisely ir what respect Bellingham would havi found it difficult to say. Her mannei was less exuberant, more conciso and true. She had learned her power anc her resources, and used them with full confidence and art In her singing, moreover, could bo dis cerned not tho music merely, but thc human character which the poet por? trayed. When she was on tho stage it was difficult to realize the separate ex? istence of anything else: wherever she stood she was the center and rea-son o? the scene. Every gesture and move? ment was an enlightenment and a grati ficatiou. She was always where she be? longed. Each thing she did 60 nicely fitted the occasion that the spectator fancied he hail known l>eforehand that it would so be done. "This is what she was born for," said Bellingham to him? self with gloom}' frankness. "I should only have l>een in the way. Fm glad 1 came here, if only to have made sure o? that. Such a woman should no more be monopolized and caged in domesticity tlian a waterfall ora strain cf mnsic. The mischief cf it is that I did not recog? nize the fact before." As h<: sat absorbcrl in her. and happy in spite of his unhappiness, he noticed that she carried in her girdle a bunch o? marguerites. The discovery gave him a gradual start, so to say; he lx>came only slowly aware how much it surprised and affected him. He had always provided her with a bunch of them, whenever she sang in "Faust," from the first day on? ward: often not without difficulty, for daisies do not grow in northern meadows all the year round. Had she, during his absence, been procuring them for her? self, or was this the first occasion of hei wearing them since he went away? The former was much the more liie?y. i tresses become accustomed to little p ticnlars of the toilet, and are not at cs : without them. Nevertheless- Bellh ham could not banish the notion ti the latter alternative might be the ti one. Did he believe it because wished it? Why should ho wisb it? was useless to torment himself with su questions. In matters appertaining to Miss R: dolph he seemed to be swayed by an fluence, a fate, an attraction, almost dependent of his own will and rease What coull be more unreasonable th to suppose that this bunch of margo eri was a secret signal to him to come her, to speck with her, to be once m< all that he bad been to her-and mo Had not that interview tn last evcnin, snow storm put an end to all such i tidpat?ons? But, again, was this t same woman who had vanished frc bim in the lyra on that occasion? Wi so much difference in her SUTTOUT ings was there none in her? Well, g had betrayed no consciousness of 1 presence to-night. They had exchung no glance, as sometimes ia the forre days. After it was said and done, ho ever, Bellingham knew that he shoe find himself behind the scenes, face face with her, before the night w over. Inigo, by what he considered a bc stroke of statesmanship, had placet: o of the stage hoses at the disposal Mlle. Marana, known as Mrs. Pete "If she means to make a row," he ; gued, "treating her gentlemanly wo: make it worse, and it may just tone h down a little." But, whatever the la may have thought of the cexnplimei she omitted to avail herself of the bc When the curtain rose she had not i rived, and the box remained evnpty J the evening. This was of evil omen the peace and friendly feeling whi< Gen. Inigo was so solicitous to insm He resorted frequently to the bi though with no good effect on his at iety. "Now, what the blazes can she be ??, ctif he frequently asked himself au the elder Randolph, as the hours pass away. He seemed to think she w quite capable of coming into thc hon with a Nihilist bomb, by way of e pressing her dissatisfaction. As for 1 he knew as little about her as any o else, though he had learned, before coi ing down to the theatre, that she w not in hex rooms at the hotel She hi gone out, h had not left word whe she was g. Tb/* ?nee seemed determined < this night to surpass all previous demo strattons of enthusiasm. A cynic mig have said that they had set their hear on reading in the next morning's pape that the applause and floral tribut which greeted the great singer on tl eve of her departure from our shor were such as to outdo anything hither experienced. The popular favorite w; summoned innumerable times before tl curtain, and at the conclusion of tl performance- But before the conch sion of the performance some events ha pened which did not appear in the p; pera, but which it will be necessary 1 relate. As the curtain descended upon the la: act but ono Gen. Inigo, who was in tb side scenes, received a card,, whic seemed to have upon him an effect as e a strong charge of electricity. He ra precipitately to the private door con municating between the house and ti stage, whew a lady was standing mux muffled ur* She-wore a black dress ar cloak, and her head and shoulders we: enveloped ia a white lace shawL SI let this fall open as Inigo approacher and disclosed the features of Vera Mi rana. Sho laughed good naturedly, an gave him her hand, which he covere with kisses, while his eyes devoured h< with astonishment and interrogation. "Well, M. Moses," said she, "wh: are you so affectionate for? Have ye pardoned me?" "Pardoned! Ah! diva! By J upi te Did you just come?" "I was here from the first, but not i the box-no; one cannot hear there, was away among tho common ones, was necessary I should know what sh could do-this young lady-this othe self! Well, moa ami, you may compo? yourself. I have heard hex, r /I wis to eeo her-speak to her. Conduct m where she i&and then leave us. Is on one with her?" ~On!y her brother. Shall V "Bien, bien! Lead on. mon vieux, am in a hurry." When he had brought her to the doc of Beatrix's room sho made him depar and then knocked at the door. It wa opened by Ed. She made him a gestui at once of greeting anti of silence, an advanced into the room, which wa filled xvith flowers. Beatrix was reclit ing on her sofa with a sad and abstracto expression: but aa she raised her eye and met those of her visitor she sa erect, and tho next moment rose to he feet "You are-Marana!" she said ii an inward tone. The two women gaze* intently at each other, and there was si lenee for several seconds. At hist th visitor said: "I bad thought I was Ma rana until now. But now, mademoiselle the name is yours by tho right that yoi have made it more honorable." "Oh, no-no!" the other murmured "Yes, yes, yes!" said Marana, with i smile, which, however, was quickly los' in the gravity of her reigning expr?s sion. "You have surprised me," sh? continued, after a pause; "I did no: mean to forgive you! I wa* angry. Bu: your voice has called my heart out o: my bosom. There is no one whe cai sing like you-no one-not even I!" The tone in which these words were uttered-dignified, but profoundly pa thetic, as of a great queen discrowning herself-touched Beatrix to the soul anc her eyes filled with tears. She shook her head, but sho could not speak. Af tei all there was a ravishing sweetness in this praise, coming from thc ono source in the world which there could be ne gainsaying. "You two ought to pull in a team,* put in Ed. "No theatre standing would hold tho audiences that would come tc hear you sing together!" Marana mado a gesture of negation with her head. "There shall never be but ono Marana," she said proudly, "and she shall be the greatest singer in tue world! Behold her!" she added, with a movoTUent of her eyes toward Beatrix "As for mo, I sing no more! I have been your audience, mademoiselle: 1 will never again have an audience of my own !" "Do not say it-you break my heart!*" cried Beatrix; and she glided forward, and took the Russian impetuously in her arms. "Teil her, Ed," she said, half tm-ning to appeal to him, but not letting Marana go. "It is I who shall sing no more; I did it only to help my father and i him. This is the last night. If you care for him do not punish his sister. Be j yourself again, and be my sister, too!** I Marana drew her head back, and i gazed for a moment into the other's eyes. Then she kissed her gravely on oem cneeKS, ana d?sengagea nersen. "You believe, then, that I really love your brother?" she said "Yes, indeed! How could you. help it?* exclaimed Beatrix warmly. "And you,, monsieur, what have yon to sayT continued the other, letting her eyes-rest upon- him with, a certain, veiled; intensity,, the lids- half drooped. "Are you also of ?pinion; that you ase-sot in? different tome?" .*it would take a cleverer Baas than 1 am to see through you. Vera," returned the young, gentleman naively; "but i don't believe that I could be loving yon so much- as I do if you? didn't love nw back." "But woald yoe marry me; even?* ""Ed's face flushed and his eyes sparte led. "Haven't ? shown that I wouldT be demanded between hi? teeth. ..Don't make game of me, Vera, unless yomnean to be kind afterward!" She stood looking at Mm, her bead; ? Bttle bent to the left, her s?ms hanging down on both sides of her graceful fig? ure. "I mean to be kind to you, my dear," she said finally in a low tone', "more kind than you would think if yon knew what I have sometimes- been in my life," "Ed, I sm so glady" whispered Bea? trix to him in the little pause that fol? lowed, but the whisper was tremulous*, for a sense of her own forloraess must needs insinuate itself. "You wont for? get me. will you?-because I love you* too." she added. But Ed, who was familiar with the- ex? pressions on Marena's face, wore aa anxious contraction on his forehead: he drew in his- lips- and held his breath. "I had given up expecting love when I met you," she continued, her bosom visibly rising and falling. "I am net going to spoil itr now that it has come For that, also, ye may parlor thank your sister. She . made me feel that it is good to be generous. You have never known me. I showed you only the liest; it was true, but it was not ali If I were your wife you would have ta know all. I should not mind for myself, but I should not like you to learn that love is less lovely than it seems now-at feast not from me. Yesterday you might have married me, but today-no! My memory will be pleasanter te you than I should be after a while. Vy*e will say gOLd-by." She put out her -left hand to? ward him and smiled "Good-by!" He covered his eyes with the back of his. hand "I cant bear itr he said in a broken voice. Marena's inscrutable face quivered for a moment; she seemed to waver: she swayed slightly toward him as she stood: her bp? parted an? her eyes shone. Bot then, with a deep breath, she regainet her self command She looked at Be? atrix, as much as to say, "You must comfort him." Then she turned, with a sweep of her black dress, mp ved to the door and opened ii Bellingham and Wallie Dinsmore were jost approaching. "You are late, messieurs," exclaimed Marana in a gay tone. "I have been of? fering my homager* Wallie looked from one to the other of the three, quietly observant. Ed, with his face averted, was putting on his over? coat and hat; he then palled the brim of the latter ever his eyes and went hastily out, looking neither to the right nor left. Beatrix, with one hand resting on the marble dressing table, and her eyes wide open, stood in a sort of trance. She had not yet seen Bellingham. Walhe offered Marana his arm. "Since you are going, diva," he said, ^permit me to escort you. You misun? derstood me yesterday morning. What? ever homage I have to offer shall be paid to yon." Belli ugbam, thus abandoned to his own guidance, strode up to Beatrix, who uttered a cry: it seemed to her as if he Lad suddenly started up out of the floor. It had been his purpose to make a final appeal to her, and no doubt his words would have been eloquent and moving, and possibly they might have gained him his objeet, though he would have had to contend against the incompre? hensible dou??s. hesitations, perversity and pride of a woman who loves, anti knows that she is loved, and yet draws back for the sake of something-heaven knows what But, as it happened, not A syllable of Belhngham's appeal was ever uttered, for before be could open bb Hps to begin thc bell rang which con? veyed the order for the curtain to- riseon the last act So ho, perceiving that these was no time to lose, simply caught Bea? trix in his arms, met her eyes for ?an instant and kissed her. After that it was too late for her to draw back, even had she wished to. She went to tako her part on the stage, but she left a marguerite in Bellingham*s hand. Scch is the private history of that memorable last night, tho other details of which have been sufficiently described in the journals of the period. Mrs. Pe? ters is understood to have sailed for Europe a day or two later. Jocelyn dis? appeared, leaving unsavory traces be? hind him. Mr. Randolph, senior, re? turned to his place up the Hudson,where he is occasionally visited by his married daughter. El entered the office of the latter's husband in the capacity of clerk, and is doing well. As for Mlle Marana, the famous prima donna, she has van? ished as utterly as if she had never hod any existence There are two or three persons in New York who are believed to know some? thing about her: there are perhaps a dozen who know enough to look wise when the matter is broached in their presence: there are a hundred or two who have heard a report to the effect that there were some facts connected with her engagement in this city which have never been fully explained. Imt the great mass of the public have never been at the pains to entertain any misgivings on the subject. They content them? selves with looking forward to the time when that most faithful and enter? prising of impresarios Gen. Inigo shall once more bring out at his new opera house the great Marana. TUE END. A Little Girl'? Kxr?*>ri#nce In A Ugh** hons?. Mr an? Mr?. Loren Prescott are keefer? of the <J?v Ligl thous - Ht S.nd B"-ach, Mich., and are blessed weh a daughter, lour year? old. inet April she w-nj t?ken down wi'h Measle*, tolIowe.il with a dreadful C<?u?rh and tnminjf into a Fever. Doctors af home and at Detrrrt treated ht-r. but in vain. i>h<- grew wor.?e rr.pid lr. until she w::? a m??re "hamifttl of hone**-> Then ?he tried Dr King's New Discovery and a'ter the u*c of two and a ?? If bottle*, was comple'el? cured. They *ny Dr. Kine** Ne* Discovery i^ worth ifs weight in cold, yet yo* tn? y pet n tri-il battle frre at J. F. W. I>? LoruicV Drugstore. . - . - ii? DR. A CK KR'S KNGLISH PILLS Ar? active. 'ffo-foe an?! pore. F<T rick hea-lache. disordered .st.-mnch. b** ?'f Appetit?-, b d complexion and Mlkwncw. they have never been cq?r?b-d.either in America or abroad. .Sold by Dr J. F. W. Del.orme. 2 DO NOT >UFKKK" ANY LONGKR. Knowing that a C?iH?h can hm choked in a dar. and the fir.": >;a?re:< af coii*ua*p:i??n l?r<?k-n ii? a w?-ek. we h?T?????y cuawn'eei Dr. Ac*?-r*? English ?ViU?h Remedy, and wi?i rrfiind ?he money to wh<> any. take ii per direction-*, and do nut bud our ?tatem?ut coirect. I