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She had had no lack of suitors, for she had inherited from her mother an im mense fortune, and was beautiful, wit ty, accomplished, a reigning belle, and a leader in society. Her friends were puzzled at her adherence to celibacy, aud no one was more puzzled than her father, whose greatest desire was to see her happily married. It was an uu solvable problem to the Earl, that his daughter should persist in refusing the most eligible offers, and she was looked upon, even by her admirers, as a beautiful mystery, a delightful puz zle, a marble-hearted and incompre hensible Sphynx. One March evening, in the drawing room of his town-house, Lord Hamp ton s;it thinking of his daughter. The night was wild and stormy. The pleasant room presented a strong con trast to the gloom without. A sea coal fire flamed in the polished grate. The great chandelier flooded the room with light. Flowers, fresh from the green-house, with moisture yet upon their petals, were crowded with pro fusion into vases, whose delicate sculp ture would have tired an artist's heart. The heavy, warm-hued curtains fell in folds to the floor, shutting out the darkness, and shutting in the light and warmth and fragrance. The Earl was tall and stately, with becoming portliness of figure, and eyes as keen as in his early youth, a com plexion of unusual ruddiness, hair and whiskers of iron-gray, and manly fea tures, whose expression inclined to sternness. He had almost reached threescore years and ten. but he exhibi ted none of the feebleness of age. His mind retained its vigor, and his man ners were those of the courtly old school gentleman. His thoughts were eveidently anx ious and troubled. He roused himself from them at last, and stretched out his hand towards the bell-pull. At that moment the curtains dividing the apartment from a second draw ing-room were lifted, and the Lady Beatrice entered. "You sent for me, father ?" she in quired, approaching him. "You de sired to see me?" "I did, Beatrice," responded his lordship. "I have something of impor tance to say to you." The Lady Beatrice stood leaning a gainst the marble mantel-piece in an expectant attitude. She was a superbly beautiful wo man. At least four and thirty years of age, she looked scarcely five and twenty. Lord Hampton looked at her with a father's pride, yet with a strange ex pression. This being, so cold to oth ers, was equally cold to him. He won dered if she ever experienced any womanly emotions, and, while he wondered, the Lady Beatrice broke the sileuee : "You have news from your friend Lord Adlowe, have you not ?" she asked. "Yes; his lordship has returned to England," replied the Earl. "I re ceived a line from him this morning, informing me that he arrived in town last evening. I called upon him, and invited him to dine with us to-day. He is all impatience to see you. It is of Lord Adlowe that I am about to speak to you." The Lady Beatrice bowed her head without speaking. Encouraged by her attentiveness, the Earl resumed: "Lord Adlowe comes back to us, af ter his live years' journeying, more than ever your slave. He has been lor eight years your faithful lover. It was you who made him an exile and a wanderer. He has kept himself single, waiting patiently, never reproaching you for your coldness, never forcing his attentions upon you." "Because he never dared to!" inter posed the Lady Beatrice, with an icy smile. "I do not like Ormond Ad lowe, father. He is false and bad at heart, his years of devotion to me not withstanding. He has returned to renew his persecutions of me. He is tired of roving, I suppose, and his cof fers need replenishing. Of all my suitors I like him least. I must repeat what 1 have said so many times to you and to him- I shall never marry." "And why not?" demanded the Earl. "Have you realized that time is slipping away, and that you are ad vancing in years? How long will it be before you will be pushed aside in so ciety by younger rivals. I shall soon die, and you sviil be left alone. I long to see you mistress of your own house hold, a happy wife. Can it he that you are still mourning for that mis guided Geoffrey Travelyan—the un worthy scion of a noble house, the midnight robber of his uncle—" "Stop!" said the Lady Beatrice, a swift flush overspreading her features. "1 do not care to hear Geoffrey Treve iyau's name. They say he is dead." "Yes, he is dead," said the Earl, thoughtfully. "He died many years ago, in a foreign land—poor fellow! After all he was hut a hoy, and his un timely fate always saddens me. He had in him the stuff for a noble man, but was warped by harshness and evil associates. Had Lord Tervelyan, his uncle, whose heir he was, pursued him less vindictively for his crime, Geof frey might have been living, and hon ored to-day. I don't blame you for grieving for him, for you were his be trothed wife. But he was unworthy and is dead. You were but a mere child when he disappeared. Surely you do not cherish a love for his memo ry still." "I am not romantic, father," said the Duly Beatrice, dryly. "You say that all men are not like him, meaning that Lord Adlowe is without Geoffrey's weaknesses and faults. Lord Adlowe is not weak, but his is not the strength 1 iike. The truth is, I cling to my freedom, father. I like to rule in socie ty. I like to be admired and wor shipped, but I have no heart for my admirers to win. 1 have no heart. "Why must you disappoint thehopes I have .so long cherishes!, Beatrice?" questioned her father, bitterly. "Have you no love for me, no respect for my wishes? What would your loved 'so ciety' say if it knew you were a mys tery to your own father? When Lord Adlowe was here live years since, he | told me that you were leading a double ; life. llis words have been conflrmed ; a hundred times since by my own ob | servation. You do lead a double life. You are one thing and seem another." Beatrice started, lowering her gaze to tire tire, as if she feared her soul wight look from her eyes and play the 1 traitor. "I do not understand you !" she murmured. "1 will endeavor to explain," re turned the Earl, gravely. "You are the mistress of my household. You receive our visitors, preside at our balls,aud parties, and fulfill your du ties to society. But day after day, evening after evening, you mysteri ously shut yourself up in your owu apartments, seeing no one, replying to no summons or messages, giving no evidence of life. It is as if your cham bers were your tomb. I have frequent ly knocked at your door without e-licit a response. The last time I was at tacked by the gout, I sent for you, and yet you did not come to me for hours, and did not even send to Inquire aft'-r my welfare. What is the explanation ol this, Beatrice?'' The daughter stood motionless and silent. "I have tried to answer the question for myself," said the Earl, after waiting in vain for a reply. "If it were possi ble for you to leave the house so con tinually without my knowledge, I should believe that half your time was spent away from home. I have re marked that these seclusions do not oeeur at our country-seat. Do you spend these missing hours in opium eater's dreams? I again ask you Bea trice, what is the meaning of these seasons of dumbness and silence ?" The Lady Beatrice lifted her head, turning her face to the light. Her countenance was of marble whiteness, save that in her cheeks burned a scar let glow. Her eyes were iike glowing suns. Her manner betrayed an intense agitation and excitement, showing that her whole nature was in commotion. "I have no explanations to give, father," she said, a tremor of passion underlying her cold tones. "Think what you will—suspect as you may—l have nothing to say. Be lieve anything that may seem proba ble. But do not forget that lam your daughter, as proud as yourself. I know I would rather die than sully the name I bear. Let that suffice!" She stood erect in her imperial beau ty, like one without a trace 01 weak ness in heart or soul. At that moment the curtains were again lifted, and Lord Adlowe entered the apartment. There was a peculiar gleam in his eyes, and a singular smile about his mouth: he had been a listener to most of the conversation between the father and daughter. Lord Adlowe was in the prime of manhood. He was handsome, and years of foreign travel, with strange adventures in far off lands, had con tributed a halo of romance to his char acter. His complexiou had been dark ened by exposure to wind and sua. I lis hair was light, and his eyes were pale, keen, cold, and cruel, and had in them at times a wicked light. He had returned impoverished in purse, hampered by debts, worn out by dissipation, with the fixed resolve of urging to a consummation his claims upon the hand of the Lady Beatrice. At sight of her, so radiant in her l>eauty, his face flushed with eager ness, and he came forward rapidly, ex tending both his hands. Lord Hampton, delighted, sprang up to greet him. The Lady Beatrice permitted her returned suitor to clasp her cold, jew elled hands, greeting him politely, ev en kindly, her manner warming under his manifestations of extreme delight. She welcomed him home, and colored slightly under his gaze of eager admira tion. The Earl, encouraged by her gracious manner, began to hope that his conver sation had had the desired effect, an<l that his daughter might be persuaded to gratify his dearest hopes. "You must excuse my abrubt, unan nounced entrance," said Lord Adlowe, smiling, when the greetings were con cluded. "I told the porter, who knew me at once, that I would announce myself, as I used to do. I find the place unchanged 5 net so, I hope, its hostess. He looked earnestly at his lovely hostess, whose manner had resumed its usual hauteur and reserve. "I never change, Lord Adlowe," she replied, signifiicantly. "I have always been your friend and well-wisher. I am still the same." "Nothing more?" whispered the guest, in a low and eager tone. The increasing coldness of the lady's manner was sufficient answer. Nothing daunted by this reception, Lord Adlowe exerted himself to please. Beatrice unbent slightly as she became interested in his remarks. His lord ship had changed during his long ab sence; many of his former prominent traits seemed subdued, and his hostess began to believe that she should find him an interesting study. In the midst of her musings and speculations, dinner was announced.- The Lady Beatrice took the arm of the guest, and the three descended to the dining-room, a handsome apartment, brilliant with lights and lire and flow ers. The repast was seasoned with witty remarks from Lord Adiowe.- The lady listened, smiled, and replied, but there was no heart in her words or her mirth. The dinner over, the guest escorted the Lady Beati ice to the door, and then returned to his wine and the companionship of the Earl. "The Lady Beatrice is more beauti ful than ever!" he finally sighed.— "And she is scarcely less cold than when she drove me from her!" "Do not despair, my boy," respond ed the Earl, kindly. "I don't pretend to understand Beatrice, but there is no ice that the sun cannot melt. 1 believe she will yet reward your long and un wavering devotion—" "I know she will!" said Lord Ad lowe, with a strange light leaping to his eyes. "I can find my way to her heart at last, my lord. In less than | six months I shall be your son-in-law. ! I will go up to the Lady Beatrice and | endeavor to win her favor, while you are occupied with your wine and ci gars." He excused himself, and hastened back to the drawing-room. The Lady Beatrice set before the fire alone. She looked up at his entrance, greeting hirn with a smile. Drawing an easy chair as near to her as he dartd, Lord Adlowe bent upon her a gaze of a dorning love. The Lady Beatrice moved uneasily under his gaze, it seeming to her to be scrutinizing as well as admiring. She fancied he was trying to read her soul, and she took up the small hand screen she had before held, saying, with an appearance of polite interest: "I understand my father to say, Lord Adlowe, that you are stopping at a hotel. Is not your uncle, Lord Tre velyan, In town ?" "No, he is at Trevelyan Park," was the response. "1 shall run down to see him to-morrow. 1 hear that my uncle Is more miserly than ever. The town-house is let, and he confines him self closely to the Park, leading a savage and morose existence." "1 have heard the same," replied the Lady Beatrice. "Lord Trevelyan has changed greatly during the past fifteen years. You will visit him to morrow ?" "Yes. My uncle is very exacting, BEDFORD, PA., FRIDAY MORNING, JUL 2, 1869. and would hardly forgive me If he knew that I had visited even here be fore coming to him. People would talk too, if I were not attentive to him," aud Lord Adlowe smiled, "for at his death he will leave me one of the richest men in the kingdom. You know that my claims upon him are second only to those of Geoffrey Tre velyan. my cousin. Had Geoffrey lived. I should have little to look for ward to." "Izord Trevelyan is fonder of you than he was of your cousin, is he not?" asked the Lady Beatrice, staring into the fire. "He professes to be," was the reply. "I hope he is, for he hated poor Geof frey as if he had been a deadly enemy. Geoffrey had no tact to manage him. Poor fellow ! Geoffrey was not fitted to cope with the world! If he had lived, he would have covered his name with disgrace—" "Not so!" interrupted the Lady Beatrice, a Hot flush glowing in her cheeks, and an angry light shining in her eyes. "Geoffrey was a wild, pas sionate boy, with great faults, hut also with great virtues—" "Do you number his assault upon and robbery of his uncle among the former or' the latter?" questioned Lord Adlowe, with ironical emphasis, "if Geoffrey were alive," he added impressively, "my uncle would leave no effort untried to bring hirn to pun ishments Lord Trevelyan is very vindictive in his disposition." "lie might forgive and forget, since he believes Geoffrey dead," said the Lady Beatrice in a low tone, and with averted face. "It is seventeen years since we heard that Geoffrey was dead, is it not?" askee. Lord Adlowe,as if mus ingly, but with the keenest and most furtive of glances directed toward his hostess. "We received a Brazilian pa per—l think it was Brazilian : at any rate it was South American —with a notice of his death in its columns. — We also received a letter from some Spaniard or Protuguese, stating Unit Geoffrey had died at his house, and had begged him with his last breath to write tidings of His fate. There was included in the letter a certificate of buriel. Upon these data we be lieved Geoffrey to he dead." "The evidence was conclusive e nough, 1 should think," said the Lady Beatrice, in a cold voice. "Ofcourse it was conclusive," replied Lord Adlowe. "But 1 have doubts sometimes of its truth. What if the whole story of the death were an im posture? ' Geoffrey knew that our uncle hated him enough to pursue him over the whole earth. He would not have dared return to England, for fear of imprisonment and disgrace. It is not probable that Geoffrey should have forged proofs of his death, changed his name, and settled down somewhere in a distant country to await news of my uncle's death. Lord Trevelyan dead, Geoffrey can walk the earth again without fear, u rich and titled man." "A rather fanciful explanation, I think," said the Lady Beatrice, in a voice firmer than usual. "If it were true, and Geoffrey were to return, you would not be plased, 1 suppose." Lord Adlowe's face darkened at the bare possibility of such an event. "Geoffrey's return would impover isli me," ho said. "He is Lord Tre velyaa's brother's son, and of course the nearest heir. It Geoffrey were to come back at my uncle's death, he would inherit the Trevelyan title and fortune. Buteighteeu years of silence, and the proofs too—surely he is dead!" Ho uttered the last words in a tone of relief. His apprehensions had been quieted by the manner of the Lady Bea trice, For years he had beou tormen ted by occasional doubts of his cousin's death, and he had finally persuaded himsel thet, if living, Geoffrey Trevel yan would haveconununicatedthe fact to his former betrothed. Hehad watch ed her keenly and closely, and had be come convinced that she believed Geoffrey dead. The next words of the Lady Bea trice confirmed this opinion. "The Spaniard wrote that Geoffrey diedofa fever," shosaid, quietly. "He was worn out by his long sea-voyage and his anxieties. He ventured 'out imprudently the day after landing, ex posing himself to the noonday sun. We know that Geoffrey went to South America, for lie wrote mo a long letter withiu an hour of his going ashore. He wrote to his uncle by the same post, hut Lord Trevelyan declared to me that he never received the letter, Some one must have intercepted It." Lore Adlowe flushed guiltily. "I have always thought that Geoffrey had some enemy who incited his uncle against him," pursued the Lady Bea trice. "When Geoffrey was a lad, his uncle loved him. He grew to hate him as he grew older, but it must have been because some envious person spoke falsely against poor Geoffrey, makink his faults into crimes, and in ducing Lord Trevelyan to believe that the hoy desired his death," Lord Adlowe moved uneasily in his chair, "We have chosen au unpleasant sub ject to converse upon, Lady Beatrice," he said. "Let us dismiss it from our thoughts. Geoffrey is dead. I have come back to England to be your suitor. I Cannot live without you, 'Bea trice, and his voice became full and passionate. "I have loved you for years. Give me a chance to prove my love. 1 will wait weeks, months —" * "My answer then would be thesame as now, Lord Adlowe, and it is now what it was five years since. I cannot marry you." "I refuse to accept that answer!" de clared Lord Adlowe, with fierce em phasis. "You shall yet look kindly upon tee—yet promise to become my wife!" The Lady Beatrice looked at him haughtily, her eyes flashed with anger at his persistence in offering his un welcome love. She met agaze, strong, fierce, and passionate. Site saw that he was in eui newt—that he would not take it negative answer. Site compre hended that to reject him now, as she was tempted to do, would be to make hint her implacable enemy. She felt vaguely that he had It in his power to work her woe. "You will take time for your de cision ?" he asked, in soft, persuasive accents, and suddenly changing his manner, The instinct of self-preservation was strong in the breast of the Lady Bea trice. It was awakened now, she knew not why. With a feeling of danger strong within her, she resolved to tem porize with him. "J will take time, Lord Adlowe, to consider your offer," she said. "Since you prefer to wait, you shall have my answer some months hence." Lord Hampton entering at this junc ture, the Lady Beatrice embraced tho opportunity of escape. With emotion which both tho gentlemen mistook, and which both interpreted favorably to iter suitor, she glided quietly from the room. CHAPTER- IT. A .START!,!N4I DISH)VKitV. Happy are they that hear their ietraetios. And can put thorn to mending Shakksperf. Lord Hampton and his guest drew their ehairs closer to the pleasant fire, preparatory to a confidential conversa tion. "1 entered rather inopportunely, Ad iowe," said the Earl smiling. "Isaw by your face and Beatrice's manner, that you had been renewing your proposal of marriage to her, and I fancied she had not given you a decided rejec tion." I "You are right in your fancy," re- j sponded Lord Adlowe. "The laidy • Beatrice has promised to consider my offer, and to give me an answer when I shall ask for it." The Earl was delighted. "Why that is positive encourage ment of your suit!" he exclaimed. "Certainly it is," sai i Lord Adlowe. "The liAdy Beatrice meant it as such. 1 - "I scarcely know what to say 1 am so astonished," declared Lord lLauapton. "BeforC you carrie in this evening, I spoke to Beatrice about you and she de clared, as she had done a thousand times before, that she should never marry. Only last week, she refused the l)uke of Landford one of the best matches in England. And now she encourages you to believe that she will become your wife." "It does seem strange that. T should succeed where so many have failed, assented the guest, with a satisfied look. "For the present of course, we must keep the fact to ourselves. That she has taken my proposals into con sideration makes it necessary forme to declare to you my prospects." "it is not necessary," said the Earl. "I have known you from your boy hood, Adlowe, and am more satisfied with the possibility of a near relation ship between us. I know of no one whom I would so gladly welcome us a son-in-law." "Thanks; but the explanation must be made, nevertheless. First lam the inheritor of the title and debts of my late father;" and Lord Adlowo's tones were decidedly ironical. "1 have been somewhat dissipated, and travel and too great profuseuess of expenditure have somewhat cramped my resources. That is one side of the picture. Con trast against it the fact that I am de clared heir of my Uncle Treveiyan, and there is a handsome offset to my shortcomings. lam a great favorite with Lord Treveiyan, anil miserly as are his habits, he is always generous to me." "Lord Treveiyan lias the fortune of a prince," replied the Earl. "When you come into the Treveiyan estates, you will be one of the richest noble men in the kingdom. With your un cle's Wealth united to Beatrice's for tune, you will have a colossal income. I I should like to see the two fortunes 1 wedded." "And so should I," said Lord Ad- ! lowe. "I love her, my lord and shall | have no object in life save to win her." i "My influence shall be used in your favor," declared the Earl. I am get- i ting old and want to see Beatrice set tied before I die. You are the first person she ever permitted to hope for her favor, since Geoffrey Treveiyan died and I believe that slie will yet be come your wife." Lord Adlowe's eyes sparkled, aud his face beamed with hope. He knew well enough that the Lady Beatrice detested him, and that he could never win her save through her fears. He saw that he had, in some inexplicable way touched upon those fears in his re cent interview, else she would have given him a haughty and curt dismis sal. To solve the mystery surrounding her was now his object. He had that mystery in his thoughts as he said, carelessly: "Will not the Lady Beatrice re turn to us uus evening, my lord V". "J—l think not," stammered the Earl, his face flushing. "Beatrice has retired to her room, and she never likes to be disturbed," "But 1 understood she was to re turn." "Oh, that makes a difference," said Lord Hampton, his brow clearing. "1 will send a message—no, I'll go my self and request her presence. Excuse me, a moment Adlowe." He arose aud departed on his errand. Lord Adlowe stole after him to the door, listened, and then crept half-way up the stairs, from which point he could hear the proceedings of the Earl. Lord Hampton hastened along the upper hall to a suite of rooms im mediately over the drawing-room. He knocked upon the principal door, first softly then more loudly. No one answered him. Ho turned the knob and the door was locked. He called his daughter's name soft ly, yet in a penetrating voice. There was no response. There were other doors along tho hall, opening into the different cham bers comprised in the suite of the La dy Beatrice, aud at each one of these the Earl knocked softly, calling upon his daughter's name, {still there came hack no reply. The Earl's face was convulsed with agitation. "What is this mystery?" lie whis pered, leaning against the door. "Is Beatrice wrapped in the thrall of some delirurn-produclng drug or liqubr? Is she awake? What is she doing?" Again he listened for a token of movement within the rooms. They were as soundless as a tomb. "There is no use in lingering here," he thought. "Beatrice will not make her apperance again to-night. It is always so when she shuts herself up in this manner." He sighed so heavily that the inspir ation was almost a moan. Then he moved from the door tow ards the staircase. Lord Adlowe noiselessly flitted on be fore him, entering the drawing room without having been seen. The Earl descended the stairs, and paused in the lower hall to command his features and to repress his agitation. He fancied he had succeeded, when he opened the door and entered the pre sence of his guest; and certainly Lord Adlowe's unconcerned manner went to confirm the opinion, "Beatrice regrets that she cannot join us again this evening," said lx>rd Hampton, with an appearance of sin cerity. "The dear girl was agitated by her recent interview with you, and having a headache—" "No apologies are necessary," inter rupted Lord Adlowe, as the Earl in stinctively hesitated in his speech- I should be sorry to disturb her under the circumstances. I will call uj>on her after my return from the country. The Earl sighed. It was hard for him, with his clear perceptions of in tegrity and honor, to offer these false explanations. "Beatrice will not be visible before three to-morrow," he said. "These dis sipations tell upon her. 1a in going to take her into the country as soon as the warm weather comes. We shall be your neighbors then, Adlowe, for Treveiyan Park is not many miles dis tant from our country home. You will stop at the Park, i suppose." Lord Adlowe replied in the affirma tive. The Earl resumed his seat, and the two pursued their conversation with an appearance of interest in it; but all the while the father's heart wandered to the mystery of his daught er's strange seclusion, and all the while Ad Towe studied upon the same subject. "If I could only get a ciue to iiea trice's secret!" thought the guest. Fate seemed inclined to throw the desired clue into his hands. The two gentlemen were in the midst of an apparently absorbing dis cussion concerning a person for whom neither eared, when a Hverod porter, whose duty it was to stand near the en trance door, burst into the drawing room, his face the picture of wildest alarm. "If you please, my lord," he gasped, scarcely conscious of what he was say ing, "there is smoke coming from the Lady Beatrice's dressing-room. .Some thing must be un fire witliin. The Earl leaped to his feet. "Theroom on fire!" he ejaculated. " Yes, my lord. I'll give the alarm." "No!" commanded his lord sternly. "Say nothing to your fellow-servants. Stay in the lower liall." His lordship pushed aside the astoun ded servitor, dashed up the stairs three steps at a time, and rushed tow ward his daughter's rooms. Load Adlowe followed at his heels. There was smoke in the hall, issu ing from one of rooms of the Lady Beatrice. Clearly something was burning within. A group of servants, anxious and frightened, stood near the door. The Earl ordered them away peremtorily, aud they dared not disobey him. They filed away through the various passa ges towards tiieir owu domains. "Go down stairs, Adlowe," said the Earl. "I am going to break the door in!" "i will help you," was the brief re sponse. The eyes of the two mfen met. The Earl did not dare to say that he knew not what should meet his gaze when lie o;>ened. He had neither time nor inclination to explain. Submitting to the unavoidable presence of Adlowe he said: "Come, then ; put your shoulder to the door!" "Adlowe obeyed. The Earl lent his assistance. The door yielded and burst open. The two men rushed into the room. It was full of smoke, so dense that not an object within the appartment was perceptible. Coughing and choking, the Earl crossed the floor and threw up the windows, establishing a draft of air. Lord Adlowe quietly closed the door, and stood against it. The apartment cleared rapidly, and the intruders soon observed the cause of the disturbance. A fire was burn ing in thegrate, and one of the live coals had snapped out, finding lodgr rnent in the thick pile of a velvet rug. Here it had smouldered and burned with sickening oder and heavy smoke. The Earl caught up the rug, rolled i it tightly, stamping out the tire, and then flung it from him. Lord Adlowe looked curiously a j round the apartment. It was u dressing-room fit for an era press. But the owner of all this splendor was not there. Lord Adlowe darted quick, scrutini zing glances to the various couches and ! chairs, but the form of the Lady Beat rice did not greet his vision. "She is in one of the other rooms," he thought; "1 mean to see iter before I leave them!" He Had scarcely made this resolve, when the Earl said. "The fire is extinguished, Adlowe. Many thanks for your assistance. Let us return to the drawing-room !" "tut the Lady Beatrice—" "Is in one of the other rooms, of course. In her boudoir, or bed-cham ber aud the Farl looked from the right to the left, the dressing-room oc cupying a middle position between the two rooms mentioned. "She must be suffocated with this smoke," persisted Lord Adlowe, ad hering to his resolve. "Perhaps she is lying on the floor, in a swoon." The Eari grew even paler. He look ed at his guest hesitatingly. Ho was anxious, now that he stood upon the threshold of a discovery, to probe the secret oftne Lady Beatrice. But lie could not bare his heart to his daught er's suitor. He thought a moment, then said: "Remain here, zYdiowe, while I look in the boudoir." He moved towards the front room, opened the door, and passed in. Lord Adlowe—firm in his bold pur pose—also approached the entrance aud looked into the room iu question. It was unoccupied. The suitor of the Lady Beatrice re treated as soon as he made the discov ery, while Lord Hampton stood bewil dered under the gleaming gas-lamps. When the Earl came out, Adlowe met him with an inquiry as to the state of his daughter. ".She is in her bed-chamber," said the Earl briefly, moving towards the last-named room. He opened the door, entering a sleep apartment. The couches were unoccu pied, and the father approached the bed. parting tho lace curtains. Lord Adlowe stood in the door-way, watching him intently Tho pretty laoe-frilied pillows were plump and round, the white satin bed spread smooth and straight. No form lay within the dainty, perfumed sheets; uo impress of a figure was visi ble anywhere. "Howstrange!" muttered the father. "Where can Beataice be? She must be in her bath-rooui." He knocked at the door of the bath room. No one answered, He looked in. No one was there, "Not here!" exclaimed the Earl, in co'mplete astonishment, "iter doors are all locked, to give the impression that she is here. She must have quit ted the house. But where could she have gone? And when? And how? lie went to her wardrobe and closets, but the bonnets, shawls, and mantles of the Lady Beatrice were all there. He knew well the varions articles of bis daughter's wrappings, hut uot a shawl or cloak that he had over seen her wear was missing. The only evidence that threw any light upon the subject was the discov ery of the dress she had worn at din ner. The crimson velvet robe lay in a heap on the floor of a closet, as if it hd been hnrriodly east there. Lord liampton renewed his search, looking everywhere, but in vain. The fact was incontrovertible—the Lady Beatrice was gone! "This, then." said the unhappy fath er, "is the secret of my daughter's mysterious seclusions! She pretends to be shut up hero when she is in reality elsewhere. I comprehend now why she always refuses to employ a maid! The mystery is deeper than ever. Where is she ? Why has she gone out so secretly ? How did she go unseen ?' He groaned in the anguish of his heart. Lord,Adlowe still standing in the door-way, looked as if a great good-for tune had fallen to him. He had gained a elue-siinpie and fra'.l—but still a clue to the mystery enveloping Lord Hampton's daughter. VOL. 64.—WHOLE No. 5,497. The Earl struggled with his emo tions, gained a factitious calmness, and slowly returned to the dressing-room, lie found his guest standing near the the door, evidently waiting the signal for departure. "Beatrice is not injured, Adlowe," he said, quietly, not lifting his gaae. ' She will nonreturn to us this evening. Let us go down." He secured the door so that it could not be opened by an v prying servant, and the two descended to the drawing room. Lord Adlowe thought it best not to prolong his visit, and took his leave. "The Hampton mystery deepens," he muttered, as he descended the steps of Hampton House, setting out for the hotel at whieh he was temporarily stopping. "It is no vulgar and de grading habit that enslaves the Lady Beatrice—no opium-eating, nothing of that kind. She's gone, and for years has been in the habit of absenting her self in this strange manner. Where does she go? (Jan it be that Geoffrey is living, and that she meets liim else where, thus living a double life, as I so long ago suspected? I must resolve these horrible questions. I must watch—hire a detective—give up my whole soul to th is enquiry. I mast dis cover something that will force her to marry me?" The above is all of this story that will be published in our columns. The continuation of it from where it leaves off here can be found only in the New York Ledger, whieh is for sale at all the bookstores and news depots. Ask for number dated July 3, and in it you will find the continuation of this beau tiful tale. The Ledger has the best stories of any paper in the world ; and Henry Ward Beecher, James Parton and tunny Fern, have articles in every number. jgLEC T R I C TELEGRAPH IN CHINA. THE EAST INDIA TELEGRAPH COMPANY 'S OFFICE, Nos. 23 & 25 Nassau Street, NEW YORK. Organized under special charter from the State of New York. CAPITAL $5,000,000 50.000 SHARES, SIOO EACH. DIRECTORS. HON ANDREW G. CURTIN, Philadelphia. PAUL S. FORBES, of Russell A Co., China. FRED. BUTTERFIELD, of F Butterficld A C New York. ISAAC LIYERMORE, Treasurer Michigan Cen tral Railroad, Boston. ALEXANDER HOLLAND, Treasurer American Express Company, New York. Hon JAMES NOXON, Syracuse, N. Y. 0. H. PALMER, Treasurer Western Union Tele graph Company, New York. FLETCHER WESTRAY, of Westray, Gibbs A Hardcastle, New York. NICHOLAS MICKLES, New York. OFFICERS. A. G. CURTIN. President. N. MICKLES, Vice President. GEORGE ELLIS (Cashier National Bank Com monwealth,) Treasurer. HON. A. K. McCLURE, Philadelphia, Solicitor. The Chinese Government having (through the Hon. Anson Burlingame) conceded to this Com pany the privilege of connecting the great sea ports of the Empire by submarine electric tele graph cable, we propose commencing operations in China, and laying down a line of nine hundred miles at once, between the following port s. vis Population. Canton..... 1,000,000 Maooa 60,000 Hong-Kong 260,000 Swatow 200,000 Amoy ..250,000 Poo-Chow. 1,250,000 Wan-Chu 300,000 Ningpo 400,000 Hang Chean 1,200.000 Shanghai 1,000,000 Total 5,010,000 These ports have a foreign commerce of $900,- 000.000. and an enormous domestic trade, besides which we have the immense internal commerce of the Empire, radiating from these points, through its canals and navigable rivers. The cable being laid, this company proposes erecting land lines, and establishing a speedy and trustworthy means of communication, which must command there, as everywhere else, the commu nication? of the Governmont, of business, and of social life especially in China. She has no postal system, and tier only means nowofcommuuieating information is by couriers on land, and by steam ers on water. The Western World knows that China is a very large country, in the main densely peopled; but few yet realise that she contains more than a third of the human race. The latest returns made to her central authorities for taxing purposes by the local magistrate make her population Four hun dred and Fourteen, millions, and this is more likely to be under than over the actual aggregate. Nearly all of these, who are over ten years old, not only can but do read and write. Her civili zation is peculiar, but her literature is as exten sive as that of Eurepe China is a land of teach ers and traders ; and the latter are exceedingly quick to avail themselves of every proffered facili ty for procuring early information. It is observed in California that the Chinese make great use of the telegraph, though it there transmits messages in English alone. To-day great numbers of fleet steamers are owned by Chinese merchants, and used by them exclusively for the tranamissioa of early intelligence. If the telegraph we propose connecting all their great seaports, were now in existence, it is believed that its business would pay the cost within the first two years of its suc cessful operation, and would steadily increase thereafter No enterprise commends itself as in a greater degree renumerative to capitalists, and to our whole people. It is of vast national importance commercially, politically and evangelioally. fcjp-The stock of this Company has been un qualifiedly recommended to capitalists and busi ness men, as a desirable investment by editorial articles in the New York Herald, Triluue, World, Times, Post, Express, Independent, and in the Philadelphia Piorth American, Press, Ledger, Inquirer, Age, Bulletin and Telegraph. Shares ut this company, to a limited number, may bo obtained at SSO eaob, $lO payable down, sls on the Ist of November, and $25 payable in monthly Instalments of $2.50 each, commencing December 1, 1368, on application to DREXEL & (X)., 34 South Third Street, PHILADELPHIA. Shares can be obtained in Bedford by applica tion to Heed A Schell, Bankers, who are author ised to receive subscriptions, and can give all no oessary information on the subjeet. sept2syl THE Local circulation of the REI>- ronD Gaibttb islarger than that of any other paper in this section ot country, and therefore T --era the greatest inducements to easiness men to fdvertise in its columns.
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