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jan29,'yl
THE DOUBLE LIFE;
OK,
THE HAMPTON" MYSTERY.
BY nits. HARRIET I.EWIS.
CHAPT RR I. .
TIIE LADY BEATRICE.
Had she lived before the siege of Troy,
Helen, whose beauty summoned Oreece to anus.
And drew a thousand ships to Tenedos,
Had not been named in Homer's Iliad ;
Her name had been in every line he wrote.
MARLOWE.
The Lady Beatrice Hampton, only
child of the Earl of Hampton, had
passed her youth and early woman
hood, and was still unmarried. 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.