Etallittsituro ittaittis.
_,THE,DOUBLE LIFE;
OR,
Th Hampton Mystery.
3T MBB. Y. A Li WIB.
,PHAPTER I.
TnE LADY BEATRICE. •
Rad she lived berth7e the siege of Troy.
Helen, whoue beauty L ummoned ti L eteue to arms,
And drew a thoueasd el ,ps 10 Tinedos ,
laitd.not been mimed ip )oMer'S
Rer name had been In eve.^Y line he wrote.
alantown.
The Lady Beatrice .Lanapton, only
child of the Bail ,. of - Hampton, had pass
ed her youth a d early womanhood, and
was still unm ried. She had had no.
lack of suitors, for she had inherited
from her mother an immense fortune, and
wu beautiful, witty, accomplished, a
reigning belle, and a leader in society.
Her friends were puzzled at her adher
ence to celibacy, and no one wa3 more
puzzled,than her father, whose greatest
desire was to see her happily married.
It was an onsolvable.problem to the Earl,
- the his daughter-should persist in refus
ing; the most eligibl6 offers, and she was
look,ed upon, even by her admirers, as a
besOful mystery, a delightful puzzle, a
snarblethearted and incomprehensible
Sphynx.
One March evening, -in the drawing
room off his townhouse, Lord Hampton
sat thinking of his daughter. The night
was wild and stormy. The pleasant room
presented& strong contrast 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
profusion into vases. whose delicate
aculpturi, would have fired an' artist's
ketirL , ahe heavy, warm-hued curtains
fell in fOlds to the floor, shutting out the
•darknesi and shutting in the light - and
warmth and fragrance.
The Earl was tall and stately, with be
coining portliness of figure, nnd eyes as
keen as in his early youth, a complexion
of unusual ruddiness, hair and whiskers
of iron-gray, and manly-features, whose
expression inclined to sternness. He had
almost reached three score years and ten,
but he exhibited none of the febleness of
age.. His mind' retained its vigor, and
his manners were those of the courtly old
school gentleman.
His thoughts were evidently anxious
and troobled. He roused himself from
them at last, and stretched out his hand
towar u d r e t 4ihe bell-pull. At that moment
thens dividing the apartment from
a seCond i drawing-room were lifted, and
the lady , Beatrice entered.
"YOtttient 'for me, "father?" she in
qulied;liroaching him. "You desired
to secime?' .
K l did,, Beatrice," responded his lord
ship. "I have something of importance
o ici
to - sayl f y o u." s .
Tne L y Beatrice stood leaning against
the mar e mantel-piece in an expectant
attitude. I
She Wos a superbly beautiful woman.
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 expres
sion. „this being, so cold to others, was
'equally cold to him. He wondered if she
ever. experienced any womanly emotions,
and; while he wondered, the Lady Beat
Lice broke the silence:
"You have news from your friend Lord
Adlowe„ , have you not?" she asked.
"Yes; his lordship has returned to Eng
land.," replied the Earl. "I• received a
line from him this morning, informing
me 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 lam
about to speak to you.
The Lady Beatrice bowed her head
without speaking. Encouraged by her
attentiveness, the Earl resumed :
"Lord Adlowe comes bsck to us after
his five years' journeying, more than
ever your slave. He has been for eight
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 I" inter-
posed Lady Beatrice with an icy smile.
"I do not like Ormond Adlowe, father.
He is false and bad at heart, his years of
devotion to me notwithstanding. He has
returned to renew his persecutions of me. -
He is tired of roving, I suppose, and his
coffers need replenishing. Of all my itlit
ers I like him the least. I must repeat
what I said about him 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 advancing in
years? How long will it be before you
will be pushed aside in society by younger
rivals. - I shall soon die, and you will be
left alone. I long to see you mistress of
your own household, a happy wife. Can
it be that yun are still mourning for that
misguided Geoffrey Trevelyan—the
worthy scion of a noble house, the mid
night robber of his uncle—"
"Stop'" said the Lady Beatrice, a swift
Bush overspreading her features. "I do
not care to hear Geoffrey Trevelyan's
name. They say he is dead." •
"Yes, he is dead," said the Earl,
4houghtfully. "He died many years ago,
in a foreign land—poor fellow 1 After all
he was but a boy, and his untimely fate
' always saddens me. He had in him the
stuff for a noble man, but was warped by
harshness and evil associates: Had Lord
'Trevelyan, his uncle, whose heir he was,
piqued him less vindictively for his
crime, Geoffrey might hare been hiring,
Arid honored to-day. I don't blame you
for grieving for him, for you were his be
rtrothed wife. But he was unworthy and
:is dead. You were but •a- mere child
when he disappeared. Surely you do net
-cherish a love for his memory
?Ism not romantic, father," said' tne
Beatrice, dryly. "You say that all
men not like him,mean- t
ng that Lord
.AdlOithis without Geoffrey's w ea k nesses
4 14111,04ta Lord Adlowe Is not weak,
inst Ida is not the strength I like. The
Ttritth is, I cling to my freedom, father. I
tiatelitin society. like t o b e ad .
Sad' worshipped, - but I have no
, for my admirers to win. r I have no
't art."
*Wiry must you disiPPolit the hoptel
lave so long cherished, Bfttriee?" apes
hex father, bitterly. "Haver , you
sto lore for me, no respect for my Whites?
'What would your loved 'society' say if it
Ice* you are a mystery to your father?
When Lord Adlowe was here five years
;Tine, he told me that you were leading-a
,double life. His words have • been con
:tinned& hundred times Anse by my own
observation. ton do lead a double life;
You are one thing and seem another."
Beattie/s'state - 10Viering heefgattr
the fire. as if she . fearedher soul might
look from her eyes and play the traitor.,
"I do not understand you!" she mur
mured.
"I will endeavor to explain," returned
the Earl, gravely. "Yon are themistress
of my household. You receive our vial-
tors, preside at our , balls And parties and
fulfill your duties to society. But day
after day, evening after evening, you
mysteriously shut yourself up in your
own apartments, seeing no one, replying
to no summons or messages, giving no
evidence of life. It is as it , your cham
bers were your tomb. I have frequently
knocked at your door without eliciting a
response. 'The last time I was attacked
by the gout, I sent for you, and yet you
you did not come to me for hours, and did
not even send to inquire after my welfare.
What is the explanation of this, Bea
trice ?"
The datighter stood motionless and si
ent.
"I have tried to answer the question
for myself," said the Earl, after waiting
in vain for a reply. "If it were possible
for you to leave the house so continually
without my knowledge, I should believe
that half your time was spent away from
home. I have remarked that these seclu-
stone do not occur at our country-seat.
Do you spend these missing hours in
opium -eater's dreams ? I again ask you,
Beatrice, what is the meaning 'of these
seasons of dumbness and silence ? "
The Lady Beatrice lifted her head,
turning her face to the light. Her coun
tenance was of marble whiteness, save
that in her cheeks burned a scarlet glow.
Her eyes were like glowing suns. Her
manner betrayed an intense agitation and
excitement, showing that her whole na
ture was in commotion.
"I have no explanations to give fath
er," she said, a tremor of passion under
lying her cold tones. "Think what you
will—suspect as you may—l have noth
ing to say. Believe -anything that may
seem probable. But do not forget that I
am 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 beauty,
like one without.a trace of weakness in
heart or soul.
At that moment the curtains were again
lifted, and Lord Adlowe entered the apart
ment.
There was a peculiar gleam in his eyes,
and a singular eAtile about his mouth; he
had been a listnei to most of the conver
sation between the father and daughter.
Lord Adlowe was in the prime of man
hood. He was handsome, and years of
foreign travel, with strange adventures in
far oft' lands, had contributed a halo of
romance to his Chaiacter. His complex
ion had been darkened by exposure to
wind and sun. His 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 urg
ing to a consummation his claims upon
the band of Lady Beatrice.
At sight of her, so radient. in her beau
ty, his face flushed with eagerness, and he
came forward rapidly, extending both his
hands.
Lord Hampton, delight&l, sprang up to
greet him.
The Lady . Beatrice permitted her re
turned suitor to clasp her cold, jewelled
har.ds.foiiiii
piiir. Lim politely, even_kincil
her manner warming under hii et;
tations of extreme delight She wel
comed him home, and colored -33111
under his gaze of eager admiration.
. The Earl encouraged by her gracious
manner, began to hope that his conver
sation had had the desired effect' and that
his daughter might be persuaded to gratify
his dearest hopes.
"You must excuse my abrupt, unan
nounced entrance," said Lord Adlowe,
smiling, when the greetings were con
cluded. "I told the p3rter, who knew
me at once, that I would announce my
self, as I used to do. I find the place un
changed; not so, I hope, its hostess."
He look earnestly at his lovely hostess,
whose manner had resumed its usual
hauteur and reserve.
"I never change, Lord Adlowe," she
replied, significantly. "I have always
been your friend and well-wisher. lam
still the same."
"Nothing more?" whispered the guest,
in a low and eager tone.
The increasing coldness of the lady's
manner Was suMcient answer.
Nothing daunted by this reception,
Lord Adlowe exerted himself to - please.
Beatrice unbent slightly as she became
interested in his remarks. His• lordship
had changed daring his long absence;
many of his former prominent traits
seemed subdued, and his hostess began
to believe that she should find in him an
Interesting study.
In the midst of her musings and specn.
lations. dinner was announced. Tue
Lady Beatrice took, the arm of the guest,
and the three descended to the dining
room, a handsome apartment, brilliant
with lights and fire and flowers. The re
past was seasoned with witty remarks
from Lord Adlowe. 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 Beat•
rice to the door, and then returned to his
wine and the companionship of the Earl.
"The Lady Beatrice is more beautiful
than ever!" he finally sighed. "And
she is scarcely less cold than when she
droye me from her!"
"Do not despair, my boy," responded
the Earl kindly. "I don't pretend to un
derstand Beatrice, but there is no ice that
the sun cannot melt. I believe she will
yet reward your lorig and unwavering
devotion—"
"I buns she will,1" said Lorc: Adlowe,
with a smile, and With a strange . light
leaping to his eyes. "I can find my way
to her heart at last, my lord. In lees
than six months I shall be your son.in
law. I will go up to the Lady Bea
trice and - endeavor to win her favor, while
cyou are occupied with your wine and
igars."
He excused himself and hastened back
to the draWmg-room. The Lady Beatrice
sat before the fire alone. She looked up
at his entrance, greeting him with a smile,
Drawing an easy-chair as near her as he
dared. Lord Adlowe bent upon her 0; gsze
ofadoring love.
The Lady Eteatriceinoved uneasily un
der his gaze, it seemed to her to be scru
tinizing as well as-sdmiring. She fancied
he was frying to• read her sold, and she
took up the small hand4creen she had be
fore held, saying, With an aP I4II/1 " 1 " :of
polite interest :.e -
"I understand my father . 'to say; Lem
Adlowe, that you are stopping ata hotel.
Is not your uncle, Lori Trevelyani is
town V! •
"No, he is .at Trevelyan
PrITSBUOIIi GAZETTE SATURDAY, JUNE " Hai
t 143 nuirdOwn to see'
4M,to. uorrow. I h - eai„.lluitiOintale
than liVai. - - - ThaTtolsirt-'
house is let,. and he' vontines himself
closely-to the Park, leading a -savage and
morose existence."
"I have heard the same," replied the
Lady Beatrice. "Lord Trete'Yen hes
changed greatly 'daring the Past fifteen
years. You will visit him tomorrow?"
"Yes. My uncle is verrexacting, and
would hardly forgive me if he knew that
I had visited even hem before coming to
him. People would talk, too, if I were
not attentive to him," and 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 forward to."
"Lord Trevelyan is fonder of you than
he was of your cousin, Is tie not?" asked
the Lady Beatrice, staring into the fire.
"He protesses to be," was the reply.
"I hope hels, for he hated poor Geoffrey
as if he had been a deadly enemy. Geoffrey
had no tact to manage him. Poor fellow!
Geoffery 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, passionate
boy, with great faults, perhaps, but also
with great virtnes—" •
"Do you number his assault upon and
robbery of his uncle among the former or
the latter ?" questioned Lord Adlowe,
with ironical emphasis. "If aceffrey
were alive," he added, impressively; "my
uncle would leave no effort untried to
bring him to punishment. Lord Treve
lyan is very vindictive in his disposition."
"He 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?" asked
Lord Adlowe, as if musingly, but with
the keenest and most furtive of glances
directed towards his hostess. "We re
ceived a Brazilian paper—l think it was
Brazilian; at any rate it was South Amer
ican—with a notice of his death in its
columns. We also received a letter from
some Spaniard or Portugese, stating that
Geoffrey had died at his house, and had
begged him with his last breath to write
tidings of his fate. There was in the
letter a certificate of burial. Upon these
data we believedi Geoffrey to be dead."
"The evidence was conclusive enough,
I should think," said the Lady BestrioN
in scold voice.
"Of course, it was conclusive," replied
Lord Adipwe. "But I have doubts some
times of its, truth. What if the whole
story of the death were an imposture?
Geoffrey knew that our uncle bated him
enough to pursue him 'over the whole
earth. He would not have dared return
to England, for fearof imprisonment and
disgrace. It is not probable that Geoffrey
should have forged proofs of his death,
changed his name and settled dowit some
where in a distant country to await news
of , my uncle's death. Lord Trevelyan
dead, Geoffrey can walk the earth again
without fear, a rich find titled man."
"A rather fanciful explanation, I think,"
said the Lady Beatrice, in a voico firmer
than usual, "If it were true, and Geoffrey
were to return, you would not be pleased,
I suppose."
Lord Adlowe's face darkened at the
.bare posibility of such an event:
"Geoffrey's return - would- itnpovarish
me," he said. "He is Lord Trevelyan's
brother's son, and of cothe nearest
heir. If Geo ff rey were come back
,at my uncle's death, h would in
herit the Trevelyan title ann fortune.
But eighteen years of . Bile ce, and the
nil
proofs too—surely be is de "
He, uttered the last wordi in a tone of
relief. Ills apprehensions had been
quieted by the manner of the Lady Bea
nice. For years he had been tormented
by occasional doubts of his cousin's death,
and he had finally persuaded himself
that, if living Geoffrey 'rrevelyan, would
have cortimunicated the fact to his . for
, mer bethrothed. Ile had watched her
, keenly and closely, and had bosoms '
con
vinced that she believed G •offery dead.
i :nd
The neiff - words of the 3! Beatrice
confirmed this opinion. ]
"The Spaniard wrote, that Geoffrey;
, his long a•voyage
died of a lover,
ad she said quietly. "Be
was worn out by ad
hisnnxietias. Be ventur out Impru
dently the - day after landing, exposing
himself to the noonday stin. We know
that Geoffrey went to south America, for
be wrote me along letter within an hour
of his going ashore. He wrote to his
uncle by the same post, but Lord Trev
elyan declared to me that he never re
ceived the letter. Some one must have
intercepted it."
Lord Adlolsre flushed guiltily,
"I have always thought that Geoffrey
bad some enemy who Wilted his uncle
against him," pursued the ady Beatrice.
"When Geoffrey was a lid, 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, making• his faults into
crimes, and inducing Lord Trevelyan to
believe that the boy desired his death."
Lord Adlowe moved uneasily in his
chair.
"We have chosen an unpleasant sub
ject to converse upon; Lady Beatrice,"
he said. "Let us dismiss it from our
thoughts. Goeffrey is dead. I have
come back to England to be your suitor.
I cannot liye without you, , Beatrice," and
his voice became full anpaisionate. "I.
have loved you for years. Give me a
chance to , prove my love. I will wait
weeks, months—"
"My answer then would be the same as
now ' Lord Adlowe, and it is now what it
was five years since. I cannot marry
you." • ,
"I refuse to accept that answe r!", de.
clued Lord
"YouAtßowe, with fierce mnph a
ala. "You shall yet look kindly_upeuMO
—yet promise to hew= my wife!"
The Lady Beatrice looked at him
haughtily, her eyes flashing with anger at
his persistence in offering his unwelcome
lave. She met a gnu, strong, lierce,:and
passionate. She saw that he was in earnest
—that he would not take a negative
answer. She comprehended that to'r e.. ject him now, as she was tempted to do,
would be to mako„him her implacible
enemy. She felt •vaguely that he had it
in his power to work her woe.
will take time for yourdedsion?"
he asked, in soft, persuasive acceute,lnd
suddenly changing manner. ,
The., 'adduct of self-preservatlon was
strong* the breast of Lady Beatrice.
It: was Awakened now, ."and she knew
not why.. With a feeling of danger strong
within • her, she resolved' to -temporize
. with him. • , ,
iq will take time, Lord Adlowe, to
*die rar oft," she said. 4481 wee,
3.0",t 1 Prenr 7 A'dsOtt Oahu e myeat..
ew e r
~.tome monthshence."
Li n iffitialifzin entering at thiii:jundinie;
the Lady I:;,,ltrice embraced the Opportu
nity tet escape: With emotion which both
the gentlemen Anis'YPOlt, and which both
interpreted favorably to her suitor, she
glided from the room.
- CHAPTER 11.
-A STARTLING DISCOVERY'.
Happy ore they that hear their detractions.
And can put them to mending. IMAKSSPRAITE,
Lordampton and his guest drew
their chats closer to the plesisant•fire, pre
paratory to a confidential c niversation.
"I entered rather inopportunely. Ad
lowe," said the Earl, smiling. "I saw,
by your face and Beatrice's manner, that
you had been renewing your proposal of
marriage to her, and I fancied that she
had not given you a decided rejection."
"Yon are right in your fancy," re
sponded Lord Adlowe. "The Lady
has promised to consider my offer, and
to give me an answer when I ask for it."
The Earl was delighted.
"Why, that is positive encouragement
-of your snit!" he exclaimed.
"Certainly it is." said Lord Adlowe.
"The Lady Beatrice meant it as Rick."
"I scarcely know what to say, I am so
astonished, declared Lord Hampton.
"Before yon came in this evening,. I spoke
to Beatrice , about you , and she declared,
as she had done a thousand times before,
that she would never marry. Only last
week she refused the Duke 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 I- should
succeed where so many have failed,", as
serted 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 consideration
makes it necessary for me to declare to
you my prospects."
"It is not necessary,!" said the Earl.
"I have known yon from your boyhood,
Adlowe, and am-more than satisfied with
the possibility of a near relationship 'be
tween us. I know of no one whom I
would so' gladly welcome as a son-in
law."
"Thanks; but the explanation must be
made, nevertheless. First, .I am the La•
heritor of the title and debts of my late •
father;" and Lord Adlowee tones were
decidedly ironical. " I have been some
what dissipated, and travel and too great
profuseness of expenditure have some
what cramped my resources. That is one
side of the pictnre. Contsast arainst it
the fact that I am the dec:ared heir of my
Uncle Trevelyan, and there is a hand
some offset to my shortcoinings: lam a
great - favorite with Lord Trevelyan, and
miserly as are his habits, he iealways gen
erous to me."
"Lord Trevelyan has the fortune of a
prince," refill.Q the, Earl. "When you
come into the Trevelyan estates, you will
be one of, the richest noblemen In the
kingdom. With your uncle's wealth
united- to Beatrice's fortune, you will have
a colossal income. I should like to see
the two fortunes wedded." •
"A.nci, so should I," said Lord Adlowe.
"I love her,
my lord, and I shall have no
object in life save to win her."'
"My influence shall he used •in your
favor,•• declared the Earl. "E am get
ting old. and_ want to see Beatrice settled
before I die. You are the first person
she ever permitted. to hope for her favor,
since. 644frey Trevelan died, and I be
lieve that she will pet become your wife."
.L love's eyes sparkled, and his
face ilftsmed with hope. He %new well
eno* that the Lady Beatrice detested
him, and that be could never win her
save througb her fears. He saw that he
had, in some- inexplicable way, touched
upon those fears in his recent interview,
else she would have given hima haughty
and curt dismissal
To solve the myetery surrounding her
was now lila object.
Be had that mystery in his thoughts as
he said, carelessly - .
"Will not the Lady Beatrice return to
us thiwevening, my lord?"
' "I -I think not," stammered the Earl,
his face duelling. "Beatrice has retired
to her room, and she never hires to be dis
turbed."
"Bat I understood that she• was to re
turn." . 1
"Oh, that makes a differenc e," said ,
Lord Hampton, his brow clearing. "t
will send a message—no, I'll so myself
and request her presence. ( Excuse mo a
moment, Adlowe." -
He arose andparted on.his errand.
Lord Adlow stole after him to the
e ile
door, listened, d then crept half-way up
the stairs, from which point he could hear
the proceedings of the Earl.
Lord Hampton hastened along the up.
per hall to a suite of rooms immediately
over the drawing room. He knocked
upon the principal door, first softly, then
more loudly.
No one answered him.
Returned the knob, but the door was
locked.
He called his daughter's name softly,
yet in a penetrating voice. r .
There was no response.
There were other doors along the
hall, opening into the different cham
bers comprised in the suite of •the Lady
Beatrice, and at each one of these the
Earl knocked softly, calling upon his
daughter's name.
BO there came no reply.
The Earl's face was convulsed wi
agitation.
"What is this mystery?" he whisperedi
leaning against the door. "Is Beatrice
wrapped in the thrall of some dellrum.
producing drug or liquor ? Is she
awake ? 'What is she doing ?
Again he listened for a token of mote=
font within theroome. 1 ,
They were as soundless as a tomb.
"Therell' no use in lingering here, '
he thought. t'Beatrice will not
her appearance again to-night. - It is .' .
ways JO when she shuts herself up in
miumar. i . , . . , '
'ills sighed s o . heavily that the imp -
ii ii
tion was almost a moan.
,' Then he moved from the door tow s
the stalreaSe. . .
' Lord Adlowe noiselessly flitted, on
y o re hint, entering the' drawl ng-rooin wi
1 out haring been seen. •.
The Earl descended the stairs; and
paused lathe:lower hall to command his
features and- tolepress his agitation. He
follolotheinctils ooo ded , whente opened
tke demphud, Motored the presence; of his
guest; ,a 14., certainly. Lord ,Adlowe'a un
cone') qd,manner went to conflpn the
op . .
14
6 trice zegrota that she cannot •join
Us again this evening," fall Lord - Blunt,-
ton, - with , an appearance I of linearity.
"The deir girl was agitated by her recent
hitelliew with Yowl and. luiming.a. head.
1,69 w spolWes are necessary," inter.
• raEgetll6o 'Adi?Wit, Wi taw ELM instilot;
fiekfhissitated in his speech. "I should
be'som_tc4ilisturh her under the circum
'Stances. wilt dill upon her Idler my
return from the country."
The Earl!siglied: It was hard for him,
with his clear perceptions of integrity and
honor, to offer these false explanations.
"Beatrice will,
not be visible before
three to-marrow," he said. "These
town dissipations tell upon her. I am
going to take her into the-country as soon
as the Warm weather comes. We shall
be your neighbors then, Adlowe, for
Trevelyan Park is , riot many miles die- -
tent from our country home. You will
stop t the Park, I suppose."
Lord AdiCwe replied in the affirmative.
The Earl resumed his seat, and the two
pursued their comfersatkm with an ap
pearance I o interest in it; but-all the
while thfth er's heart wandered to the
mystery of 4is daughter's strange seclu
sion, and all the while Alowe studied
uppn the same subject.
I , lf I could only get a clue to Beatrseels
secret!" thbaght the guest.
Fate seemed tothrow the desired clue
into his hands.
The two 'gentlemen were is the midst
of an apparently absorbing discussion
concerningi a pereosi for whom neither
cared, when a liveried porter, whose
deity it wee to stand near the entrance
door, burst into the drawing room, . his
face the piOtare of wildest alarm.
"If you please, my lord," he gasped,
scarcely 00)28el01113 of what he wee say
ing, there is smoke coming from the Lady,
Beatrice's i dressing room. Something
must be on} lire
Ther Earl leaped to hie. feet.
"The room ma , firer he ejaculated►
"Yee, my lord. I'll give the alarm."
"Nor' commanded his- master sternly.
"Say nothing to your fellow servants.
Stay in the lower hall."
His lordship pdehed aside the astound
ed servitar& dashed im the stairs three
steps at ib time, and rushed towards his
daughterralooms.
Lord Adiowe Followed ot his heels.
There was smoke in the hall, issuing,
froth one of the rooms of the Lady
SeatFice. Clearly samethins , was burn
ing within.i
A grout of seriants,' aazious and
frightened,; stood near the door. The
Baal ordered them away peremptorily,
•and they dereld not disobey. tim. They
flied away through the warious passages
towards theirown domains.
doWn stairs, Adlowe," said the
Earl. "I am emng to break the door in!"
"I will help. you," was the brief re
sponse.
The eyes of the two men met. The
Earl did not dam to saythat he knew not
what should meet his gaze when, the door
opened. He had neither time nor incli
nation to ekplaia.- Submitting to the un
avoidable presence of Adlowe, he said:
"Come then;ln t your shoulder to the
door!"
Adlowe Obey -The Earl lent his as
sistance-. The door yielded and burst
open. The t i wo men rushed into the
i
Term.
t i i
1 It was f lof smoke; so dense that not
-an object within the apartment was per
ceptible. coughing and choking the Earl
crossed the floor end threw up the win
dows, eitablishing a draft of air.
Lord Adlowe quietly closed the door,
land stood tigainst it.
_The apartment cleared rapidly, and the
.titruders soon observed the came of the
Kliattirbance. A fire was burning in the
igrate, andlone of the live coals had snap
ipodlout; finding lodprient in the thick
pile of it vCivet rug. Here it had smoul
dared aid burned with siciamingodor and ,
heavy amok&
The Eari.,taughb up the rug, rolled it
tightly, stamping out the tire, and then:
song it frOm him.
Lord Adlowe loaked curiously aronncb
the apartnient.
It wars a dressing-room fit for an era.
!press.
But theowner cf-all thiseplendor was ,
not there.
Lord Adlowe darted quids, acnitinhe'
ing giaaces to the various conches aad
chairs,. but the form,of the Lady Beatrice
did not meet his vision.
"she ?n one of the other rooms,”'he
thought;meszto see her before I leave
themr • }
He had, scarcely made this resolve,
whey...the Earl said:
"The fire is extinguished, Adlowe.
Many thanks for your assistance. Let us
return to the drawing-room!" .
"But the Lady Beatrice—"
"is in tne of the other rooms of course,
In her htiuboir ' or bed.chaniber,-" and
the Earl !Coked from the right to the left,
the dress rig . : - Ri - o s m occupying a middle
position between the two rooms men
tioned. - ,
"She Must be suffocated (with the
antoke ' lloersisted Lord ;Adlowe, adher
ing tohiS resolve. "Perhaps she is lying
on the fl rin a swoon."
The Earl grew even paler. He looked
at his guset hesitatingly. He was anx
ious, no:4' ‘ tbat he stood upon the thres
hold of as:.tliscovery, to probe the secret
of the LSay Beatrice. But he could not
.bare his heart to his daughter's suitor.
He thought a moment, then said:
"Remiin here, Adlowe, while I look
in the boudoir."
He moved towards the front room,.
opened the door and passed In. -
Lord Adlowe—firmin his bold purpose
—also aPproached the , entrance and look
ed into the room in question.
It was; p.nocchpied. ,
The suitor of the Lady Beatrice re
treated as soon as he made the discovery,
while Lord Hampton stood bewildered
under the gleaming( gas.lamps. When
the Barl'came out, Adlowe met him with
an inquiry as to the state of his daughter.
"She's in her bed-chamber," said the
Earl, briefly, moving
.towards the last
named room.
He opened the door, entering, a sleep
ing apartment.. „The couches were un
occupied, and the father approached the
bed, parting the lace curtains.
Lord Adlowe stood in the doorway,
watching him-intently.
sThe pretty lace-frilled pillows were
plump and wand, the white satin bed
spread smo oth and straight. No form lay
within ; the dainty perfumed sheets; no im
press n figure was visible anywhere.
•illoW stranger muttered the father.
"Wher_
bath-room.'
can Beatrice- be? She must be
inher nith-room.s!
He kintssked et the door of the bath
ram. .„-No one answered. He looked
in. N0,,0n - e•f/ae there.
"Not i tieren,' exclaimed the Earl, in
Complete' Ottirdsbnient. "Her doors are
`all locked,lo give the impression that she
is herti.jBhe muSthave quitted the house.
Bet mbeie , Could she I have gone? Aid
mien? 1 And how?,
lie went to her werdrone and clesew,
the bonnets, shawls, and mantles of
the lady B ea t r ice were all_ there. He
knew well the various articles of his
• datiabter's wrappings bat not' shaW/ 1 or
I cloak that he had ever seen her wear Was
Llissing t ,
TAO only 'evidence that "threw any
light u;?on the subject was the discovery
of the dress she bad worn at dinner.
The crimson velvet robe lay in a heap on
the floor - of theeloset, as if it had been
hurriedly cast there.
Lord Hampton renewed his .search,
looking everywhere, but in vain.
The fact , was incontrovertible—the
Lady Beatrice was gone!
"This then" said the unhappy father,
"is the secret of my daughter's mysteri
ous seclusiom! Shepretends to be , shut
up here when she is in reality elsewhere.
I comprehend now why' she always re
fussed to em-ioy a maid! The mystery
is deeper t tan ever. Where is she?
Why has s e gone out so secretly?
How did sheigo unseen?" •
He groaned - - in the anguish of his
heart. '
Lord Adlowe still standing in the door.
way, lookeOsif a great good-fortune had
fallen to hili
He had gained a clue—simple and frail
—but still a;clue to the mystery envelop
ing Lord Hampton's daughter.
The Earl struggled with his emotions,
gained a factitious caLinness, and slowly
returned to the dressing-room. He found
his guest standing near the door, evi
dently waiting the signal for departtire."
"Beatrice Lanot injured, Adlowe," he
said, qteletly, not lifting his gaze, "She
will not return, to us this evening. Let
as go down."
He secured tbs. door 4o that it could
not be opened by any prying servant,
andthe two descended to the drawing
room.
Lord Adlowe,. thought it best not to
prolong his visit, and took hia leave.
"The Hampton, mystery deepens," he
mattered, as he descended 'the steps of
Hampton House, setting out for the hotel
at which he' was _temporarily- stopping.
"It is no vulgar and degrading habit
hat enslaves the Lady Beatrice—no
eating—nothing of that kind. She's
gone, and fon years-has been ins tbe habit
of 'absenting herself in this strange man
.
ner. Where does she go ? Can it be
that Geoffrey is living r and that ahe Meets
hirn elsewhere, thus liming a double life,
as 'I long ago•suspected? I must resolve
these horrible question.% I must watch
-I:hire a detective—give up my whole , soul
1: to ' i this- inquiry. I must/ discover some
-1 thing that will force her to marry met"
The above of this story that will
be I:iirblished in; our columns.. The con
;;. tinuation of it from where it leaves_ off
here can be found only in the New York
liedgerr„ which is for sale at the book
stores and news depots. Ask for the
number dated Daly 3, and+ in it you find
the continuation of this beautiful tale.
The Ledger has-the best stories of any
paper in the world;. and Henry Ward
Beecher, Junes Futon and Fanny. Fern,
have articles in every number.
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