t RHODA'S S (! !j * SECRET I I By SYLVJA CHESTER i ►: i\ CHAPTER I. It was a February morning In Paris. The sun was shining bril liantly in a clear sky, and the streets and boulevards were crowded. Rhoda Dering found some diffi culty in making her way, and the servant with her kept up a ceaseless flow of grumblings as she toiled along with a heavy basket. Rhoda paid no heed to her servant's words. She walked as quickly as possible, and she appeared as unconscious of the admiring eyes that followed her as of the servant's discontent. At last they reached a house In one of the smaller streets. Rhoda took a key and a letter from the concierge and led the way up the long flights of stone stairs. It was nearly at the top of the house that she stopped and unlocked the door that gave access to a small suite of rooms. The little salon was gaudily fur nished, the crimson velvet of the chairs and sofa was faded, the walls and ceiling were In sad need of re painting; it was &. dreary room, without a touch of beauty or refine ment about it. On the marble topped table before the window there were two candlesticks, with the candles half burned down, and a pack of cards. Rhoda took off her hat without looking at the maid. "You had better make haste and get luncheon ready. I will dust the room," she said, in cool high tones. It was a characteristic voice, strong and clear, but curiously hard. The woman put down the basket with a thump on one of the chairs. "I'll cook no more meals in this I>lace!" she exclaimed, in shrill tones. "Pay me my wages! You can do for yourself for the future; I'll do no more for you!" "You know quite well that I can not pay you your wages, and, until you get them, you must stay here," answered Rhoda, calmly. "Paris is no place for you to live in without money." "Where's my money, then? Give me my money." "You shall have it when I have it to give to you. You may be quite certain that I shall get rid of you on the first opportunity." "Money that's obtained by cheat ing at cards Is pretty sort of money to give to an honest girl! Oh, you think I know nothing. Miss Dering! You thought you would like a stupid English country girl who couldn't understand what it's all about; but I know what you are and your father too, and I want my money!" "I agree with you that it was a great mistake that we hired you," returned Rhoda, without looking at the servant. She was standing by the mantelpiece, looking at the let ter the concierge had given to her. She put it down and slightly turned towards the girl. "Kindly carry that basket away and bring me a duster." "When am I to have my wages?" said the girl sullenly, without mov ing. "You shall have them when I have the money. Go and get the luncheon ready." The servant took up the basket and then put It down and burst Into tears. "If you'd give me a kind word. Miss Derlng, now and then, I wouldn't mind; but I can't stand it and I won't stand it! And I hate your father and that Monsieur Le froy, and it isn't a place for a re spectable girl to be in!" Rhoda looked at the girl gravely. "Do you remember where I met you?" she said. The servant's sobs sounded louder. "I was all that lady's fault! She promised me a good situation if I came to Paris with her, and then, a month after, she gave me notice!" "Do you ever think what might have happened to you if I had not met you that evening? Paris is no place for an ignorant girl to be alone in." "I want togo back to England," muttered the girl sullenly. "You shall go back as soon as I can pay your fare; I am as anxious to get rid of you as you can be to go!" Rhoda answered sharply. "Now go away with that basket!" The girl, still sobbing loudly, car ried the basket into the inner room, and Rhoda took up the letter again. It was addresesd to her father, with an English postmark, and many for eign postmarks showed that it had been following them about. Rhoda was still looking at the let ter when a footstep sounded outside and her father came in. He was like Rhoda, tall and slight, with a pale handsome face. His hair was still black, and he would have looked a young man still but for the haggard lines on his face. Rhoda held out the letter without Bpeaking. Her father took it carelessly, but his face changed as he saw the handwriting. "My brother at last!" he said quickly, breaking the seal. "Well, I thought my last letter would fetch him." He read the letter, and then, with a laugh flung it to Rhoda. "Read it, my girl. It concerns you more than me.' The letter was written in a small. formal hand. There was a crest on the top of the thick white note pa per, and the motto "Hold truth dear." Rhoda read: Dear Arthur: I have carefully read your letter about your girl, and I see the force of what you say. You tell me she has been educated In a convent, but is still a Protestant. I am glad to hear that this is so. I thoroughly agree with you that your life is not one that should be shared by an Innocent girl. My first thought was to suggest to you that you should get her a home in some respectable English family, but my wife wishes her to come here. My own daugh ter is just eighteen; Rhoda will be able to help her with French and music. You say she is proficient in both. Of course it is quite under stood between us that any communi cation on your part with Rhoda will lead at once to her losing the home I offer her. I am yours, etc. George Derlng. "A pleasant letter from a brother to a brother, eh, Rhoda?" said Mr. Derlng, as Rhoda folded the letter and placed it upon the mantelpiece. "When does he think that I left the convent?" she asked. "That's the joke of It, my dear. He thinks you are still there —that you have been there since your mother died, twelve years ago." "That means that you told him so."— "Exactly." "Why?" Mr. Dering had seated himself upon a chair by the window, and Rhoda turned towards him to ask the question. "If I had told him you left the convent two years ago, do you think you would have received that lnvi tion?" "Do you wish me to accept It?" "By Jove, I do! Look here, Rhoda, you are a clever girl and a handsome girl. I want you back at Derlng; things are pretty well played out here. You see what our luck is, and how our funds stand. I intend you to make your fortune at Dering." "As a governess to my uncle's daughter?" "Well, not exactly like that. Do you remember what I told you of your aunt Millicent?" "Of course." "Well, she's at Dering. Platter her little weaknesses, my dear, and get your name down In her will. That's one way of making your for tune." "She is not much older than you," returned Rhoda. "Not much, certainly. But that's only one way out of the wood for you, though. You can make a good marriage, Rhoda." "Yes, there is that to think of," the girl answered quietly. She |>aused a moment, and then said, "I suppose you dwelt upon the Impos sibility of my living with you?" "Exactly. I used two colors only in my letter —white for you, black for myself; a lamb and a wolf. You were leaving the peacoful shelter of the convent, what was I to do v ith you? All this, and more, I said. The letter went, and voila!" He waved his hand towards the answer. "The first attack has been crowned with victory, Rhoda, my girl. Now it is your turn. Mere Amelie will re ceive you for a week or so. Write from the convent an answer to that letter. Say how glad you will be to embrace your dear relatives, scatter a few French expressions over 'the pages, talk of your happy convent life and the dear nuns. Avoid all reference to me. Then oft you goto Derlng under some safe escort; get under the same roof with my dear sister, Millicent, and in a month my clever daughter will be first on her list of favorites. Then will come a season In town, a brilliant marriage, and then —why, then you can think of your old father." "An alluring prospect," said Rhoda, with a bitter smile. "It's a perfectly safe thing, my dear. I should like to bet on it." "The cards are more against us than you realize," the girl answered. "How am I to play the part of a girl fresh from a convent? I have lived with you for two years." "I have all your convent letters to me, my dear; you shall read them and take them with you. Then re call what you were like two years ago—what a truthful. Innocent, Bweet-faced little maid you were'" A look of intense bitterness passed over Rhoda's face. She did not speak, but she took up her uncle's letter again and read it through. Her father watched her, drumming with his fingers on the table beside him. "It's our only chance, Rhoda," he said, after a moment. "I am played out, and it's time I left Paris. I didn't llkelthe looks of Marche and Lisle at all this morning; I believe they suspected something last night." "I am sure they did," Rhoda in terpolated quietly. "I must be off to Monte Carlo," Mr. Derlng continued, "and Lefroy is going with me. You know you hate going there." "I do not intend togo," the girl answered. "I am going to England .—to Derlng!" Mr. Derlng jumped up, struck his hands together, and a 16ok of great relief passed over his face. "That's a good girl! The fact is, Rhoda, I couldn't take you to Monte Carlo this time! We shall be a low lot, and I must keep you out of it somehow!" "I have never had a chance," the girl said, half to herself. "Why shouldn't I take this chance?" "You would be a goose If you did not take It, my dear! All you have to do Is to forget the past two years of your life and be a little convent maid again!" "Yes; that is all I have to do," she returned' with a bitter smile. She took up her hat and gloves. "I must look after the luncheons." she said. "Sarah Is clamoring for her wages again!" "Confound the girl! What on earth made you have that girl, Rhoda? Celine was worth twenty of her!" 'Celine —was Celine!" said Rhoda, with a bitter smile. Mr. Dering shrugged his shoul ders. "Let us hope the time Is coming when you can afford to be particu lar, Rhoda. Lefroy is coming to lunch." "You can hardly call me particu lar," the girl said. "I sit at the ta ble with M. Lefroy!" Mr. Dering took out a cigar and began to light It as he answered: "If you were not going to Dering, you would have another proposal made to you, Rhoda." "Pray of what kind?" "From M. Lefroy." Rhoda turned with a sudden look of Intense scorn on her dark face. Her father laughed. "You are going to Dering, my dear, or I should have advised you to accept it.l owe Lefroy five thou sand francs." "You know I hate him." "But you must have married him, my dear, If you had not gone to Dering!" "Never!" "Well, we need not discuss it. You see we are agreed about my little plan. By the bye," he added, as Rhoda moved towards the door, "how old arc you, Rhoda?" "You know." "But you do not, my dear; you are twenty. I took leave to alter your age by two years. No woman can object to be two years younger than she is!" , Rhoda turned back into the room and shut the door. She sat down by her father and laid her hand upon his arm. "Father, I do not think I can do it. I shall not be able to my part. Write, or let me write, nnd tell uncle George the truth. Tell him that I huve shared your life for these years. He cannot refuse to have me even if he knows the truth!" * Mr. Dering laid down his cigar and put his hand over hers. "My dear," he said. In a very gen tle tone, "I have been a reckless and careless father to you, and I want you to have this one chance. I know Dering; I want you know it. You say, tell George the truth. How is it possible? Look the truth in the face, Rhoda. I have been a gambler and a cheat. You have known this, and you have lived with me for two years. That one thing would cut you off for ever from Dering If it were known." Rhoda said nothing. "When you came back from the convent," her father went on after a pause, "I meant to reform —I tried to do it—you know I did, Rhoda. But It was of no use. We have been good comrades and friends, my flrl, but the time has come for us to part. I am in Lefroy's power to some ex tent, and he and I are going to be partners for the future. If you stay with me, you must marry him, Rhoda." "Cannot we go away together— go to the colonies —anywhere—and begin a new life?" "We threshed out that question long ago, Rhoda. No, my dear; do a little for a great good. Goto Dering —it Is your rightful home—and try your luck there. Only understand this, Rhoda—the invitation is given to you as you were two years ago. The least hint of the truth would close the doors of Dering to you for ever!" Rhoda's face hardened and her lips grew stern. "Yes, you are right to blame me," Mr. Dering went on as he watched her face. "I ought never to have brought you into my life. But I knew I could take care of you—and I have taken care of you—now haven't I, Rhoda?" "Yet you say that they would turn me out of Dering if they knew the truth!" "They would certainly turn you out of Dering if they knew that you had lived with me for two years!" he answered emphatically. "But they do not know —they never will know!" Rhoda rose from her seat. "They shall not know," she said. She paused for a moment and then slowly left the room. ' Mr. Dering took up his cigar again and smoked for a little while. But presently he laid It down again and sat looking before him with a heavy frown on hi; brow. Once or twice he gave a hopeless sigh. His face looked very worn and haggard In the morning light. He was still sit ting there when a tap came at the door. It opened before Mr. Dering could speak, and a slim, dark man entered —a man a few years younger than Mr. Dering, with the same hag gard lines round his eyes. He had a thin hawklike face and a pair of wonderful black eyes. "I am early," he said in excellent English. "But I knew I might take that liberty." "Come in, come In!" said Mr. Dering without rising. "Luncheon will be ready soon." The visitor sat down on the chair by the table and glanced at the let ter lying there. ■ "An English letter, mon amilj Now, I was not aware that you keptl up correspondence with any English friends." "Weren't you?" returned Mr. Der ing shortly. "A lawyer perhaps? They are ▼ery troublesome correspondents, those lawyers." "A letter from my brother George," the other answered, with a glance at the Frenchman's face. "An Invitation to Rhoda." M. Lefroy raised his eyebrows slightly. "Are we on such terms with our brother? I congratulate you, my friend Dering." "Thank you! Rhoda Is going al most at once. There was silence for a moitient. Then M. Lefroy said carelessly: "A long visit?" "A life long visit in all probabil ity. Rhoda will live in England in future." There was another silence. Mr. Dering watched the Frenchman's face furtively, but it told him little. M. Lefroy spoke first. "I had the honor a few days ago, to make certain proposals to you. Did I express myself clearly on that occasion?" "Quite clearly, my friend." "Then why does mademoiselle go to England? Am I to understand—" "You are to understand, my dear Lefroy, that I feel very deeply the honor of the alliance you propose, but it cannot be." "And why?" Mr. Dering shrugged his shoul ders. "A girl has fancies about such things. I wish Rhoda to chose for herself; and.to speak quite frankly, my friend, she does not choose you." "But you give me no chance. 1 hoped that in this journey to gether—" Mr. Dering interrupted the Frenchman sharply. "It's out of the question! Take your answer, Lefroy. You and I go alone. Your marriage with my daughter is utterly out of the ques tion. The Frenchman drew back in his chair with a sudden jerk. It was the only sign he showed that the words had moved him. There was a deadly calmness in his tone and manner as he answered. "You speak strongly, mon ami. Have you looked at tho game thor oughly. "I know your cards. Play them all. Do your worst." "You are excited, too much ex cited. Allow me to withdraw from my position. I congratulate made moiselle on her good fortune. You have a very good brother, my dear friend." He got up as the door opened be hind him and stepped forward to meet Rhoda. "I have just heard the good news, mademoiselle," he said, with a low bow. "You leave us desolate; but an English home Is to be made glad by our loss. I congratulate that Eng lish home." "Thank you, Monsieur Lefroy!" Rhoda returned, with a slight bow. "I am glad togo to England." "How glad England will be to re ceive you! How thrice fortunate your uncle's happy family! You will be able to enliven the long winter evenings, mademoiselle, by long tales of your travels." "Rhoda is taking notes for that purpose," her father broke in. She will have many stories to tell them all." "I am surprised," M. Lefroy went on. "Forgive me, mademoiselle, for being so surprised; but I thought—" "You see, Lefroy," Mr. Dering again broke In, "what surprises you is an old tale with us. They have wanted Rhoda for years, but she would not leave her father. I am not invited to Dering. That might surprise you indeed." "They are very good and kind, your English relatives. If I appear Surprised, mademoiselle, it is that you have waited so long." "Your surprise is quite natural, M. Lefroy," returned Rhoda quiet ly. A scarlet spot of color had come Into each cheek, and her eyes were dark with anger, but her voice was very calm. "Luncheon is ready," she added, turning away and ad dressing her father. "Will you come into the other room?" "I had hoped so much that you would come with us next week," the Frenchman went on, drawing a step nearer to her. Mr. Dering glanced at them both and then busied himself with his cigar-case. M. Lefroy went on in a lower tone. "Can I not persuade you? Eng land is cold; English people will not understand you. Mademoiselle, I en treat you, do not goto England!" "England is my native country," Rhoda answered, meeting his pas sionate gaze with cold steady eyes. "I goto my own people, Monsieur Lefroy. My father will join me soon, I hope. I have no wish to leave England again." "You have no pity for the friends you leave behind?" "I have no friends. There is no one In the world except my father who has the right to claim that title." "Not your dear English friends?" said Lefroy, with a low bow. "You forgot them —your kind good Eng lish relatives." "I should have said, 'out of Eng land,' " the girl returned. "You do not fear any enemy?" "I fear no one." Lefroy bowed and crossed the room to open the door for Rhoda. As she passed, she looked straight at him. "I fear no one. Monsieur Lefroy," ■he repeated steadily. (To Be Continued.) CHARLES H. TREAT DEAD Former Treasurer of the United States Succumbs to Attack In New York. New York. .Turin I.— Charles Henry Treat, until a few months ago treas urer of the United States, to which po sition he was appointed hy President :HArue'j 'H trFAT Roosevelt, died of apoplexy in his apartments at the Hotel Victoria. Mr. Treat was born in Frankfort, Me., about sixty-eight years ago. Among his ancestors were Robert B?AHTED-fl RIDER AGENTS" amp.e JLatcst Model "Iwincror" bicycle furnished by uj. Our agents everywhere are (lakingr money fast. Write for full particulars ami special offer at once. NO MONEY KKQI IKKI) until you receive and approve of your bicycle. We ship to anyone, anywhere in the U. 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