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• THE 
 
 IGURE EIGHT 
 
 OB, 
 
 THE MYSTERY OF MEREDITH PLACE. 
 
 BY SEELEY REGESTER, 
 
 AUTHOR OE "THE DEAD LETTER." 
 
 NEW YORK: fi 
 BEADLE & COMPANY, PUBLISHERS, 
 98 William Street. 
 
Entered according to Act of Congress, in the year of our Lord, 1869, by 
 SEELEY EEGESTEK, 
 In the Clerk's Office of the District Court of the United States, for the Southern District of New York. 
 
THE FIGURE EIGHT. 
 
 CHAPTER I. 
 
 ADOW LIFE. 
 
 I had figure eight on the brain. I dreamed 
 it, whispered it, saw it on the wall, on people's 
 foreheads, counted it with the plates at table, 
 with the stones of the pavement, the clouds in 
 the air ! ^ 
 
 Three weeks before, my uncle had been found 
 dead in his library, fallen on the floor beside 
 bis table, a pen grasped in his stiffened fingers. 
 It was apparent that he had died very sudden- 
 ly, it was supposed, at first, from apoplexy, but, 
 as it was soon ascertained, poisoned with prus- 
 sic acid, whether purposely or accidentally, by 
 himself, or whether by the murderous will of 
 another, still was an open question. 
 
 He. had complained, in the morning, at table, 
 of a slight headache, nothing serious, — or at 
 least we had supposed not, — and later, after 
 walking about in the garden in hopes the fresh 
 air would dispel his slight ailment, he had gone 
 to his library, as was his practice, for a couple 
 of hours in the forenoon. No member of the 
 household knew of any one's having entered 
 the room save himself, as it was the custom not 
 to intrude upon him while in his library. Be- 
 side him, on the table, was a small salver, 
 holding a wine-glass which had been nearly 
 emptied of its contents, — port, and in the port, 
 that deadly potion which had done its work 
 with such fearful swiftness. It might have 
 been that he, being his own physician, had pre- 
 scribed for himself, and, through inadvertence 
 — for his was always a dreamy temperament, 
 and his absence of mind a standing jest with 
 his friends, — had dropped this horrible poison 
 in place of the sulphuric-acid which stood not 
 far from it upon the medicine-shelf in his 
 laboratory. However, this, and all other versions 
 of the affair, at present, were but conjecture. 
 
 As soon as the first great shock of surprise 
 and consternation was over, and his dead body 
 had been borne to an adjacent room, much at- 
 tention was given to a sheet of paper discover- 
 ed lying upon the table. A scrawled, illegible 
 
 line of writing, followed by a tremulous, irreg- 
 ular figure eight, was upon its face, as if in a 
 hurried moment it had been* seized to commu- 
 nicate to the living some piece of intelligence 
 which the dying man deemed of interest or 
 importance. This scrawl was as follows : 
 
 evidently traced by a spasmodic effort of the 
 perishing will, even while the man was fighting 
 for a moment of life. He had sunk and died 
 with the pen in his hand, and this was all the 
 record he had made. My uncle had just re- 
 turned from California with sixty thousand 
 dollars in gold— gold which had not, as yet, 
 even passed through the mint, but which lay 
 in dull bars of yellow richness, just as it had 
 been melted by himself in a rude crucible, week 
 by week and month by month of his two years 
 sojourn in the newly discovered El Dorado. 
 He had, in the very pride of his conquest over 
 the ill fortune which had banished him from 
 home, friends, and his dear studies, opened the 
 
6 
 
 THE FIGURE EIGHT. 
 
 iron-bound box and showed it to Lillian and 
 myself the day after his welcome home. How 
 Lillian had clasped her hands for joy ! I, 
 who read her sweet nature so truly, knew well 
 enough that joy arose from no rapacious love of 
 money, for its own sake, but from the con- 
 sciousness that there lay the hardly -won trea- 
 sure which was to free her dear father from the 
 wretched embarrassments and anxieties which, 
 for years, had rendered him miserable. 
 
 Sixty thousand dollars then was a goodly for- 
 tune, and Lillian felt that her father was re- 
 stored to her, in his old self, as she flung her 
 arms about his neck, mutely congratulating 
 him with a kiss. Yes, when the ten thousand 
 dollar mortgage against the old homestead 
 was paid off, and sundry other obligations dis- 
 charged, there still would be a handsome sum 
 remaining for the use of parent and child. And, 
 dearest thought of all, her father now could re- 
 sign the distasteful hardships of a country med- 
 ical practice, and devote himself to the more 
 congenial pursuits of finishing a partially-writ- 
 ten treatise on the Nerves, and continue his 
 experiments in chemistry, which had promised 
 so fruitful of interesting results, but from which 
 he had been driven by his necessities. 
 
 But Dr. Meredith was dead — dead and 
 buried ! The whole country-side had attended 
 his funeral, moved by curiosity and that love of 
 excitement which all the circumstances of this 
 singular case were so well calculated to arouse. 
 
 Why had he died ? and why, in dying, had he 
 inscribed that single character to mystify, per- 
 plex and haunt ? Hundreds had asked them- 
 selves and others the question, — but no one 
 with such terrible earnestness as I had asked it 
 of myself, every day more searchingly. Hour 
 by hour, minute by minute, through the 
 solemn days, and through much of the night 
 time when sleep refused to visit my heavy eyes, 
 I pondered over the mystery. That there was 
 a deep and most vital significance in the char- 
 acters traced I only too well knew. Not a pen- 
 scratch of will or devise was found among his 
 papers — not a line to indicate his wishes and 
 purposes — not a shadow of information to tell 
 us where was deposited the precious treasure 
 which was to free the dear old home from the 
 Sheriffs order of sale. Every drawer had been 
 ransacked, every secret place of deposit search- 
 ed, but not a trace of the hardly won gold— 
 not a hint of its existence. 
 
 Had he hidden it away, distrusting all men, 
 in some unsuspected burial-place ? or — the very 
 thought maddened me — had some one wrested 
 the money from him^ and he, in his despair — 
 taken poison to end his misery over the ruin 
 which must follow ? 
 
 Eight — eight — eight! That was his last pre- 
 cious communication, written with death tug- 
 ging at his heart-strings : what did it mean ? 
 
 Three weeks flew by — weeks of unanswered 
 inquiry — of the deepest sorrow to the house- 
 hold — of distress over the evil to come. So 
 abstracted in my thoughts and oppressed with 
 them had I been that I had failed to discover 
 the danger in which I was placed. These three 
 weeks had brought a great change in the de- 
 meanor of the community toward me. I awak- 
 ened from my abstraction to read suspicion in 
 eyes which were once kind — to feel that, in 
 all Hampton, there were not a dozen persons 
 who did not regard me as my uncle's murderer ! 
 
 To-night I was sitting in my room, as I be- 
 lieved, for the last time. That day I was in- 
 formed by an anonymous note — whether from 
 friend or enemy I could not tell — that the 
 popular feeling against me would culminate, on 
 the morrow, in my arrest, and I was advised 
 to fly. It must have been the advice of an 
 enemy, yet I was about to take it. I knew such 
 a step would be ruinous to myself ; that it would 
 be like announcing myself to be the guilty 
 man ; and, in case of my being followed and 
 discovered, that it would hasten my condemna- 
 tion. Yet I had reason for this course so pow- 
 erful as to decide me in its favor. 
 
 It was midnight. At two o'clock the night 
 express would pause a moment at Hampton on 
 its flying journey to New York ; I proposed to 
 take it, in such disguise that the sleepy station- 
 master should not recognize me, and before 
 this country neighborhood began to buzz and 
 stir in anticipation of the event of the day, I 
 should be lost in a city wilderness, hiding my- 
 self in a crowd, safe for an hour or a day — after 
 that all was vague. 
 
 On my table lay a letter which I had written 
 to Lillian : " Think of me as you will, cousin 
 Lillian. I swear to you, by the memory of 
 your dead mother, that I am innocent. It is 
 solely in your interest that I take the step I do. 
 I leave you what little money I have — three 
 hundred dollars. Your father gave it to me, 
 as you know, to enable me to attend a course 
 of lectures. It is yours by right. Be very sav- 
 ing of it, for you do not yet realize what it is 
 to be both penniless and friendless. The know- 
 ledge, I fear, will come to you too soon, in 
 spite of my efforts to save you from it. God 
 give you strength to face the future and me 
 strength to work out the dread secret of my 
 uncle's death." The clock in the lower hall 
 struck twelve : — no, it did not, but should 
 have struck twelve. Its silver peal rang like 
 an alarum through the intense stillness, and 
 seemed such to my strained, excited ear. I 
 
THE FIGURE EIGHT. 
 
 was not aware that I was counting the chimes, 
 but when a dull silence ensued after the ham- 
 mer had tolled eight strokes, my pulse stopped 
 as suddenly as the clock. 
 
 Eight ? yes, as the silence closed I was con- 
 scious that I had been counting. It struck 
 eight and no more ! 
 
 Mind and nerves being already overstrained, 
 this coincidence gave a new impetus to my 
 fears, or terror, or dread— whatever may have 
 been the feeling. Only eight! I thought I 
 should suffocate, my heart stood still for such 
 a time. I rushed to the window for air. It 
 was now the first of July, — a hot, breathless 
 night, although the moon rode high in the 
 heavens, shedding a glory only less than that 
 of day. 
 
 The absolute serenity of the moon-flooded 
 heaven calmed me. I began to say to myself — 
 " The clock has run down. In the excitement of 
 this dreadful time it has been neglected. There 
 is nothing about that which can not be easily 
 accounted for. I will go down and wind it up." 
 
 It was an eight-day clock. My uncle always 
 had attended to it himself. Since his death it 
 had been wound but once ; a servant, observing 
 that it had run down, had attended to it. Of 
 course it was only by the merest chance that, 
 again neglected, it had lost the power to con- 
 clude its chime, and had ceased after eight slow 
 strokes. 
 
 When one's mind is in a state of preternatu- 
 ral or diseased activity, it will seize upon the 
 slightest thread to weave into the web with 
 which it busies itself. I was obliged to repeat 
 several times — " It is only because the clock has 
 run down — I will go and wind it up," before I 
 could summon courage to cross my room, open 
 my door, and step into the dimly-lighted upper 
 hall. 
 
 I am sure that I expected to confront my 
 uncle as I opened the door. I can hardly say 
 whether I most hoped or feared to do so. Cer- 
 tain it is that, had he been standing there, in 
 whatever supernatural guise, I should have 
 saluted him with the one eager question which 
 was burning in my brain — should have asked him 
 for the key to the cipher he had left. 
 
 No spirit met me, nor mortal, as I trod the 
 glimmering length of the shadow-haunted pas- 
 sage, and descended the broad stairs with a 
 step as silent as if I had been one of the ghosts 
 which I half-expected would rise to confront 
 me. The lower hall was much better lighted 
 than the upper. The wide doors at either end 
 were half of glass, and the tall form of the old- 
 fashioned time-piece stood fully revealed in the 
 illumination from without. A bright rift of 
 moonlight lay across the foot of the stairs, 
 
 as it struck through the parlor door, across the 
 well-worn carpet. I had missed the ticking 
 of the pendulum as soon as I opened my door, 
 and was thus assured that my conjecture was 
 correct — the clock had run down. 
 
 I could not reach to wind the piece without 
 standing upon a chair, but as none was at hand 
 I stepped into the parlor for one. with which I 
 was returning, when a slight clicking sound 
 arrested me and I drew back into the shadow 
 | of the door. 
 
 From where I stood I could see, without 
 i being seen. A woman came out of the library 
 — that apartment so gloomily invested with 
 the late tragedy — a woman whose tall figure I 
 : recognized even before the rift of moonlight 
 fell across the pale, powerful face, with its 
 I flashing eyes and heavy brow. It was Miss 
 j Miller. Lillian's governess. She was dressed in 
 : a long white night-robe; and her black hair 
 hung over her shoulders, as if she had been in 
 bed and had risen therefrom. As she paiLsed to 
 cautiously re-close the door, her face lit up 
 with a smile, and she muttered, half-whisper- 
 ing, half-aloud — " I have the key for which 
 they would give so much." 
 
 Then she seemed to float up the long stair- 
 way, she went so noiselessly and softly, disap- 
 pearing in the upper shadows. To me she had 
 the appearance of a sleep-walker, yet I believed 
 her to be awake and in her right mind. 
 
 Eemembering many things which I knew too 
 well, I can not say that I was so much astonish- 
 ed as startled at seeing her steal out of that 
 room in the dead hour of the night. A thou- 
 sand surmises stung me as with so many nee- 
 dles; but most I longed to know the secret of 
 that softly breathed assertion. Did she speak 
 of the figure eight and its unread riddle ? or 
 did she refer to some material key, necessary 
 to unlock some drawer or case in my uncle's 
 library, of some importance, perhaps, but insig- 
 nificant, after all, as compared with the infer- 
 ence? 
 
 I was tempted to rush after her and seize her 
 by the hair or the throat and demand an ex- 
 planation of her self-revealed words. She and 
 I were not good friends. It doubtless was she 
 who first breathed the suspicion which had 
 gathered strength as it spread, until now it 
 was driving me from home and Lillian. At 
 least, I gave Miss Miller credit for having done 
 me this evil service. 
 
 I was tempted, I say, to rush after her and 
 wring the truth from her by violence; but a 
 moment's reflection showed me the hour had 
 not yet come for me to strike — would never 
 come, except by great patience and cunning — 
 perhaps great suffering — on my part. I must 
 
8 
 
 THE FIGURE EIGHT. 
 
 carry out my plan of flight in order to gain 
 liberty wherein to work. In a prison I could 
 do nothing. It was not so much dread of con- 
 finement or ignominious death as it was the 
 desire to keep myself free to work, which im- 
 pelled me to flight. I already had tasted the 
 bitterness of a scorned life in seeing my friends 
 turn from me ; but I had still everything to 
 live for as long as that communication of my 
 dying benefactor remained an enigma, and so 
 long as my dear cousin — but of that no more 
 here. 
 
 In a few moments I retraced my steps. I 
 did not wind the clock, for fear that another 
 might surprise me, as I had her ; but, after 
 waiting until she had time to regain her apart- 
 ment, I went to mine and hastily finished my 
 few preparations for departure. With a work- 
 ingman's blouse over my coat, and a broad-brim- 
 med straw hat, I considered myself sufficiently 
 disguised for the journey. If the station-mas- 
 ter should recognize me, he had no power to de- 
 tain me, and he probably would give no alarm 
 before morning. The ride to the city would 
 be only of about three hours duration ; and, 
 once merged in that vast sea of human beings, 
 I hoped to avoid recognition. 
 
 In those days, photography slept undevelop- 
 ed, and the one daguerreotype of my features 
 which hitherto had graced the parlor etigere I 
 had that day confiscated and destroyed, so that 
 the police — who doubtless would be placed on 
 my track — would have no better knowledge^ 
 my personal appearance than could be gather- 
 ed from verbal description. 
 
 Long before one o'clock I was entirely ready. 
 It would take me but fifteen minutes to walk 
 to the station ; yet I was so oppressed by the 
 conflicting emotions which crowded upon me, 
 as well as by the heat of that sultry but bril- 
 liant midnight, that I could no longer remain 
 •n my room. With ihe traveling bag which 
 held all I cared to take with me from Meredith 
 Place, I again descended the glimmering stair- 
 case, and, staring up at the silent clock, which 
 seemed to have paused in its ceaseless duty to 
 mark the hour of my flight, passing the closed 
 !ibrary-door with a shudder, I softly unfasten- 
 ed the rear door of the hall and stepped out 
 into the garden.' Tiger lay on the steps, but 
 allowed me to pass, wagging his tail just 
 enough to betray his friendliness and his sleep- 
 iness. Brave old fellow ; he was not wise 
 enough to understand what the world was 
 saying of me, and he loved me still. 
 
 I did not at once go out upon the road. I 
 had an hour to spare, and " something in my 
 feet" drew me on to the arbor at the end of the 
 large old-fashioned garden. It was my cousin's 
 
 favorite resort in the long summer afternoons ; 
 and, too, as I sat there, I could see the muslin 
 curtain faintly fluttering over her chamber- 
 window. The arbor was draped with roses now 
 in their fullest bloom ; the warmth of the night 
 called out their richest perfume, and they ap- 
 peared to throb in the lustrous radiance which 
 surrounded them as my heart throbbed in 
 thinking of Lillian. 
 
 But this was no moment for a young man's 
 fancies to bloom. I had nothing to do with 
 the flush and sweetness of life — alas, nothing ! 
 All was stem and hard — an awful reality ol 
 sorrow and danger. My reputation gone, my 
 life in peril — it was not of this I so bitterly pon- 
 dered ; I resolved to work, to wait, to scheme, 
 to watch, never to let go my hold on the slen- 
 der thread of one small fact until I had wor- 
 ried and shaken the truth from it. I had a 
 clue — a spider's thread, indeed, but still a clue, 
 to the mystery of my uncle's sudden death; 
 though none whatever to the meaning of the 
 figure eight. If I lived, both of these should be 
 made plain as day ; my cousin's fortune should 
 be restored to her, and I exonerated in the 
 minds of our acquaintances. 
 
 I had sat in the shadowed arbor about ten 
 minutes when I heard Tiger give a low growl ; 
 but he did not repeat it, and I had almost for- 
 gotten it, when I saw descending the broad 
 garden path, now in light, now in shade, as 
 she moved beneath the mountain-ashes which 
 lined the way, the same woman who had ap- 
 peared in the hall, her tall form towering to a 
 supernatural height as she came down the vis- 
 ta with her white night-dress trailing behind 
 her and her hair sweeping beneath her waist in 
 dark masses. Not that she was really much 
 above the average height, but her dress, her 
 gliding step, and the flickering light, made 
 her appear so. My first impulse was to rise as 
 I saw that she approached my retreat ; but I 
 could not escape her observation should I now 
 attempt to leave it, and with a muttered word 
 of wrath at this (to me) dangerous and unpleas- 
 ant rencontre I awaited her. 
 
 Presently she stood in the open arch which 
 admitted to the arbor. I shrank back in the 
 shadow of the vines as much as possible, but 
 the full splendor of the moon streamed down 
 upon her, so that I saw her with every fold of 
 her garments and line of her features vividly 
 marked in the pale light. She seemed to be 
 looking directly at me with wide-open glitter- 
 ing eyes, but I was soon convinced that she 
 did not see me. Her gaze was more as if she 
 looked through and beyond me. I saw that 
 she was walking in her sleep. \ Was it her con- 
 science, like that of Lady Macbeth, which 
 
THE FIGURE EIGHT. 
 
 9 
 
 brought her out of what should be repose, to 
 walk abroad with those staring eyes and fea- 
 tures set in a strange mould of blank gloom 
 and horror ? I judged her harshly as she had 
 already judged me. 
 
 Now, indeed, I held my breath with an in- 
 tensity of interest, for it was not impossible 
 that this somnambulistic person was about 
 unconsciously to place in my very hand the 
 wished for thread. 
 
 For a time which seemed to me long, but 
 which could not have been more than one or 
 two minutes, she stood at the entrance, her eyes 
 looking straight before her, seemingly at me. 
 Her face was colorless, her brows contracted, 
 her whole look almost fearful. Then her eyes 
 began to wander about the place, uneasily, but 
 still as if she saw things which were not there, 
 instead of the objects before her. She slowly 
 raised her hand, and with extended fore-finger 
 made several movements, as if counting. Then 
 she searched the floor of the arbor with- her 
 eyes, and again moved lips and fingers as if 
 counting the stones with which it was paved. 
 
 My blood tingled in my veins as I saw a 
 change come over her countenance — a gleam 
 broke through its stony gloom. There grew a 
 change in what at first seemed the meaningless 
 movements of one who slept ; I watched, with 
 bated breath, as she advanced within, again 
 seemed to count with fingers and lips, and sud- 
 denly dropping to her knees, began to tug at 
 one of the fiat, square stones, which, as I have 
 said, paved the arbor. Of course, with her un- 
 aided woman's strength she could not remove 
 it. I longed to go down beside her and assist 
 her. I recognized an object in her efforts. I 
 could hardly refrain from thrusting her aside 
 and tearing up the stone in the fierceness of 
 my own curiosity. The thought that if I were 
 mistaken in my conjecture, all would be lost, 
 should I awaken the governess at this crisis, 
 restrained me. Finding she could not lift the 
 stone she took a pair of scissors from a ribbon 
 about her neck and slowly pried out the earth 
 and mortar about it. The work seemed to me 
 endless. Persistently, but with annoying de- 
 liberation, she worked away ; I almost touched, 
 her where she knelt before me ; I did not be- 
 lieve that she would succeed in loosening the 
 block with the little instrument so ridiculous- 
 ly inadequate to the task she had attempted. 
 
 Cautiously I drew forth my watch — but I 
 need not have feared disturbing her ; she re- 
 mained unconscious of my proximity ; it was 
 a quarter past one. She worked on ; it was 
 half past one. At two I must be at the station. 
 When my impatience had reached a feverish 
 height, she ran the tiny lever deep down be- 
 
 side the stone ; the steel snapped as she pried 
 up the mass ; but the stone moved, and gain- 
 ing a firmer hold with her fingers she pulled it 
 slowly from its place and peered into the cavi- 
 ty thus made. I also stooped and peered. If 
 ever in my life I expected anything it was to 
 see the missing box — the box containing my un- 
 cle's gold — which had disappeared before or at 
 the time of his death. My head almost touched 
 hers, our breaths mingled, I gave a low cry 
 when I beheld only the hardened, undisturbed 
 earth, — no box, nor marks of recent disturb- 
 ance. The governess did not hear my cry ; 
 she plied the broken scissors into the ground 
 with fierce impatience, but there was nothing 
 there save the soil which yielded to her strokes. 
 
 "That boy is cunning," she whispered, "too 
 cunning! too cunning!" she pulled the stone 
 back, fitted it to its place, with her handker- 
 chief brushed away the loose gravel and dirt, 
 arose to her feet, and looking wistfully and 
 doubtfully around the pavement, muttered— 
 " I must count again. I did not begin right." 
 
 That instant I heard the whistle of the ap- 
 proaching train, through the still night air, at 
 the village next to Hampton, where it did not 
 stop, and I knew that I had but six minutes 
 to use in gaining the station. Was she going 
 now, or would she carry her experiments far- 
 ther? Yes, she turned to leave, and as she 
 glided out into the moonlight, I darted past 
 her, down to the gate at the bottom of the gar- 
 den, out upon the road, where, running as fast 
 as my traveling-bag would allow me, I was 
 just in time to gain a foothold on the platform 
 of the last car, probably unnoticed by the 
 station-master. 
 
 CHAPTER H. 
 
 THE HAUNTED ARBOR. 
 
 I was no sooner seated in the flying train 
 than all my plans were changed. Before the 
 conductor reached me I had foregone my reso- 
 lution to seek a hiding-place in the city, and 
 contented myself with purchasing a ticket to 
 the first stopping-place. Eegarding me as 
 some country youth, seeking employment from 
 village to village — if he thought of me at all — 
 the conductor gave me my ticket and change, 
 and I had half an hour to reflect upon what 
 was before me ere the train again paused. 
 When it did, I descended, it whirled on, and I 
 was left, to success or failure, as the case 
 might be. I found myself on the edge of a 
 large town with which I was somewhat fami- 
 liar ; but I had no intention of going to a ho- 
 tel, or otherwise exposing myself to those who 
 might recognize and report me. I walked up 
 on to the main street, only to strike off again, 
 
10 
 
 THE FIGURE EIGHT. 
 
 leave the town, cross fields and woods, to come 
 upon a back-country road or lane where I knew 
 I might walk all day without danger. Feel- 
 ing myself comparatively safe here, as the 
 sun came up, I chose a snug fence-corner, 
 where, with my head on my bag, I slept away 
 much of the fatigue of the night. I was awa- 
 kened by the clear sharp whistle of a farmer, 
 who eyed me closely as he passed by to his mor- 
 ning 's work. It was novel to me, and not 
 pleasant, to shrink from any one's observation; 
 but I felt that it was. something I should be- 
 come accustomed to. "Mornin'," said he 
 cheerily, as if he saw nothing very desperate in 
 my face. 
 
 "Good morning, sir. Could you tell me 
 where I could find and pay for some breakfast ? 
 I'm traveling cheaply, you see — by my own 
 conveyance, — as poor men have to." 
 
 I smiled as I said it, and he, waking to sym- 
 pathy with a brother workman, jerked his 
 lliumb over his shoulder, saying — 
 
 " Over yon is my house. I guess wife'll give 
 ye somethin' to eat" — and she did. 
 
 When I was again on the road I had gone but 
 a little way, when another farmer came along 
 with a hay- wagon and offered to take me up, as 
 far as he was going. I climbed to a seat beside 
 him. 
 
 " How far is it to Hampton ?" I asked. 
 
 " 'Leven mile. Going there ?" 
 
 " Going through there, I suppose." 
 
 "Great times there just now. I was over 
 to Hampton yisterday with some butter' n eggs, 
 and I heard talk of the murder of the big doc- 
 tor there. 'Spose you hain't heard on't, if 
 you don't belong in these parts. They say 
 his own nephew pisened him to git his 
 money." 
 
 " He must be a hard case !" 
 
 "0, awful! allays was, they say. The peo- 
 ple talk of lynching him. You see, his uncle 
 did everything for him, and he jist turned 
 'round an' murdered him, and stole the gold 
 which ought to belong to his uncle's wife an' 
 daughter. 
 
 "What did they do with him? and what 
 did he do with the gold ?" 
 
 "They hain't done anything with him yit, 
 — but they will. What he's done with the gold 
 is a myst'ry. 'Twas all in a box. He must a 
 buried it, not thinkin' he'd be suspected, and 
 calculating to wait until he'd a chance to make 
 off with it. They say the Doctor died so sud- 
 den he hadn't no time to tell anything, but he 
 tried to write somethin', they can't make out 
 what, only there's a figger, and nobody knows 
 what it means." 
 
 "Curious," I remarked, mechanically. 
 
 My companion continued to discuss the en 
 grossing subject while I sank into silence, 
 scarcely hearing what he said. My mind re- 
 verted to the calamity which had overtaken 
 Meredith Place ; to its effect upon myself and 
 others. The rough words of the farmer brought 
 all more vividly before me. The terrible day 
 rolled back upon me with a crushing weight — 
 the day of the murder. As I have said, Doctor 
 Meredith had been home but three weeks, — 
 busy weeks to him, as he was looking over his 
 papers, getting ready to settle his accounts, 
 pay off the mortgages due in July, and reno- 
 vate the old place. 
 
 It was a beautiful, sunny day, the 16th of 
 June. Miss Miller's trunks stood, strapped, in 
 the hall, waiting the morrow's stage. I was 
 to leave the following Monday. Lillian and I 
 were walking back and forth on the porch, she 
 in one of her most brilliant moods, I in one of 
 my most stupid. 
 
 Suddenly, as she teased and jested with me 
 on my stubbornness and silence, scream after 
 scream rang through the house, so sharp, so 
 wild, they filled the air with a nameless terror. 
 Lillian caught my arm. Together we rushed 
 into the hall. Those piercing shrieks came 
 from the library, where, pressing in at once, 
 we saw my uncle dead upon the floor, his young 
 wife standing over him, unconscious of every- 
 thing in the first shock, crying out in that 
 dreadful manner. 
 
 Immediately Miss Miller, drawn by her 
 screams, joined us, the servants came pouring 
 in, a confused, helpless group. 
 
 "It must be apoplexy — and heart-disease," 
 spoke Miss Miller, "bring water, — open his 
 vest!" 
 
 "It is vain," I said, as I obeyed her, "my 
 uncle is dead." 
 
 Let me pass over the succeeding hour. Phy- 
 sicians came, but they had nothing to do just 
 then but to administer to the wildly-distressed 
 wife and daughter. Miss Miller proved the 
 strength of her nerves and resolution. She 
 did all that could be done to calm the house- 
 hold and keep it in order. Neighbors came 
 in ; the doctors, with others, examined the 
 body and took note of the room — soon with a 
 minute, terrible and searching interest — for 
 almost the first thing they found was a wine- 
 glass, partially emptied of its contents, in the 
 bottom of which was perhaps a spoonful of 
 port wine, emitting an odor speaking at 
 once to the experienced physicians of prussic 
 acid. This discovery was carefully withheld 
 from Lillian and Ines. The room was thor- 
 oughly investigated and placed under lock-and- 
 key. 
 
THE FIGURE EIGHT. 
 
 11 
 
 For tlie first few hours it was universally 
 thought that Dr. Meredith had committed 
 suicide. Those engaged in the matter looked 
 for some written confession or explanation. As 
 I have said, nothing was found but that trem- 
 ulous figure eight scrawled upon the sheet, as if 
 the Doctor, in the very act of swallowing the 
 deadly draught, had felt it do its work too 
 swiftly to allow him to finish it, and he had 
 dropped the glass and grasped the pen, urged 
 by an all-powerful desire to leave some mes- 
 sage to his friends. 
 
 "When they had a little more leisure to re- 
 flect upon it, the men engaged in the investi- 
 gation began to ask themselves what possible 
 motive Doctor Meredith could have for com- 
 mitting suicide. His affairs were in a most 
 prosperous condition, his health was good, he 
 was happy in the society of a young wife — how 
 improbable that he should have flung life away 
 at its most golden moment ! They whispered 
 together, rolled their eyes about, scrutinized 
 every member of the household, lingering with 
 most suspicious looks upon myself, the poor 
 relative, and upon the little foreign lady, the 
 bride of a few weeks, the black-eyed Cuban 
 girl with her southern temperament of fire and 
 honey. Probably they saw little in either of 
 us to confirm their vague surmises, and they 
 gradually settled down to the conviction that 
 the doctor had poisoned himself through care- 
 lessness. His laboratory had a good store of 
 poisons — he was always dabbling in dangerous 
 things — making curious experiments — perhaps 
 at last he had fallen a victim to his own curios- 
 ity or inadvertency. 
 
 In fact, at the Coroner's inquest the verdict 
 was that Dr. Meredith had come to his death, 
 in all human probability, from the careless 
 use of prussic acid. 
 
 There the matter might have rested in the 
 minds of the community, had not the tragedy 
 been followed by the startling discovery of the 
 disappearance of the box which contained all 
 the treasure which the doctor had brought 
 i from California. 
 
 He had kept this box in his own bed-cham- 
 \ ber, where Lillian and myself had examined its 
 contents but two days previously ; we knew 
 ; the closet where it stood, and led the executors 
 i to the spot without a thought of the dismay 
 i which awaited us, when the door was broken 
 j open, the key being lost, and no box was to be 
 I found. 
 
 This second stroke of fate added anew to our 
 trouble, not so much to Lillian's, for she was 
 too wrapped in grief, and too ignorant of the 
 uses of money, to feel the force of the blow. I 
 comprehended all it meant. Poverty, absolute 
 
 poverty, for these two young creatures. Mere- 
 dith Place would be sold over their heads in 
 less than a month. No shelter, no support 
 awaited them. Oh, that I had the energy, the 
 I talent, the opportunity to make and keep a 
 ; home for them ! I felt instinctively that if 
 j Lillian's fortune was lost, Arthur Miller would 
 i desert her, and, believing that she loved him, 
 I feared she would sink under so much wretch- 
 edness. 
 
 "I must find that box! I must find that 
 box !" I said to myself, day and night. "Oh, 
 if I could unravel the mystery of that figure 
 eight !" 
 
 In some manner I had it impressed on my 
 mind that there was some connection between 
 that figure eight and the missing gold. I had 
 no earthly reason for thinking so, yet the idea 
 was like fire burning in my brain. 
 
 As days passed I was constrained to see some- 
 thing new in the manner of all who approached 
 me. Instinctively I knew the cause of it. 
 Finally, Arthur Miller, with a cool audacity 
 for which I knocked him down, told me that 
 it was the general belief that I had stolen the 
 gold and murdered my uncle. He would ad- 
 vise me, as a friend, to leave the country, for 
 i he looked, every hour, to hear of my arrest. 
 
 As I say, I knocked him down. He could 
 afford to brush the dust off his coat with a 
 smile ; he was speaking truth, for once, and he 
 left me to the bitter consciousness of it. 
 
 Of course they would suspect me ! was I not 
 an idle fellow ! Had I not been an adventur- 
 er ? Could any one tell any good of me ? "Was 
 not my father a wicked and dissipated man 
 ' before me ? Did not the village still remember 
 when I came, ragged and rough, to my un- 
 cle's, — that benevolent man^who had warmed 
 the viper in his bosom only to be stung to 
 death at last ! 
 
 I could imagine just what they were saving 
 and thinking. Oh, God ! Lillian would hear 
 all this, before long. Would she, too, suspect 
 and condemn me ? 
 
 They had locked up, for safe keeping, the 
 sheet of paper with the figure eight upon it, 
 j but I saw it always, as plainly as if I held the 
 i page in my hand. Was that figure the key 
 to the crime and mystery ? I must decipher 
 : it ! Ruin impended over me — aye, worse yet, 
 j it impended over her I loved — over Meredith 
 Place ! 
 
 "Dying, hok"—so much of the scrawled 
 message it had been easy to decipher. Oh, 
 that the failing sight, the cramping muscles 
 had but retained their vigor a moment longer, 
 that the remainder of this solemn testament 
 might have been made plain ! Look, where ? 
 
12 
 
 THE FIGURE EIGHT. 
 
 If the box had been stolen by the one who poi- 
 soned him, then, of course, my uncle himself 
 must have been unaware of its whereabouts, 
 and the message could not have related to 
 that. Still, I felt that it did refer to it. The 
 doctor had been a person with many singular 
 ways and habits ; he might have taken a fan- 
 cy that his fortune was not safe, and himself 
 had hidden it in some unflndable spot, una- 
 ware of the catastrophe impending over him. 
 
 This idea was so improbable that I could 
 never entertain it for many consecutive mo- 
 ments, ever returning from every speculation on 
 the subject to the same dull feeling of despair. 
 
 So entirely was I lost in these recollections 
 that I groaned aloud, forgetful of my compan- 
 ion, till he jogged my elbow inquiring if I were 
 in pain, when I started to find myself in com- 
 pany with a stranger, jolting along over the 
 rough country road. 
 
 " My head aches," I said, in answer to his 
 question. " I took a nap on the dew this morn- 
 ing and have neuralgia, to pay for it." 
 
 "Must be more keerful of yerself, young 
 man. You'll grow more prudent as you grow 
 older. But I turn off, here, — yonder' s the road 
 to Hampton ; you're about six miles from there 
 now. If they catch that Joe Meredith, I'm 
 going to bring my wife and children and come 
 over to see him hung. It'll be satisfaction to 
 see such a rascal got out o' the way. Good 
 bye, stranger. Hope you'll get over your neu- 
 rolagy." " He'd cure with a hempen applica- 
 tion to my neck, if he knew who I was," 
 thought I, as he turned his horses' heads, 
 while I jogged on towards Hampton. 
 
 I was now in the vicinity of home, so that 
 it behooved me to be careful in meeting peo- 
 ple on the road ; and I soon took to the fields 
 and woods, slowly making my way, by unin- 
 habited routes, until I found myself in the 
 glorious old woods which bounded the north 
 and east of the Meredith estate. 
 
 I will state my reasons for so abruptly aban- 
 doning my flight to the city and returning 
 upon my course. The incident of the preced- 
 ing night appeared to me of sufficient import- 
 ance to warrant my changing my plans. I 
 believed that Miss Miller had, or thought she 
 had, a clue to the mystery, and I resolved to 
 place myself as a spy over her movements. 
 Difficult as it might seem to enact the part of 
 spy, when I was obliged to keep myself con- 
 cealed, there would also be advantages in my 
 position. The woman was an artful and tal- 
 ented one ; I never had, in a three years resi- 
 dence under the same roof, pretended to under- 
 stand her ; I knew that she was afraid of, while 
 she hated me ; and in my absence she might 
 
 betray herself and her purposes in a hundred 
 ways upon which she would not venture under 
 my observation. 
 
 However, it would be necessary for me to 
 have an ally. In the woods where I now skulk- 
 ed, stood a cottage belonging to the estate, in- 
 habited at present only by an old woman 
 whose son had worked the farm the previous 
 summer, but had now gone West to try* his 
 hand on land of his own. His mother was to 
 come to him when he was fairly settled and 
 able to send for her. In the meantime, 
 through my good-nature, in the Doctor's 
 absence, she had been allowed to occupy the 
 cottage rent free ; she was also the recipient of 
 many a tid-bit from the kitchen, while I had 
 a double claim upon her gratitude by having 
 assisted her son to emigrate, and by assiduous- 
 ly nursing her through an attack of rheumatic 
 fever. I had chopped wood and built fires for 
 her with my own hands, had steeped many a 
 cup of tea for her, and rubbed her creaking old 
 joints till my own muscles ached. For all this 
 she had been garrulous in protestations of grat- 
 itude. I was now about to test its quality. 
 
 Lingering in the vicinity until assured that 
 she had no visitors I approached the open door 
 to find Gram' me Hooker knitting peacefully, 
 her old face bathed in the July sunshine. 
 
 " Doctor Joe, be that you !" 
 
 She always called me Doctor Joe, though I 
 was hardly entitled to the dignity of the pre- 
 fix. 
 
 "It's Doctor Joe, himself, gram' me." 
 
 "I heard tell you'd gone away, an' I felt 
 powerful bad, for I said to myself, why should 
 the innocent flee before the wrath o' men ? The 
 wicked may prevail for a time, but the Lord 
 is mighty, and his arm is long." 
 
 " Then you truly believe me to be innocent, 
 gram' me 1" 
 
 " Doctor Joe, I know your heart. It's ten- 
 der as a gal's ; you could never do any thin' 
 cruel. People may go on as they like — I shall 
 alias stand up fer you, come what will." 
 
 " Thank you, gram'me, thank you, most 
 heartily. You are the first who has told me 
 so. Now I will make known my errand. — It 
 was to ask you to hide me in your cettage, to 
 keep my presence here a secret, so that I can 
 keep myself out of prison while I take steps to 
 prove myself innocent, and perhaps, to stive 
 Meredith Place to those two helpless young 
 things. ' ' 
 
 "Poor critters !" sighed gram'me, "my heart 
 aches for 'em. You come inside, Doctor Joe, 
 and I'll set on the step and keep a look-out. 
 You've no idea what a fuss it's kicked up — 
 your clearin' out last night. The hull place 
 
THE FIGURE EIGHT. 
 
 13 
 
 bin an uproar. Everybody says you're guilty 
 now. They've sent the constable on to track 
 you. I was over to the house this mornin'. 
 Miss Lillian was a-crying as if her heart would 
 break. That governess o' hern, she put her 
 arm around her an' tol' her not to mind, — she 
 didn't see how she could cry after a man who 
 had killed her own father." 
 
 "What did Lillian reply?" I eagerly in- 
 quired. 
 
 " Bless heT sweet soul ! she don't believe 
 you done it. She said so up an' down, in a fit 
 of passion, I tell you ; but that woman, she 
 Just smiled as if she pitied her. I felt like 
 flyin' up, myself; but 'twarn't my place ; so I 
 only whispered to Miss Lilly that I thought as 
 die did, an' we'd stick by it. She went her- 
 self then and brought me a strawberry-pie, and 
 you shall have it for your dinner, Doctor Joe." 
 
 " Thank you, gram'me ; I'll share it with 
 you. Now, what I desire is to stay here quiet- 
 ly in the day time, and to go out nights as 
 much as is prudent, and watch the old place, 
 Inside and out. I feel as if I should make dis- 
 coveries. And I believe you can help me very 
 much, gram'me, by keeping me informed of 
 what happens in the village and at the house, 
 and by doing errands for me." 
 
 I could see that she was delighted at the 
 • confidence reposed in and the service asked of 
 her ; her crooked back straightened itself with a 
 consciousness of new responsibilities. She hob- 
 bled about and got lunch for me while I kept 
 | guard. Fortunately gram'me's visitors were 
 ' few and far between ; Lillian and myself com- 
 j prising nearly the entire list. She spread some 
 j bedding for me on the floor of the garret, and 
 j thither I retired to prepare myself for another 
 | vigil. I slept several hours, awaking at twi- 
 j light, drank the tea which gram'me Hooker 
 I had in readiness, waited awhile, impatiently, 
 restlessly, then, between the hours of nine and 
 ten, set forth to revisit the scene of last night's 
 adventure. 
 
 It was still some time before I dared ap- 
 i proach the garden. I waited until all the 
 I lights of Meredith Place were extinguished, 
 i calming my feverish mood by gazing at Lil- 
 j Iian's window. When all was quiet within and 
 without, I opened the gate and stole forward 
 to the arbor. My purpose was to anticipate 
 Miss Miller. I felt that she knew or suspected 
 the box of bullion to be hidden beneath its 
 pavement. Two theories were present in my 
 mind to account for her having visited the 
 1 place in her sleep. Either she was privy to 
 • the fact of the gold being hidden there, and 
 ■ had been so affected by the guilty secret as to 
 ' be thrown into the somnambulic state by an un- 
 
 easy conscience ; or else, she merely wondered 
 and conjectured, like others, and had been 
 drawn there by some transient fancy during 
 the restlessness of a slumber disturbed by the 
 dark shadow which rested over the household. 
 
 It may be thought, that, in comparison with 
 the loss of a beloved uncle, of Lillian's father, 
 the loss of this box was trivial, and that my 
 anxiety to decipher his dying words was dis- 
 proportioned to what the result would be 
 should success attend my efforts ; but the 
 future welfare of my young cousin depended, in 
 many ways, upon the recovery of the treasure. 
 
 I brought with me, on this night, tools more 
 efficient than a pair of scissors. Counting 
 seven stones from the door-step, I pried up the 
 eighth, with only a few moments labor ; — there 
 was nothing there. I carefully replaced it, 
 brushing away the loose soil, as Miss Miller had 
 done before me. Then I counted eight from 
 the door- way to the left, and lifted the stone, 
 with the same result : — then eight to the right 
 — and so on, for over an hour, until almost 
 every combination which would make an eight 
 had been tried. 
 
 "I have come on a fool's errand," I mut- 
 tered to myself, wearied and disappointed. 
 ' 4 Building up hopes on the dreams of a sleep- 
 ing woman is silly work." 
 
 I rested a few moments, strengthened my- 
 self with a look at my cousin's white-curtained 
 casement glimmering in the moonlight, counted 
 out eight in a new direction, and was stooping 
 low over the stone, prying it up with my pick- 
 axe, when a shadow fell suddenly and silently 
 athwart the pavement, and starting up, the 
 stone fell back to its place, and I confronted 
 Miss Miller. 
 
 I do not know which of us was most con- 
 founded. She was not asleep this time ; but 
 was dressed in her day attire, with a veil 
 thrown over her head, and she, too, had a pick- 
 axe in her hand. I rather think she must have 
 been the more startled, for she screamed aloud, 
 — the first time I had ever known of her los- 
 ing her self-possession enough to scream — and 
 shrieking as she fled, she threw her axe into a 
 bed of carnations, and ran toward the house* 
 
 It was not long before I saw lights moving, 
 and heard the voices of servants ; it was time 
 for me to retreat, and stooping to keep in the 
 shadow of the hedge, I gained the gate, closed 
 it noiselessly after me, and made my way back 
 into the fields. 
 
 I would have liked well to grasp and hold 
 the intruder, to wring from her, in a moment 
 of terror, the object of her nightly visits to the 
 arbor ; but she had eluded me too quickly, and 
 now that others were alarmed, my safety lay 
 
14 THE F1GU1 
 
 in flight. " She will not re-visit the arbor alone 
 again to-night," I said, as if that were a solace 
 to my own disappointment. 
 
 "I will 'leave no stone unturned,' " I con- 
 tinued, plunging into the ghostly woods. 
 "But I did leave a stone unturned — perhaps 
 the wrong one," jesting bitterly at my own ill- 
 luck. 
 
 I was quite certain that the axe had struck 
 upon something different from earth under that 
 last stone ; it was maddening to be driven 
 from it just at the moment of suspense, — but 
 thus it was, and I dared not return that night, 
 while at the same time I felt how fatal it was- 
 to delay another twenty-four hours, now that 
 one person, if not more, was aware of the nature 
 of the attempt. 
 
 CHAPTER III. 
 
 THE GOVERNESS. 
 
 A few paragraphs will suffice to state all that 
 is necessary to be known with regard to the 
 career of my uncle, Dr. Meredith. His father 
 had been a physician before him ; a successful 
 one, and had left this very old stone home- 
 stead and its broad acres, with considerable 
 other property, to his son, of whom he had 
 high hopes, seeing how fond he was of the pur- 
 suits which had always had such fascinations 
 for himself. But, the first Doctor had been a 
 worker and a practical man ; the second was a 
 dreamer and an impractical man in many things 
 necessary to an outside prosperity. The plain 
 country people among wbom his practice lay, 
 were afraid of him. He was not broad enough 
 in his humor, coarse enough in his jests, nor 
 quack enough in his treatment to give them 
 complete satisfaction ; so their patronage was 
 bestowed on worthier aspirants, and my uncle 
 lived very happily with his beautiful and high- 
 bred wife, unmindful that the golden thread of 
 prosperity was slipping out of his hands, glad 
 not to be called away too frequently from his 
 darling experiments in the laboratory, and his 
 still more darling wife and child. 
 
 Little Lillian was the wonder and glory of the 
 neighborhood. It was a sight worth speaking 
 of when any one had seen her, or her mother — 
 one the reduced image of the other. They rode 
 out nearly every fine day, and the trim little 
 carriage, the glittering harness, the jet-black 
 ponies, and equally jet-black driver, never 
 failed of awakening the same interest and curi- 
 osity, while the lady and child were regarded 
 as only a little lower than the angels. Lillian 
 had long, bright hair which rippled down to 
 her waist, a fair, fair face, and splendid dark- 
 hazel eyes which blazed like stars. You see, I 
 describe her, instead of her mother. For, was 
 
 IE EIGHT. 
 
 she not ever, is she not still, the central J» 
 about which all others revolve ? 
 
 It was Lillian who flew, like a gleam of sun- 
 shine, to meet me, when the lumbering stage 
 left me, a penniless orphan-boy, stranded on my 
 uncle's doorstep and my uncle's bounty. She 
 was then ten and I fourteen. I was poor, ill- 
 dressed, and bad. I wondered that she could 
 be so kind to me. My father, although I, too, 
 was a Meredith, never had been anything but 
 a disgrace to his family. A spendthrift, with 
 no settled occupation, he had married an un- 
 educated woman, who yet had a heart which he 
 could break, and who had died in poverty when 
 I was six years old. After her death I was 
 confided to the care of such persons as my father 
 could induce to keep me for small compensa- 
 tion. When my board-bill remained too long 
 unpaid, I would be turned adrift, and then he 
 would find me another home, equally wretched 
 with the last. Thus I had lived, in a city too, 
 exposed to all the associations besetting a boy 
 who spent the most of his time on the street, 
 until I was thirteen, when my father, also, 
 died, writing, on his death-bed, a letter to Dr. 
 Meredith, which resulted in my being sent for 
 by him, and adopted into his family. 
 
 I did not then realize how great must have 
 been the generosity, how keen the sense of duty 
 of my uncle, in bringing a child like me into 
 his house, allowing me to sit at his board, to 
 enjoy, under restriction, the companionship of 
 his daughter, and in devoting so much of his 
 time to my neglected education. The patience 
 with which he strove to eradicate my vices and 
 encourage my virtues I was then too young to 
 appreciate. I was ungrateful. I fretted under 
 this unaccustomed restraint. My new life would 
 have been intolerable had it not been for the 
 boundless passion I cherished for my cousin. 
 From the moment my eyes fell on her I had 
 exalted her to a niche in the neglected temple 
 of my soul where I daily knelt before her image 
 worshiping her as something supremely beau- 
 tiful and holy. 
 
 ' 4 He is too much like his father," my uncle 
 would say, with a sigh, when I had deserted 
 my studies for some reckless piece of mischief, 
 or the society of the workmen on the place. 
 "If he has been made wrong we must remake 
 him," my aunt would answer, bending such a 
 gentle, pitiful regard on me, as melted me, 
 secretly, to remorse and good resolutions. 
 
 I did mean to be good, I did try ; but I was 
 like my father, and I was the victim of a most 
 pernicious training. If Lillian, so happy, so 
 pure, could have dreamed of my struggles, my 
 agonies of shame, my resolutions made only to 
 be broken, she would, perhaps, have held out 
 
THE FIGURE EIGHT. 
 
 15 
 
 her little soft hand to help me. But she re- 
 garded me, generally, with a shy curiosity 
 mingled with a slight degree of aversion for 
 the " naughty boy." Her evident natural cra- 
 ving for child-society and liking for me was 
 held in check by opposing feelings of doubt 
 and mistrust. I resented this bitterly while I 
 worshiped her none the less passionately. My 
 heart was softer toward Mrs. Meredith than 
 any other living person. Alas ! before I had 
 dwelt a year under her soothing influence, she 
 was snatched from us all, dying suddenly of a 
 prevailing fever. 
 
 Her death was a terrible calamity. It made 
 me very wretched ; but when I looked into my 
 uncle's face I saw a shadow there which I felt 
 would never lighten. I was very lonely the 
 succeeding year. Lillian and I were separated 
 more than ever. Except at table we seldom 
 met. Possibly the mother, on her death-bed, 
 warned my uncle to be cautious of allowing an 
 intimacy to spring up between us, for he seemed 
 very jealous of his child, and evidently had 
 placed her, and the young lady whom he had 
 procured as governess and companion for her, 
 under limitations as to the extent of their 
 friendly offices towards me. He did not intend 
 to harden me, nor to rob me of the womanly 
 influences which I secretly craved ; he but 
 sought to protect his own, while doing no in- 
 justice to me. He did not neglect me ; in all 
 his troubles, he gave daily attention to my 
 studies, but there was a mechanism in his in- 
 struction which taught me, instinctively, that 
 his heart was not in his work. 
 
 In the meantime another shadow was creep- 
 ing over Meredith Place — the gaunt shadow of 
 poverty. While his wife lived, the Doctor had 
 indulged in a liberal and elegant style suited 
 to her habits and tastes ; she died just in time 
 to escape the knowledge that he had lived up 
 all his means, even to selling a portion of the 
 farm-lands properly belonging to Meredith 
 Place, and that his income from his profession 
 was ludicrously inadequate to the expenditures 
 of the place. 
 
 Now, instead of seeking to enlarge his prac- 
 tice, he shrank more into his library and labo- 
 ratory than ever. His intercourse with his 
 own family was principally confined to the 
 table. In vain Miss Miller, Lillian's governess, 
 sought to entertain and amuse him, to draw 
 him into the parlor after tea, or into a walk on 
 the lawn with his little daughter and herself. 
 
 Young as I was at that time, I possessed a 
 natural acumen which made me keenly sensible 
 to the arts and graces practiced by this woman 
 upon the unconscious master of the house. 
 Often and often I amused myself both with 
 
 her skill and audacity, as well as with the mild, 
 innocent indifference of my uncle. Sheathed 
 in the panoply of an impenetrable grief, her 
 cunning arrows glanced from him totally un- 
 felt and unperceived. It was so now — but 
 would it always be so ? I did not like the idea 
 of Miss Miller ever becoming Lillian's mother. 
 The mere apprehension that this might be the 
 result of her position in the household, made 
 me dislike her. You may rest assured she was 
 not slow to return this aversion : you may be 
 equally sure that she held the best cards, and 
 that I was powerless to gainsay her misrepre- 
 sentations. 
 
 She was a young woman whom one of her 
 own sex would never have elected to the place 
 which she now filled, — for a woman would have 
 read her character by intuition ; while she was 
 just the one to dazzle and deceive a man. 
 Accomplished she doubtless was ; of a good 
 family, too, and with superior recommendations; 
 handsome, likewise, with black eyes and hair, 
 a sparkling smile and elegant figure. But, 
 there was indomitable ambition written on the 
 smooth, broad forehead and rather heavy brow, 
 and a light deep down beneath the surface- 
 smile of the dark eye, which was both subtle 
 and bold. A woman not too modest, with 
 talent for any kind of a sharp game in life, and 
 with a restless temperament which always 
 would be prompting to action. 
 
 Why should such a woman settle down into 
 the quiet routine of Meredith Place ? 
 
 I felt quite sure that her duties as governess 
 to one apt and loving little pupil were not her 
 most engrossing occupations. 
 
 However, as I have said, she held the winning 
 cards. What could a lad, with an unhappy 
 reputation and unpleasant manners, do, in the 
 struggle with a person of her position? If I 
 was too sharp ; if she felt that my curious re- 
 gard was upon her when she was making her- 
 self all that was attractive and sympathetic to 
 the mourning widower ; if her cheek often 
 flushed under the wicked look I forgot to sup- 
 press, she had her revenge. I felt that my 
 uncle liked me less with every day of my stay 
 with him; and Lillian, that sweet, affectionate 
 child, gradually shunned me as if I were some- 
 thing vile or dangerous. 
 
 I could not endure this. I had the Meredith 
 pride, if I had not the Meredith dignity. The 
 United States took a fancy to enlarge her pos- 
 sessions about that time ; the Mexican war 
 passed from rumor into reality ; my long- 
 cherished purpose to run away from a home 
 which I enjoyed upon sufferance only, took 
 tangible shape. At fifteen I was a drummer- 
 boy marching in the van or lagging in the rear 
 
16 
 
 THE FIGURE EIGHT. 
 
 of my regiment, following the stars-and-stripes 
 to tropic-skies, my fancy gorgeous with visions 
 Of a land of flowers and beauty, my ambition 
 sweeping upward towards the gold eagle of pro- 
 motion, — the suffering and ennui of Meredith 
 Place sinking back into the far-away, lighted 
 by only one ray of heavenly light, — the ever- 
 present memory of my cousin Lillian. 
 
 For Tier, I would win glory and renown ; for 
 her my name should become associated with 
 great deeds ; my enemies should rescind their 
 opinions, and triumph should be mine. 
 
 In the meantime, I marched away to priva- 
 tions, hardships, evil company and many tempt- 
 ations, leaving my relatives entirely ignorant 
 of my destiny, and thinking this crowning act 
 of my life, this running away in the night, 
 without farewell or word as to my purposes, 
 only what was to be expected of me. 
 
 CHAPTEK IV. 
 
 MEREDITH PLACE, IN SHADOW. 
 
 Two years thereafter I re-entered the large 
 square hall of the old stone house. The door 
 stood open, as it always did in summer-time ; 
 the door at the rear also stood wide, and a 
 breeze, rich with the perfumes of the flower- 
 garden, was wafted towards me as I entered. 
 No one had noticed my approach, which gave 
 me leisure to observe how all things remained 
 unchanged during what seemed to me so long, 
 long a time. The ivy waved from the tower, 
 the cat lay sleeping in the sun on the mat, the 
 old settle was ranged along the wall, the pic- 
 tures hung there — all as if it were only yester- 
 day I had deserted them. A broad beam of 
 the declining sun shot through from the back 
 entrance, touched, it seemed to me, with the 
 color and fragrance of the old garden which I 
 had once loved so well, and my heart cried out, 
 with the cry of a child for love, forgiveness, 
 welcome. Oh, that I had a mother, or a father ! 
 oh, that Lillian were my friend — my sister ! oh, 
 that even my uncle regarded me with justice, 
 if not tenderness ! 
 
 But, the broad beam crept forward and sought 
 me out, showing me the dust, and stains, and 
 tatters of my faded army blue. My uncle had 
 not approved of the war, and it was not likely 
 that he would approve of my part in it, insig- 
 nificant as that share had been. Involuntarily 
 I turned to the mirror set into the wall, and 
 glanced at the tall, stripling form, looking 
 taller and thinner than it should from the 
 emaciation of sickness and pain — the yellow 
 skin, the hectic color on the cheek, the faded 
 uniform, the broken arm still in its sling — my 
 right arm, the bone of which had been so 
 
 shattered as to have been saved only by the 
 surgeon's careful skill, and which threatened 
 never more to be of any great service. Why had 
 I wandered back here ? I had no claims upon 
 my relatives ; I was not loved by them. It 
 would be better to steal away unannounced — 
 with one backward glance to give up Meredith 
 Place forever — than to yield to that weak 
 craving of my heart which had led me here. 
 
 I was about to turn, at this suggestion of 
 pride, when a shadow fell athwart the sunshine 
 filling the door, a light step sounded, a young 
 girl advanced into the hall a few paces, when, 
 perceiving me, standing there like a beggar or 
 worse, she was surprised into dropping the 
 roses from her hands, and almost into a scream. 
 
 young creature, glowing, lovely, material — 
 not a vision unsubstantial as a dream. 
 
 I recognized my cousin Lillian only at the 
 second glance, such a charm had those two 
 years worked upon her. Neither a woman nor 
 a child ; indescribably fresh and radiant, like 
 the roses she had been gathering ; plenty of 
 color in her cheeks ; her eyes, so dark and 
 bright, flashing with surprise — I can even re- 
 member the dress she wore, although our sex 
 is said not to remark such things. But, to me 
 that vision always has remained as a picture, 
 perfect in all, even in tint and color. The 
 floating lilac muslin, the rosy sash, the white 
 shoulders gleaming from a golden cloud of 
 curls — my heart rose up in my throat and 
 choked me. I could not speak nor stir ; while 
 she, her alarm subsiding, gave me a searching 
 look, and as the light of recognition dawned 
 over her face, I saw neither anger nor dislike. 
 
 " Is it you, cousin Joe ?" 
 
 I held out my left hand ; still, I could not 
 speak. I always had loved my little cousin, 
 but this young girl was a new creation, and to 
 hear her call me by name with that soft voice, 
 to feel her clasp my hand with that eager pres- 
 sure, sent a thrill through my veins which was 
 like the quickening of the dead . In that mo- 
 ment I was born again to new resolves and 
 aspirations ; but it always was my fate to ap- 
 pear at a disadvantage. I could not answer ; 
 and when she glanced at my wounded arm I 
 blushed like one guilty of some wrong. 
 
 1 ' Poor Joe ! We heard you were wounded at 
 Vera Cruz. Is it bad?" touching lightly the 
 sling. 
 
 "Bad enough, Lillian," I managed to say. 
 " So you heard of me ?" 
 
 ' 1 Yes, papa heard, a few months ago. Besides, 
 we saw your name in the papers. You were 
 reported to have been very brave." 
 
 She smiled, and I blushed yet deeper. 
 
 " Is your father very angry with me ?" 
 
- ■/ f 
 
THE FIGURE EIGHT. 
 
 19 
 
 "I think he will be glad to hear you have 
 come back." 
 
 " Is he well, Lillian ? is he married again V* 
 " Married again ?" echoed my cousin, with a 
 gay laugh — the idea was a novel one to her ; 
 the next instant her face clouded over, and she 
 added sadly, " he will never marry, cousin Joe. 
 He never forgets, for one hour, my dear mam- 
 ma." 
 
 " Forgive me ; I always blunder, you know." 
 
 Here some one stepped out from the drawing- 
 room, a lady, dressed in black silk, with black 
 hair and eyes, who chilled the sunshine for me 
 — Miss Miller, looking not a day older, strong 
 and triumphant as ever, casting upon me a 
 glance of cool dislike and inc»7iiry, as if I were 
 an intruder whom she had a right to thrust 
 from the halL 
 
 " Miss Miller, here is cousin Joe," cried Lil- 
 lian, appealing] y. 
 
 "Ah," said the lady, with the slightest pos- 
 sible bow to me ; " does Doctor Meredith know 
 of his arrival ?" 
 
 The inference was that if he knew, he would 
 disapprove of it. Lillian and I both felt the 
 meaning in her icy tones, I was so weak from 
 sickness and weary with my long journey that 
 I had no courage to renew ti e combat just 
 then ; I began to tremble, and the warmth and 
 strength which had come to me with the reve- 
 lation of Lillian's beauty and kindness, deserted 
 me at the time when I needed it most. 
 
 "Sit down," said my cousin, drawing me 
 towards the settle. "Joe is sick, Miss Miller. 
 Look at his arm. Papa must doctor him up. ' ' 
 
 " Perhaps. If such is his judgment. In the 
 meantime, you had better announce the arrival 
 to him. No doubt he would desire to be in- 
 formed of it, Lillie, my dear, if he knew how 
 you were committing yourself." 
 
 I chafed at this reproof of my cousin, but she 
 flew away, looking back with a smile, return- 
 ing in a few moments with her father, and cry- 
 ing before he had an opportunity to speak, 
 
 ' ' He has promised to cure you, cousin Joe — 
 to take care of you until you are well. He 
 looks so ill, doesn't he, papa?" 
 
 Her gay words took away all formality from 
 the meeting, which I had dreaded even while I 
 sought it. My uncle called me ' ' his poor boy. ' ' 
 and said, with a sad, weary smile, that he 
 would kill the fatted calf, if he had one to kill, 
 but that his fatted calves had gone long ago, and 
 there were no new ones to take their place. 
 
 From this I gathered a hint of his poverty. 
 
 It was not many days before I learned the 
 worst. The pretty carriage and the jet-black 
 ponies were gone ; the sable groom, along with 
 other of the old family servants, had been sent 
 
 to look out new homes for themselves ; a pinch- 
 ing economy reigned in the house, and, worst 
 of all, heavy mortgages hung over Meredith 
 Place. 
 
 Then it was I began to wonder why Miss 
 Miller still remained. I had reason to believe 
 that her salary was in arrears, and it could not 
 be pleasant for her to share in the privations to 
 which the Doctor silently submitted, and which 
 Lillian was too young and buoyant to greatly 
 heed. If she really loved Doctor Meredith 
 with a true woman's love, which made her 
 willing to serve him to her own detriment, and 
 to share his poverty in case he should yield to 
 her constant influence and make her his wife, I 
 should feel more respect for her than I had yet 
 felt. It might be that, beginning with the 
 ambition to be the mistress of Meredith Place, 
 she had learned to love the peculiar and inter- 
 esting man, still in the prime of life — the quaint 
 thinker, the earnest scholar, the accomplished, 
 although old-fashioned gentleman. If noble 
 looks, fine pergonal gifts, talents, and a pure 
 heart, could win this woman's regard, without 
 money, here was the man to gain her affections. 
 She nerself had passed that bloom of youth 
 when a girl expects a choice of suitors ; ?he 
 could not be far from thirty years of age, al- 
 though looking twenty-five, and with that 
 showy style of features and manners which 
 would keep her looking no older for some time 
 to come. 
 
 It has been said— I do not reaffirm it — that a 
 woman thinks more of marriage, of a home and 
 settlement, than of any and all other advan- 
 tages. Miss Miller doubtless came to Meredith 
 Place with the purpose to find such settlement 
 there ; at first she was unaware of - the debts 
 burdening the fine old estate, or the real poverty 
 of its owner ; she knew only that it was a grand 
 place and the family one in which it would be 
 an honor to enter. When she slowly discovered 
 the true state of affairs she probably had already 
 allowed her feelings to dwell too fondly on its 
 master. The Doctor was a fascinating man, 
 even to his own sex who had intelligence to 
 appreciate him, his singularity and originality 
 adding to the interest which surrounded him. 
 
 I was so much of an invalid during the fall 
 and winter succeeding my return as to be fit for 
 nothing but to lounge about the house. My 
 uncle treated me with more kindness than ever, 
 there being a touch of fatherly tenderness in 
 his ministrations ; and I learned to love him, 
 next to Lillian. Vacillating as were my re- 
 solves and many my faults, I had the grace to 
 love those whom I loved with a fervor, a passion, 
 a devotion which made up the great part of my 
 impulsive nature. I longed for a man' s strength 
 
20 
 
 THE FIGURE EIGHT. 
 
 that I might work for him. I bitterly regretted 
 the luck which had flung my good right arm 
 powerless to my side. Day by day I could see 
 the march of anxiety, the advance of trouble, 
 yet I could not prove my willingness to take up 
 the burden, since I could find nothing to do 
 suited to my health and the crippled condition 
 of my limb. The Doctor would flee from duns 
 and the threatening aspect of creditors, deeper 
 and deeper into the intricacies of his laboratory, 
 which afforded him his sole comfort. Miss Mil- 
 ler was so very patient and very devoted that I 
 almost forgot my suspicious dislike of her. She 
 kept the gloomy old house cheerful with a 
 seemingly spontaneous gayety ; it rang with 
 the music of the piano, and her own magnifi- 
 cent voice ; and, no matter how simple and 
 unvaried the table-fare, she presided with the 
 same festive ceremonies. She even began to 
 develop a taste for chemistry. When she found 
 that she could not keep the master of Meredith 
 Place out of his laboratory by the exercise of 
 the natural sorcery of her sex, she followed 
 him into that mysterious den where the practice 
 of various black arts went on continually. 
 With pretty little screams and starts she would 
 combine and dispart the elements, stifle herself 
 with gases and stir the golden fires under the 
 crucibles, cleanse bottles, fill retorts, blow tiny 
 bellows, glance over learned treatises, listen to 
 long lectures, so gracefully, so bewitchingly, 
 that I marveled at the blind composure of my 
 dear uncle under it all. In fact, the Doctor 
 regarded her with something of the same affec- 
 tion he gave to Lillian ; all the passion he ever 
 had felt for woman as lover or wife slumbered 
 in the grave of her he had lost. 
 
 Still, Miss Miller did not despair; that I 
 could guess from her deportment. I was glad 
 when, she took to chemistry, for it removed her 
 Argus-eyed surveillance from me, hours at a time, 
 when I could be happy in my arm-chair or on 
 my lounge, looking at Lillian, listening to her 
 singing, watching her fingers busy with the 
 needle and her embroideries. 
 
 I had begun the study of medicine. My 
 uncle advised it, as I was unfitted for active 
 employment ; and I would have been rash and 
 ungrateful to throw away the opportunity to 
 read under such an instructor. I did not like 
 it ; on the contrary I had no taste for it ; but I 
 had no other way of proving my desire to 
 please him, and my resolution to become indus- 
 trious and reliable. 
 
 Thus affairs drifted slowly on, until the 
 world at large, and the idlers of Hampton 
 township and village began to discuss the mar- 
 velous discoveries of gold in California. From 
 the very first rumors which floated about, until 
 
 his final decision was made, my uncle showed 
 more interest in this subject than he had in 
 anything since his wife's death. All the ro- 
 mance of his nature took fire, as he read and 
 mused over the accounts from that wonderful 
 country. Being a geologist as well as chemist, 
 he felt a keen desire to examine for himself, by 
 the light of science, the fascinating develop- 
 ments of the new El Dorado . He wanted to be 
 free from the mortifications which hampered 
 him, to shake off debts, duns, and depressing 
 memories, to plunge into a new life— and, to 
 make money. He would have this longed-for 
 adventure, and, at the same time, he would 
 lift the shadow from Meredith Place and set it 
 once more to glowing in the full sunshine of 
 prosperity ! 
 
 Thus he felt and thus decided. Miss Miller 
 opposed him with dismay. But. when she sat- 
 isfied herself that she had no power to keep 
 him, she yielded, only winning this concession, 
 —that, on no account, should he be absent 
 more than two years. In the meantime, she 
 would promise to remain that length of time, 
 keeping charge of the house and continuing the 
 studies of her young pupil. 
 
 As for me, I was to continue to abide in the 
 house, affording it the protection (!) of my 
 newly-sprouting beard, and making use of the 
 splendid library of the Doctor to perfect myself, 
 as far as mere reading could enlighten me, in a 
 knowledge of my future profession. 
 
 A third mortgage was placed on Meredith 
 Place, giving my uncle the means to provide for 
 our subsistence during his absence and to pay 
 his passage on one of the vessels which, as 
 spring came on, began to turn their prows to- 
 wards the land of gold. 
 
 Dr. Meredith was thus among the earliest 
 adventurers, and soon becoming known as a 
 man of science, his knov.iedge and services were 
 quickly brought into requisition. His letters 
 were of absorbing interest, though not very 
 frequent. The wild, the mad, the strange, pe- 
 culiar and astonishing aspects of the new life 
 were pictured for us with a vivid pen. The 
 gambling- hells, the street-murders, the incredi- 
 ble prices of the necessaries of life, the hard- 
 ships of miners, the destructive fires, the 
 ' ' fever ' ' for gold, with the varying aspects of 
 the disease, the sudden growth of the canvas 
 city, all the novel, and wicked, and pathetic, 
 and outrageous lights and shadows of the pic- 
 ture were touched for us, and we hung over his 
 letters as over some thrilling romance. Before 
 many months he began to announce that he 
 was coining money almost as fast as he could 
 desire. With a forethought for which he had 
 his reward, he had expended a portion of his 
 
THE FIGURE EIGHT. 
 
 21 
 
 restricted fund obtained by the mortgage, e very- 
 dollar which could be spared, in the purchase 
 of quinine. His supply of the much-needed and 
 fabulously-dear drug, united with his skill as a 
 physician, and the constant demand upon his 
 services, for which enormous fees were paid, soon 
 placed him on the high road to wealth. 
 
 Miss Miller felt that she was about to reap 
 the reward of long and patient waiting. I could 
 read it in the flushed cheek and sparkling eye. 
 At the end of the first year came a remittance, 
 with directions to pay up the arrears of her 
 salary, with various small debts made in the 
 village, leaving a surplus which enabled us to 
 indulge in a few luxuries. 
 
 Lillian declared she would have a new silk 
 dress made full length like Miss Miller's, and a 
 bonnet like other young ladies : — no more hats 
 for her ! Her governess laughed and consented. 
 Indeed, she took great pains with Lillian's sum- 
 mer toilet, causing a variety of pretty dresses 
 and mantles to be made up, and gloves, scarfs 
 and all the little ornaments of young ladyhood 
 to be provided. 
 
 I enjoyed the sight of my beautiful cousin in 
 these becoming toilettes. For the first time in 
 my life I was really happy. Our life, was most 
 peaceful. I had the consciousness of duty per- 
 formed, for I was a close student, and was re- 
 warded for my perseverance by becoming deeply 
 interested in and fond of my medical studies. 
 I was regaining the use of my arm ; my health 
 was improving, and with that, my looks also, 
 as my mirror told me. I loved Lillian quietly, 
 with intense but calm feeling ; she was pleas- 
 ant and friendly with me ; and Miss Miller let 
 me alone. \ 
 
 Yes ! I was happy, for a little, flitting time.* 
 
 In the middle of the summer Miss Miller be- 
 gan to talk about her brother Arthur. He had 
 been overworking himself, through this hot 
 weather, studying law in a New York city of- 
 fice. She had advised him to come to the coun- 
 try for a two months' vacation. She had seen 
 so little of him of late years — and he was her 
 pet ; her favorite ; the youngest of the family — 
 she felt as if she must have him near her. If 
 she could find a boarding-place not too far 
 away, where Arthur could be comfortable — 
 
 The young mistress of Meredith Place put on 
 quite a matronly air, as she assured her dear 
 governess that she should not listen to such a 
 proposition, — Miss Miller's friends and relatives 
 had the freedom of Meredith Place. How 
 should we all feel with her brother boarding at a 
 strange house ? 
 
 Miss Miller kissed the sweet face held up 
 with such animation, and as she finished her 
 embrace I met her eyes darting at me a pecu- 
 
 liar, searching glance. I blushed, for I knew 
 that I felt unwilling to have another, a stran- 
 ger, a young gentleman, intrude upon our quiet 
 happiness. She smiled as I blushed, and all of 
 a sudden all my old distrust and hatred sprung 
 up full-armed. 
 
 Her smile said as plainly as words, that she / 
 read me, and my foolish hopes — that she plot- 
 ted against me, and that now, as ever, she held 
 the winning cards. 
 
 In a few days Arthur Miller became our guest. 
 From the instant I met his eye and touched his 
 hand, I hated him a thousand times more in- 
 tensely than ever I had hated his sister. I 
 confess that my impulses are not to be relied 
 upon ; that I am not well-governed ; that I was 
 madly jealous of him, — and yet, withal, I am 
 certain that I had true grounds for my dislike 
 Jealousy sharpened my glance, but, in this in- 
 stance, did not discolQEfcit. 
 
 Arthur Miller was two or three years older 
 than myself — young enough, but at that age, 
 giving him immense superiority in the eyes of 
 young ladies — a sufferiority of which I was 
 keenly sensible. He was very handsome, as far 
 as features, form, and complexion could make 
 him so. To me he was never tolerable looking, 
 because I hated the smooth smile, the red lips 
 formed for treacherous words, and the bold, 
 bright eyes, so like his sister's. He dressed 
 elaborately, was graceful, self-possessed, and 
 his silken mustache was " sweet to see," I sup- 
 pose ; I could not appreciate him. My clothes 
 were shabby and old-fashioned, and I had even 
 outgrown them ; I was not graceful, and had 
 little self-possession under such disadvantages. 
 Still, I did not under-rate myself. I was hand- 
 some, too — or would be in a year or two. My 
 face was an honest one, and his was not. 
 
 I saw that he was pleased with Lillian's ex- 
 quisite beauty ; I knew he had resolved, before 
 he had been under the roof of Meredith Place 
 one evening, that he would do his part in fur- 
 therance of his sister's desires and designs — 
 whatever these might be. 
 
 All was plain enough to me. Doctor Meredi th 
 was coming home, rich. Miss Miller, not satis- 
 fied with the expectation of becoming the 
 sharer of his fortune, was eager for her favorite 
 brother to ' ' feather his nest ' ' also. It would be 
 pleasant for her to bring about a marriage be- 
 tween him and Lillian. They could all live 
 under one roof, enjoy together the fruits of their 
 labors, — while I — was it reasonable to suppose 
 that Meredith Place would be a happy home for 
 me, when these changes had transpired ? 
 
 Already I began to feel the old desolation ;— 
 already I was a wanderer, in imagination. Ar 
 thur Miller had not been our visitor a week 
 
23 
 
 THE FIGURE EIGHT. 
 
 before Lillian neglected me for him. It 
 was natural she should do so. He had the 
 charm of_ newness, and a thousand other 
 charms. He was gay and attractive, making 
 the acquaintance of dozens where I would not 
 have found time or way for one. The village 
 young people began to find out what a charm- 
 ing haunt the old brown villa was. We were 
 invited to pic-nics and evening parties made 
 for Arthur Miller and Lillian Meredith. The 
 pretty toilettes did good service. We gave 
 entertainments in return. Lillian was intoxi- 
 cated by this first sparkling draught of social 
 enjoyment. She had lived so very secluded 
 that this gayety had the power of novelty ; — 
 and then she was so lovely and so sweet in her 
 manners that she was flattered and petted al- 
 most beyond bearing with equanimity. 
 
 I went to all the merry-makings because my 
 cousin insisted, and because my jealousy would 
 not allow me to stay away. It was misery to 
 see them together ; yet I could not remain at 
 home, poring over my books, and imagining 
 those two enjoying each other's society. My 
 constant wish was for the two months to elapse, 
 when Miller would return to the city. 
 
 His vacation passed, and mate. Then Miss 
 Miller announced that Arthur was so delighted 
 with the country, his health so much better 
 here, and it was so much easier for a young 
 man to obtain a start in his profession in a vil- 
 lage than in a city, he had resolved to open an 
 office in Hampton, and remain at least for the 
 winter. 
 
 I saw Lillian smile and blush at this intelli^ 
 gence. The programme was carried out, the, 
 office secured ; and Arthur, although no longer 
 a guest, became almost a daily visitor at the 
 old mansion. I felt that Miss Miller had acted 
 dishonorably in thus throwing her brother upon 
 Lillian's attention, during the absence of her 
 father. If she really believed Arthur a suita- 
 ble and acceptable companion for her pupil, 
 she should at least have waited for the sanction 
 of her father's presence. It was hardly fulfill- 
 ing her duties, as she had promised and assured, 
 to permit and encourage such an intimacy dur- 
 ing Doctor Meredith's absence. 
 
 Lillian yet was only touching upon woman- 
 hood — sixteen that summer — and to inveigle 
 her into an attachment, perhaps an engage- 
 ment, appeared to me, under the circumstances, 
 the basest of treachery. If I had liked the 
 young gentleman and approved of him, I should 
 have felt the same. As it was, I hardly knew 
 what course to pursue. 
 
 Putting all else aside, my own desires or 
 hopes, I could not reconcile myself to seeing 
 my cousin in the nets of these two spiders. It 
 
 would not do to write and say as much to Doc- 
 tor Meredith, since he had more confidence 
 in Miss Miller than he had in me. 
 
 After much hesitation, I wrote, early in the 
 winter, begging him to come home as soon as 
 convenient, but giving no special reason, except 
 that Lillian had become a young lady, and 
 Meredith Place needed a master to keep ad- 
 mirers in awe. 
 
 His intention was, to return in the spring, 
 and this letter could not much shorten his 
 term of absence. ' 
 
 CHAPTER Y. 
 
 IN LIGHT. 
 
 It was May when Dr. Meredith reached Mere- 
 dith Place. My letter had found him involved 
 in business which he could not immediately de- 
 sert. Probably he -attached no great impor- 
 tance to its injunctions. 
 
 A telegram from New York informed us of 
 his arrival and gave the ladies of the household 
 opportunity to order a festal dinner, and to 
 adorn themselves, as ladies will, on such occa- 
 sions, to give welcome to the long-absent mas- 
 ter. ■# *' 
 
 As I sat on the porch which commanded a 
 view of the road, looking to see the old coach 
 rolling along the blossom-sprinkled way, pink 
 with the apple and peach blows,- Miss Miller 
 also stepped out for an observation. For a 
 moment she was unaware of my presence and 
 I had full opportunity to^read her face, which 
 wore an eager, passionate, expectant look, be- 
 traying all her hidden love and hope. She was 
 dressed magnificently, in black velvet, low on 
 the shoulders, with brilliants clasped about her 
 bare neck and arms. In her black braids she 
 wore only a bunch of apple-blossoms. Her 
 cheeks, usually rather sallow, were red as a 
 young girl's. She must have expended all her 
 hoarded salary on this extravagant dress so un- 
 suited to her position. When she saw me she 
 started, biting her lips in a momentary embar- 
 rassment. 
 
 ' ' The stage is late, ' ' I said, rising ; ' 4 where is 
 Lillian?" 
 
 " Oh, she is at the front gateway. She will 
 meet her father there." 
 
 I went out and joined my cousin. I knew 
 that Miss Miller had planned to meet Dr. 
 Meredith alone, where she would dare to be- 
 tray a tender agitation at the meeting, and 
 when, in the excitement of the moment she 
 might involuntarily allow him to perceive not 
 only what a splendid woman she was, but how 
 deeply interested she was in him. 
 
 So, let it be ! Since Lillian was lost to me, 
 
THE FIGURE EIGHT. 
 
 23 
 
 the affairs of the household might quietly slip 
 into the hands so long awaiting authority. My 
 own plans were laid, as well as they could be, 
 in my situation. As soon as my uncle was 
 settled at home, and I had rendered an account 
 of my stewardship, I would leave Meredith 
 Place forever. I would not say that I had left 
 it forever, but such was my resolve. I would 
 go into some hospital in New York or Philadel- 
 phia where I could receive instruction in return 
 for my services ; I would be a good physician, 
 an honor to the old line ; while, as for the rest, 
 heaven knew! — life appeared stale and un- 
 profitable enough. 
 
 — JUtretobTed as I stood silently by Lillian's 
 side. I had not been alone with her for days 
 and weeks. He was always in the way. To- 
 day, however, he kept his distance. Miss 
 Miller had too much tact to allow him to be 
 too suddenly intruded upon the notice of the 
 long-absent father. 
 
 " You are very exclusive, of late," remarked 
 my cousin, with a half pout, as she leaned over 
 the gate, looking up the road, and not at me. 
 " You are not my old Joe any more." 
 
 What a fool I was to be pleased with these 
 words! When Arthur Miller was away, she 
 could find leisure to coquet with me ! I de- 
 spised myself for the thrill of pleasure which 
 ran through me, and fighting it down, answer- 
 ed quietly — 
 
 "I've been very busy. When the Doctor is 
 safely home, I expect to take my departure, 
 and I have my preparations to complete." 
 
 " Cousin Joe, are you going away ?" she ask- 
 ed quickly, turning and laying her rose-leaf 
 hand on my arm. 
 
 I thought she looked grieved, that the tears 
 sprang to her eyes, and I never could bear the 
 way she had of saying "Cousin Joe," with- 
 out losing all resentment, so I answered much 
 less bitterly than I had felt a moment pre- 
 vious — 
 
 " I must go. This is no longer home to me. 
 I must work, and I must go where work is to 
 be found." 
 
 ' ' But, Cousin Joe — ' ' 
 
 Then the rattle of the wheels was heard, and 
 Lillian sprang outside the gate, forgetful of all ; 
 a cloud of dust rose up into the pink and white 
 blossoms which made one long bower of the 
 country road ; the galloping horses came into 
 sight, and the driver, with a style and flourish 
 meant to do honor to his passenger, and to 
 Meredith Place, drew up before the entrance. 
 
 I saw the Doctor leap out, and turn to assist 
 a young lady who had sat by his side ; but 
 Lillian had seen nothing saving her father's 
 dear face, and she clung to him so fondly, with 
 
 I tears and laughter, that he had finally to dis- 
 engage her loving arms. 
 
 "Lily, my child, here is another who needs 
 a welcome home. Call her Inez, or mother, or 
 Mrs. Meredith — what you please — only be 
 friends with her, for my sake." 
 
 "Father ! what do you mean ?" 
 
 My cousin turned, for the first time observ- 
 ing the one who stood there, a girl not much 
 older than herself, small, slight, with a rich, 
 dark complexion, purpre-black hair, and eyes 
 of dark and lustrous splendor, of which we 
 had but a glimpse before the lids fell and the 
 lip began to quiver. A timid, confiding, affec- 
 tionate creature, one could guess from the first. 
 
 "She is my wife," added the Doctor, not 
 without a slight embarrassment ; "I will tell 
 you all at the first opportunity, Lillian. In the 
 meantime, she is weary with her long journey, 
 and needs your kindness." 
 
 A moment more my cousin hesitated; the 
 struggle was written on her face ; but some- 
 thing in the trembling lip and downcast eyes 
 of the stranger, overbore her surprise and 
 pain; she flung her arms about her father's 
 wife, as she had about him, and kissed her. 
 
 Dr. Meredith smiled on the two, children 
 together. Then he found time to recognize 
 and greet me, which he did with a cordiality 
 of a kinsman in heart. 
 
 "You are tired," said Lillian, keeping her 
 arm about Mrs. Meredith's waist ; "we will go 
 in at once. You shall drink a cup of tea be- 
 fore you go to your room." 
 
 "Aye," said the Doctor, preceding us to the 
 old mansion, looking its best now, in its May 
 dress of roses, " tea for the weary ! But, where 
 is our dear Miss Miller ? She has had experi- 
 ence ; she .will know what to do for my wife." 
 
 " Here I am, Dr. Meredith, at your service," 
 answered the governess, stepping in from the 
 side door, opening on to the porch, from which, 
 doubtless, she had witnessed the scene at the 
 gate. 
 
 She shook hands with him, smilingly, and 
 touched the little fingers of Mrs. Meredith. A 
 change had passed over her face since I scru- 
 tinized it on the porch. I could perceive 
 the rouge on her cheeks now, for all natural 
 color had forsaken them. She compelled her 
 voice from trembling, but it sounded hard and 
 cold ; her eyes glittered like steel ; I did not 
 care to meet them, after the first glance, and 
 she avoided looking at me. She was conscious 
 that I understood her humiliation. 
 
 She wore the velvet dress and brilliants to 
 dinner, over which she presided with her usual 
 majesty, having been requested to do so by Mrs. 
 Meredith, who pleaded fatigue to excuse her 
 
21 
 
 THE FIGURE EIGHT. 
 
 timidity at too soon assuming her wifely 
 honors. 
 
 When dinner was over Miss Miller made the 
 excuse of a severe headache to retire to her 
 room for the evening. 
 
 It was not until his wife also was asleep in 
 her chamber that he told Lillian and me the 
 brief story of his courtship and marriage. 
 
 A few weeks before he sailed he was called to 
 attend a Cuban gentleman very ill of fever at 
 one of the hotels of San Francisco. He was 
 afraid, from the first, that his patient would 
 die, but did everything in his power to save 
 him, even to giving him almost constant per- 
 sonal attendance. Won by this kindness, the 
 gentleman, when he knew that he must die, 
 confided to the Doctor something of his circum- 
 stances, expressing his anguish at leaving his 
 daughter alone, without money, in that reck- 
 less, frightful city. He had been a merchant in 
 Havana, and had lost his whole property in an 
 unwise commercial adventure, and driven alike 
 by despair and mortification, had taken his 
 only child and sailed for the land of gold, ex- 
 pecting there to retrieve his ruined fortunes. 
 Instead, he was stricken with illness, and about 
 to die. 
 
 " Promise me you will be as good a friend to 
 her as you have been to me," cried the dying 
 man. 
 
 " I do promise you ; — so far as I can prevent, 
 by my friendship and assistance, no harm shall 
 befall her. 'I will care for her as if she were 
 my own child." 
 
 The Cuban gentleman died in peace, and the 
 Doctor was left with this pretty, clinging, 
 weeping girl, looking to him as her only friend. 
 He could have taken her to Havana, on his 
 homeward way, and restored her to her rela- 
 tives, but Inez declared, with many tears, that 
 those relatives had not treated her properly at 
 the time of her father's misfortunes. To get 
 rid of his embarrassing burden by marrying 
 her soon occurred to the perplexed doctor. It 
 was a man's way of getting out of the di- 
 lemma. 
 
 I will do my uncle the justice to say that I 
 believe he made Inez his wife more out of re- 
 gard for her welfare than from the desire to 
 appropriate her youth and beauty to himself. 
 He believed she would be a pleasant compan- 
 ion for Lillian, and that he could care for her 
 so as to make her contented. That he ever 
 felt for her anything beyond an admiration for 
 her pretty ways, I do not think. She could not 
 assume the place once held by Lillian's mother. 
 
 To see the two young creatures together, each 
 heightening the other's beauty by contrast, was 
 a treat. The second day had not passed before 
 
 they were like sisters. The Doctor's grave face 
 would lighten, as he looked at them, " putting 
 their heads together;" banded with jet and 
 waving with gold. 
 
 On the second evening Arthur Miller ven- 
 tured to call. The report that the old Doctor 
 had brought home a young bride, had flown 
 through the vicinity ; he had heard it before he 
 came, I knew. My uncle was friendly to him, 
 as Miss Miller's brother ; but took no fancy 
 to him — instead, told me, next day, carelessly, 
 that he did not like the young man as well as 
 his sister. 
 
 " Neither do I," I said, with more emphasis 
 than I intended, " but Lillian holds a different 
 opinion, and it was this I was thinking of, 
 when I wrote you, last winter. Miss Miller is 
 ambitious, and would favor the idea of a union 
 with your family." 
 
 " Ah," looking perplexedly at me with those 
 bright eyes of his, which always could see every- 
 thing but what was directly before them— I 
 must take notice — I must take notice ! But, 
 don't judge Miss Miller, my boy. She is a 
 most excellent lady, and has done much for my 
 Lillian." 
 
 , We were standing inside his laboratory, near 
 the door, when this was said. I heard the 
 rustle of silk a moment later, and opening the 
 door and stepping into the hall I saw Miss 
 Miller passing rapidly along to disappear in her 
 own room. 
 
 A few days later Miss Miller announced her 
 determination of leaving— her young lady was 
 " finished" as far as she could finish her — she 
 returned her charge to her father's hands, along 
 with the keys of the house and all the other 
 responsibilities she had assumed. My uncle 
 and cousin both warmly urged her never to 
 leave the Place, but to remain with them al- 
 ways, an honored member of the family." 
 
 " There is enough for all. You, who helped 
 to carry us through the dark days, ought to 
 remain to share our prosperity," said the Doc- 
 tor heartily. 
 
 He little understood the scornful smile which 
 wreathed her mouth in answer. She began to 
 make her arrangements to depart ; not very 
 hastily, for, since neither the man himself, nor 
 artless Lillian, suspected the change which had 
 clouded over her sky, she could take her time 
 to settle up her small affairs, without any dis- 
 paragement of her dignity. I could see that 
 Inez was glad she was going. 
 
 Her brother continued his visits ; he told us 
 that he liked Hampton ; was getting into busi- 
 ness, and had no wish to leave it. 
 
 He was determined to secure the prize for 
 which he had come ; his sister was disappointed, 
 
THE FIGURE EIGHT. 
 
 25 
 
 but there should be better luck for himself. So 
 I construed his thoughts. 
 
 I, too, was getting ready to leave Meredith 
 Place. My uncle had remonstrated, but I had 
 urged the necessity of attending lectures in the 
 city, and he had finally consented, but forcing 
 upon me the means for supporting myself, while 
 doing this. 
 
 "You'll make a doctor equal to any of the 
 Merediths yet, my boy !" he said, when he had 
 examined me as to my progress during his 
 absence. 
 
 Thus affairs stood at the moment when a 
 dark night of catastrophe shut all of the light 
 suddenly from Meredith Place. 
 
 CHAPTER VI. 
 
 TWO HOLES IN A HANDKERCHIEF. 
 
 I was curious to know if Miss Miller had rec- 
 ognized the person who so unexpectedly con- 
 fronted her in the arbor ; while it half mad- 
 dened me to realize that she would have 
 opportunity to return and examine the place, 
 while I, in my enforced concealment, could do 
 nothing. Doubtless she had returned, after 
 her first fright was calmed, and the household 
 had subsided into rest, and finished the work 
 which I had begun. If truly there had been 
 something under that last stone -if the iron- 
 bound box had been the object against which 
 my pick-axe had struck — I might resign myseK 
 to the disastrous fact that Miss Miller had won 
 in the game ; for she certainly would go back 
 and discover the treasure, and dispose of it to 
 suit herself, before the morning. 
 
 Whether, having found the box, she would 
 deliver it to its rightful owners, or whether, be- 
 ing concerned in its disappearance, she would 
 only secure its farther concealment, I could not 
 decide. 
 
 I was too much excited to sleep, while I felt 
 that my brain demanded rest from the constant 
 strain upon it of conflicting thoughts and the- 
 ories. Morning came slowly. Gram' me Hook- 
 er was an early riser, and when I heard her 
 moving about in the room below, I was glad 
 to go down. 
 
 "You haven't slept, Doctor Joe," she re- 
 marked, after scanning me for a moment with 
 her bright, old eyes. "If you don't take keer 
 of yourself you'll be down sick." 
 
 " "Well, what then? who cares?" 
 
 " I thought you was jest for working. How 
 kin you spy about and keep watch over them 
 unprotected lambs, if you lay yourself up in 
 bed with brain fever V ' 
 
 " True, gram'me ; I thank you for reminding 
 me of it. After breakfast, if you will make 
 some excuse to visit the mansion and hear the 
 
 news, I promise you I will try to sleep while 
 you are gone. Miss Miller had a fright last 
 night ; find out what the servants have to say 
 about it. And pray, see Lillian if you can, 
 dear gram'me, and tell me how she looks — if 
 she is well ! — how she feels ! — and if Arthur 
 Miller spent last evening there. Can yOu re- 
 member all that V ' 
 
 The old woman shook her head with a mean 
 ing smile. 
 
 "I want to know, myself, how Miss Lillian 
 fares," she said, "and I'll be hoppin' mad if I 
 l'arn that that young man is hangin' about her 
 yet, — for I don't like him any better' n you do, 
 Doctor Joe. Yes, yes, yes, my feet ain't so 
 spry as they used to be, but my head's quick 
 enough yet. If there's any thin' goin' on to the 
 house, trust me to find it out, Doctor Joe. And 
 do you jest stop frettin', and take a good sleep 
 while I'm out, for I shall likely be gone some 
 time." 
 
 I gave her some money to buy such food as 
 was necessary now that she had a boarder, and 
 as soon as the few dishes were put away, she 
 took her basket and crutch, hobbling away on 
 her various errands. As she expected to visit 
 the village as well as Meredith Place, I knew 
 that it must be several hours before her return, 
 and endeavored to keep my promise about 
 sleeping, by crawling back to my garret-bed, 
 shutting my eyes, and beginning to count, over 
 and over, up to a hundred and down again. 
 The discipline proved effectual, so that, after a 
 time, I slept. I was awakened from this slum 
 ber by a murmur of voices in the room below. 
 Fortunately, I was sufficiently master of my 
 perilous position as soon as I awoke, to remem- 
 ber the necessity for keeping quiet. At first 
 I supposed Gram'me Hooker had returned 
 and some acquaintances had stopped in passing. 
 But, after a few moments, not hearing her 
 piping treble, and believing that I recognized 
 the voices, curiosity overcame prudence. I 
 moved, on my hands and knees, as softly as 
 possible over the loose boards which formed 
 the floor of the garret ; but, despite my caution, 
 a board rattled, and the conversation below 
 instantly ceased. "Rats!" spoke some one, 
 with a little nervous laugh, after a moment's 
 silence. I was right — the speaker was Miss 
 Miller. The murmur began again ; I pressed 
 my ear to the floor, but I could distinguish 
 nothing of what was said ; I soon, however, 
 made out the other voice to be that of her 
 brother Arthur. The blood was rushing and 
 throbbing in my ears, but I compelled my 
 pulses to quiet that I might hear what was 
 being said. The plastered ceiling beneath me 
 effectually prevented any consecutive words 
 
26 
 
 THE FIGURE EIGHT. 
 
 from reaching my ear ; feeling assured these 
 arch conspirators were plotting the still greater 
 misery of my cousin Lillian, — that they were 
 uttering in secret council, matters of over- 
 whelming importance to me and mine, I was 
 yet constrained by that small barrier from 
 hearing what was said ! As soon as I dared I 
 crept forward to the narrow closed passage 
 which led down, by a few steep stairs, to the 
 apartment beneath. I knew that the door at 
 its foot was closed, and I made my way down, 
 and stooping, peered through the small aper- 
 ture through which the old-fashioned latch 
 passed. I saw the brother and sister, he, sitting 
 in a chair by the table ; she, standing before 
 him. She was growing angry, I could tell by 
 the red spot on her cheek, and by her raised 
 voice. 
 
 " You are a greater fool than I took you to 
 be, Arthur Miller," were the first words I made 
 out. "I knew you were a coward, but I did 
 not give you credit for being a ninny, too." 
 
 "Gently, gently, my sweet sister," he an- 
 swered, meeting her fiery glance with one of 
 his mocking smiles. 
 
 I could see only her profile as she stood be- 
 tween me and the open door, but I saw her 
 mouth tremble with scorn and rage, and her 
 black brows lower. 
 
 " You played for the stakes, and lost," con- 
 tinued the brother, sneeringly ; "why should 
 you be sc severe upon me, who also have had 
 the misfortune to lose V ' 
 
 " But you have not lost ! All is still in your 
 own hands. What I am angry with you for, is 
 for giving up, when we are so near success." 
 
 "A fellow's neck is about the most precious 
 trifle in his possession. He would, naturally, 
 like to keep that whole, even though his heart 
 be broken. When the chestnuts are too hot, 
 one must drop them. That poor dog of a cousin 
 of hers is in a happy condition, isn't he ? — ex- 
 cuse me from wishing to burn my mouth like 
 that." 
 
 "Coward!" she said again. 
 
 "Oh, well, sis; I leave it all to you. You 
 have courage enough for both. More courage 
 than discretion, / think. To tell you the plain 
 truth, I think you've hurried this matter too 
 much. Why couldn't you let well enough 
 alone ?" 
 
 " Arthur, you will -never understand me ! As 
 if I could have lived — as if I could have lived" — 
 she uttered vehemently, then checked herself. 
 
 " Never mind the past," she added in a mo- 
 ment ; "what we have now to do is to consider 
 the future. We must be prepared for any emer- 
 gency which may arise. We must be cool, and 
 above all, courageous, and must be united in I 
 
 action. Everything depends upon our acting 
 in concert." 
 
 " By-the-bye," said the young man, still 
 smiling up into his sister's excited face, "if 
 you had not such a grudge against her, I believe 
 I should prefer the step-mother to the daughter. 
 She's a beauty, that Spanish girl is, and has a 
 soul of fire. Such eyes ! — I dreamed of them 
 last night. 4 0, saw ye not fair Inez, she's gone 
 into the West, To dazzle when the sun is down, 
 and rob the world of rest.' She's my ideal of 
 feminine charms. I don't wonder the old Doc- 
 tor capitulated, besieged by arrows from such 
 eyes. Bad for you, sis, but what might have 
 been expected !" 
 
 " How dare you !" cried Miss Miller, lifting 
 her hand. "Arthur, you must be careful! I 
 have done a great deal for you — supported you 
 — educated you — given you all you have. I 
 have endeavored to take you into an equal part- 
 nership in this business,— but you must beware ! 
 Never speak of that woman to me. I will not 
 bear it !" 
 
 "Oh-h-h! I must be discreet," laughed her 
 companion, his eyes falling before the blaze of 
 her own fierce orbs. "Don't look at me that 
 way, sis, or I shall be anxiously inquiring if 
 there is any more prussic-acid about. ' ' 
 
 He laughed at his own cold-blooded jest ; as 
 for me, I should have sprung out upon him in 
 fury, to think that he could refer in this reck- 
 less manner, to the tragedy which had desolated 
 Meredith Place, but was withheld by an intense 
 curiosity to note the effect on Miss Miller. 
 
 Her upraised hand sank to her side ; instead 
 of blazing out into new anger, she spoke more 
 calmly than she had yet done — 
 
 " What do you mean by that, Arthur?" 
 
 " Nothing at all," was the half-sullen reply. 
 " So it was not the box, after all?" he added, 
 changing the subject. 
 
 ' ' No. We were mistaken from the beginning. 
 But I shall begin again, — I have the key. All 
 I want is time. I wish I knew, certainly, who 
 it was in the arbor, last night. I could have 
 sworn it was he. This much is certain — some 
 one is on the track beside ourselves. We must 
 be a thousand times more cautious than before. 
 I hope, and shall believe, that it was only 
 some one who saw me visit the place, and who 
 thought he would examine for himself. I don't 
 feel easy about one thing, Arthur : — I am afraid 
 that I walk in my sleep, as I once had a habit 
 of doing, you remember. I have not done so 
 for many years ; but several times, recently, I 
 have found my night-dress, in the morning, 
 wet with dew and soiled with sand and earth, 
 as if I had wandered about in it out-of-doors. 
 It was so yesterday morning. I may do strange 
 
THE FIGURE EIGHT. 
 
 29 
 
 things while in this somnambulic state, and 
 may be watched by others. I feel the danger 
 so great that I am like a person walking on ice 
 so thin that it may break at any moment, and 
 let him down. I have persuaded Lillian to 
 sleep in my bed, for the present, on the front 
 side ; so that if I rise I shall disturb her, for 
 she is a light sleeper. She has promised to waken 
 me if she finds me somnambulizing. I wish I 
 knew who that person was, in the arbor, last 
 night." 
 
 She glanced about her, with a startled air, as 
 she made the last remark, like one, who, hav- 
 ing received a great fright, is still nervous and 
 expectant of another shock. For an instant 
 her eyes rested on the latch, and it seemed to 
 me that she was gazing directly at me. If I had 
 obeyed the impulse which seized me I should 
 have thrown open the door and announced my- 
 self as the person about whom she was so 
 anxious, — but ever arose before me, in these 
 imprudent moments of excitement, Lillian's 
 face imploring me to remember her wrongs and 
 not to foolishly peril her future welfare. 
 
 "I've not so much confidence in your powers, 
 sis, as I had once," began the young man, with 
 a weary yawn. "I've half a mind to throw 
 up the whole matter, and return immediately 
 to New York. I've trifled away a good deal 
 of time already. Perhaps I might have made 
 it pay better. I expected some substantial re- 
 . suits this morning." 
 
 " You are too impatient. Rome was not 
 built in a day." 
 
 " I think I'll return to my legitimate sphere. ' ' 
 
 "Then you give up Lillian Meredith en- 
 tirely?" 
 
 He laughed again. — 1 Cela depend' he said, 
 lightly. 
 
 ' ' I understand. But here comes mother 
 Hooker. Good morning, gram' me. You seem 
 alarmed at finding your cottage taken posses- 
 sion of, in your absence. I was walking in the 
 wood with my brother. Miss Lillian made mo 
 promise that, if I came near your house, I 
 would stop and inquire how you were. Find- 
 ing you gone, as I was tired, we sat down to 
 rest ourselves, thinking you would soon be in. 
 How is your rheumatism, this morning ?" 
 
 ' 1 Easy as an old shoe. Tell Miss Lily her 
 strawberry -pie was drefful nice, and I'm much 
 obleeged. I've been to the house myself, but 
 I didn't see her, as she wasn't down, — and I 
 went on to the village for a leetle sugar and 
 tea and a bit of smokin' tobacky. She gives 
 me money for that, reg'lar, Miss Lily does, 
 though she can't abide the smell of it herself, 
 bless her kind heart ! "—rattling on with what- 
 ever came into her head to say, while she 
 
 darted furtive glances about the place to assure 
 herself all was right. 
 
 I had to make a sudden retreat up the stairs 
 when she hobbled directly to the door, at which 
 I was playing the ignoble part of eaves-drop- 
 per, pretending that she wished to hang her 
 hood and shawl inside. She saw me in my 
 retreat, received my signal that all was right, 
 closed the door again and began a gracious 
 conversation with Miss Miller, to whom, usually, 
 she said as little as possible. 
 
 " And is this the young gentleman as they say 
 is engaged to Miss Lily?" I heard her ask, 
 presently. " It's a blessed thing the poor child 
 has a friend that can comfort her, and can sup- 
 port her, too, now that her property is all gone. 
 She won't have a roof to cover her head many 
 days longer, an' it seems like a stroke of Pro- 
 vidence that she should be provided for before- 
 hand, don't it, now ?" 
 
 I leaned eagerly down to hear the reply, but a 
 laugh from Arthur and a cough from his sister 
 was all I heard. I knew that gram' me was 
 playing a hypocritical part, for my benefit ; it 
 would have gone sorely against her inclinations 
 to see Lillian mated with any one but me ; but 
 she guessed that I was wild with the desire to 
 know if an actual engagement existed, and 
 was trying to enlighten me. Her little ruse 
 failed, and soon I heard the two bidding her 
 good morning and going away. 
 
 " They're out o' sight now ; but I'll jis-t shet 
 and lock the door and pull down the curtain 
 before you come down," she called, opening 
 the stair-case door. - ' We shall smother, this 
 warm day. Besides, some one might listen at 
 our heyhole, as I did at this. Better leave the 
 door wide, and keep a sentinel at the post," 1 
 responded, coming down. " Well, gram' me, 
 what's the news ?" 
 
 " Do you know, my heart was in my mouth 
 when I heard talking and saw them two in 
 here ? I trembled so, I thought I should have 
 to set down on the step. What are they about ? 
 Some mischief, I'll warrant ! Did you hear 
 anythin' they said, Doctor Joe?" 
 
 "Yes, a good deal. Nothing satisfactory, 
 however. Just enough to convince me that I 
 am not all wrong in my suspicions." 
 
 " Your face is as red as fire." 
 
 " I'm excited",'gram'me. Besides, I had to 
 stoop over, to look through the latch-hole. 
 They said so much, it made me eager to hear 
 more. But, what about my cousin? and Mrs. 
 Meredith ? and what is the news ?" 
 
 " I can't never call her Mrs. Meredith," said 
 the old woman, shaking her head. ' ' That 
 babyish little thing couldn' t never take her place . 
 She's sick this morning, they say — cried herself 
 
30 
 
 THE FIGURE EIGHT. 
 
 into a fit o' sickness. Miss Lily, she's a waitin* 
 on her, so I didn't speak with her myself. 
 There never was nothin' more surprisin' than 
 the way Miss Lily holds out. I 'spected she'd 
 be the fust to break down. It's beautiful to 
 see how bravely she bears her trouble, as sweet 
 and patient as if her heart wasn't completely 
 broke. ' ' 
 
 " Don't, don't," I said, the tears rushing inte- 
 rn y eyes. " Oh, gram'me, it is too cruel that I 
 am driven from her side at a time like this. I 
 don't mind her suspecting me, hating me ; — I 
 only feel so sorry that I can not help her bear 
 her misfortunes. I tell you truly, gram'me, if 
 I believed Arthur Miller was true and noble, 
 that he really loved her, and not the money he 
 expected she would have — that he would step 
 to her side like a man, care for her, provide for 
 her, love her, marry her, I could joyfully see 
 her his wife. All I desire is her happiness. But 
 I distrust that man. Now that she is poor, he 
 will forsake her. After winning her affections 
 by the most devoted attentions, you will see, 
 he will leave her in the hour of her sorrow. 
 He spoke of returning to New York." 
 
 " Thank goodness, let him go ; you ought to 
 be happy, Doctor Joe, to get rid of him." 
 
 "But Lillian — she loves him — she will be 
 so wretched !" 
 
 "If he goes, he won't deserve her, an' it 
 will be better for her to be mis 'able for a time, 
 than for all her life. Mebbe he won't go." 
 
 " What did the servants say about the fright 
 last night ?' ' 
 
 ' 1 Oh, they said the Governess saw a ghost. 
 They say she was dreffully scared. It was in 
 the arbor ; but when the men went to look they 
 couldn't see nothin'. They asked her if it was 
 his sperit she saw ; she wouldn't tell, but they 
 knew it was Dr. Meredith's ghost as couldn't 
 rest in his grave on account of his bein' mur- 
 dered. Cook says she wouldn't go into that 
 garden at night for all the world, — nor one o' 
 them servants wouldn't do it — not even Mike." 
 
 "All the better for me," I thought. "If 
 they are all frightened away, I shall have the 
 field to myself." 
 
 After the humble dinner, prepared by gram'- 
 me, she took her knitting and sat in the 
 door, talking constantly, for her own amuse- 
 ment apparently, as she was neither hurt nor 
 disconcerted by my silence. I heard no more 
 of what she said than of the murmur of the 
 stream that ran beneath the window ; being 
 intensely occupied with my own thoughts ; and 
 these were not satisfactory, for they brought 
 me to no conclusion. I had, before the visit of 
 those two to the cottage, arrived at a belief ; 
 but their conversation, instead of strengthen- 
 
 ing it, had thrown me back into doubt and | 
 
 confusion. 
 
 I took from the breast-pocket of my coat a I 
 handkerchief, which, I held in my hand and I 
 examined for the ten thousandth time, to re- 
 assure myself. It was a lady's handkerchief, 
 a bit of hem-stitched cambric, smelling of 
 patchouly, — at that time a new and favorite 
 perfume, — which I had picked up from the floor 
 of the laboratory on the afternoon of the day 
 of Dr. Meredith's death. It lay underneath a 
 tier of shelves along one of which were arranged ! 
 bottles containing various highly concentrated 
 acids, ahd two or three labeled "poison." 
 In the cambric two small holes . were burned, 
 where a drop of acid had fallen. In one'eorner 
 of the handkerchief was written the name of 
 its owner — Annie Miller. 
 
 I had confided to no one the fact of my having 
 found this handkerchief. I had heard, without 
 change of countenance, Miss Miller and the 
 servants inquiring for it, as if it were an article 
 of some value. I knew that a dollar would 
 buy a better one, yet I did not wonder that its 
 owner felt troubled at its loss, and was trying 
 to hunt it up. 
 
 I now stared at this handkerchief, mentally 
 comparing the theory which I had adduced 
 from it with the facts of the -conversation 
 I had overheard. They did not agree as I 
 wished to have them. My theory had been 
 that Miss Miller, aided and abetted by her 
 brother, had first robbed Dr. Meredith of his 
 gold, and then poisoned him. I believed that, , 
 taking advantage of his friendship, she had j 
 chosen the occasion of her approaching depar- ( 
 ture to ask him, playfully, to drink her health 
 in parting, and had killed him while she smiled , 
 upon him. 
 
 My enmity to this woman gave me no excuse 
 for accusing her of this horrible treachery and ( 
 crime. I blamed myself for the conviction 
 which had fastened upon me ; and when I could [ 
 not shake it off, I invented excuses for her, ^ 
 which should palliate her crime in my mind. ^ 
 I said to myself : " She did not murder him for 
 his money ; that would be too cold-blooded. , 
 Miss Miller is not cold-blooded — not avaricious. 1 
 She is ambitious ; she loves money because it 
 confers power — and she loved the man she 
 murdered. She killed him in a fierce paroxysm 
 of jealousy. The shock which her pride anc 
 passion both received when he brought home 
 his girl-wife affected her brain — rendered her 
 in a measure, insane, — and she committed th: J 
 deed, urged by a wild frenzy of love for hin 
 and hate for her!" It was not quite so com j 
 mon, in those days, as it now is, for judge anc 
 jury to throw the vail of "insanity" ove: ; 
 
THE FIGU 
 
 every form of wickedness ; but I, greatly as I 
 had disliked Lillian's governess for the manner 
 in which she had ignored me and my claims, 
 misconstrued my motives, and constituted her- 
 self a spy upon my actions, could not bring 
 myself to believe her guilty of this hideous sin, 
 except under the impulse of a brain suddenly 
 thrown from its balance. 
 
 Miss Miller was one of those women born to 
 be a ' ' queen of society. ' ' Poverty had deprived 
 her of her empire, but the spirit of a ruler 
 still was there, and I could understand and pity 
 the crushing disappointment which must have 
 been hers, when, after years of patient endur- 
 ance, in the very flush and glow of anticipated 
 triumph, she had found herself discrowned by a 
 simple, clinging, timid girl. I could imagine 
 the scorn with which she criticized the little 
 Cuban wife — the hatred with which she viewed' 
 her pretty airs of fondness for a man whom she 
 could no more appreciate than a fire-fly could 
 measure a star. 
 
 I could picture her desperation at being 
 driven out into the world to commence anew 
 her dreary career as governess, after believing 
 herself the mistress of Dr. Meredith's heart and 
 home ; and I could believe, that, urged by all 
 this passion and fury of humiliation, disap- 
 pointment, despair, and anger, — she had com- 
 mitted, in a wild hour of temptation, a -deed 
 for which a life of remorse must be the return. 
 
 I had believed this ; and farther, that her 
 brother had suggested the previous robbery, in 
 which she had acquiesced, not only to gratify 
 him, but to complete her revenge upon the 
 young wife, by leaving her helpless and pen- 
 niless, without friends or relatives, a stranger 
 in a strange land, in absolute poverty, and with 
 no resources by which she could help herself. 
 
 As for Arthur Miller, there was no reserva- 
 tion in my condemnation of him, and yet I did 
 not believe that he was a party to the murder. 
 He was too cowardly for that. Nothing so 
 bold and decisive ever was accomplished by 
 him. No ; he had nothing to do with the 
 death of Dr. Meredith ; but I had firmly be- 
 lieved that the box of gold was in his possession, 
 or concealed where he knew of it. 
 
 Now, as I pondered the conversation I had 
 overheard, I felt that neither of them had any 
 certain knowledge of the lost treasure. Miss 
 Miller had boasted of a key ; but it was evident 
 that they, like myself, were vainly searching 
 for the missing box. Neither did there appear 
 to be any hint of the awful guilt which I atr 
 tributed to her, in Miss Miller's words,— nor in 
 her brother's, save in that brutal jest about the 
 prussic-acid. 
 
 Thus, the more I pondered the less certain I 
 
 RE EIGHT. 31 
 
 became of all my previous impressions ; only 
 by staring at the two holes burned in the hand- 
 kerchief could I retain my suspicion of Miss 
 Miller. 
 
 CHAPTER VH. 
 
 TWO GLEAMS OF LIGHT. 
 
 A week passed, during which I was shut, by 
 day, in my voluntary prison, and by night 
 roamed restlessly in the vicinity of Meredith 
 Place, — a long, intolerable week, — for I made 
 no progress in my investigations, while my con- 
 finement to the cottage, without books or other 
 society than gram' me' s, was extremely irksome. 
 
 The only thing which relieved the monotony 
 of these days, was gram' me' s visits to the man- 
 sion and the village, from which she would 
 return with such gossip as she could glean. 
 
 One day it was that Lillian was engaged to 
 Arthur Miller, and that he was urging her to a 
 speedy marriage, saying that her friends would 
 overlook haste in consideration of the need 
 which beset her of a home and protector. 
 Another : it was reported that I had been seen 
 and arrested by the police, in Philadelphia or 
 Baltimore, and was to be brought back to 
 Hampton the following day. Again : Lillian 
 had refused Arthur Miller, and had declared her 
 intention of opening a small school, so soon as 
 she felt herself able to resume any regular du- 
 ties. Still again : that a ghost haunted the 
 woods of Meredith Place, and more especially 
 the garden. It was said to be the spirit of the 
 Doctor, wandering about in search of the lost 
 treasure. Now, it was said I had gone to Europe 
 to spend my ill-gotten fortune ; then, that I 
 was hiding in New York ; but never that I was 
 in the vicinity of Hampton. 
 
 At the end of a week Gram' me Hooker came 
 in, crying, from a visit to the house. 
 
 " To-morrow's the day of the sale," she said, 
 in explanation. 
 
 "What will Lillian do?" I cried, wringing 
 my hands together, as I walked up and down 
 the narrow room like a caged panther. "Ok, 
 how cruel it is that her only relative, her best 
 friend, can not help her in this emergency ! I 
 am tied, hand and foot. "Worse ! she regards 
 me as her enemy, — as a brute, a monster !" 
 
 "No, no," interposed gram' me, "she don't, 
 Doctor Joe. I never heard her speak ill o' you. 
 They try to make her, but she won't." 
 
 "Oh, if I dared to see her, gram'me ! Do 
 you think it would be imprudent to bring her 
 here to see me ? I could tell her how I mean 
 to work for her and Inez, as soon as I can get 
 away to a place of safety ! — how I only remain 
 here in the hope of discovering the gold of 
 which she has been robbed, that I may have 
 
32 
 
 THE FIGURE EIGHT. 
 
 the happiness of restoring it to her ! — that I 
 mil find out the meaning of her father's mes- 
 sage ! or, if I fail, then I am ready to earn a 
 living, somewhere, away from my enemies, — for 
 her, if she needs it ; or, if Arthur Miller has 
 already provided for her future, then, for poor 
 Inez." I spoke with rapid passionateness ; but 
 gram 'me shook her head. 
 
 ' ' I shan't risk it, Doctor Joe. If they should 
 get hold o' you, they wouldn't show you a hit 
 o' mercy. The more folks talks and goes on, 
 the more excited they gits. A lynchin' is the 
 least you may expect, if it gits out you're any- 
 where around. I tremble night an' day, at 
 every sound. You must be keerful ; — an' if 
 you'll take my advice, you'll quit these parts 
 this very night." 
 
 " Not I ! Not until I have done all that can 
 be done at present. If they discover me they 
 can only hang me. That will hurt them worse 
 than it will me. How I despise that selfish 
 vagabond !" I was thinking of Arthur Miller 
 again. ''Since she has no fortune, he leaves 
 my poor darling to her fate ! — and she loves 
 him — I know she loves him!" — and here I 
 forgot my panther promenade, and dropped into 
 a chair to dream over the last time I saw them 
 together, alone, standing at the gate in the rosy 
 light of sunset, her face upturned to his with a 
 smile, — it was the evening before the tragedy, 
 — and he had taken her little hand from the 
 head of the stone lion, and pressed it, while I 
 had shut my eyes and stumbled blindly into 
 the hall. 
 
 "I have gained nothing at all by hanging 
 about the grounds, ' ' I resumed, when the vision 
 passed away ; "to-night I shall enter the house ; 
 I want to examine the library once more." 
 
 "Oh, don't!" cried gram'me, too overcome 
 at my audacity to say more. 
 
 1 ' But I must. You know Tiger does not 
 bark at me ; and I know every door and win- 
 dow so thoroughly. Besides," with a smile, 
 "if I should encounter any one, I can assume 
 my character as ghost. ' ' 
 
 " If they should find you, poking about where 
 you didn't belong, it would be evidence against 
 you, don't you see !" 
 
 " Yes, yes, I see! But I am resolved upon 
 the risk. You need not keep one eye open for 
 me to-night. I shall take care of myself. ' ' 
 
 I went out, shortly after dark. As far as I 
 could ascertain from Gram'me Hooker's unsatis- 
 factory reports, it was not decided what Inez 
 and Lillian would do after the place was 
 sold over their heads. Miss Miller had kindly 
 remained with them, much to her own incon- 
 venience (!) thus far, but she was to go, the 
 day after the sale. Arthur still was practicing 
 
 law in Hampton, and swearing every day, with 
 a laughing oath, that he would like no better 
 case with which to advance his legal career then 
 the defense of a scoundrel like Joe Meredith. 
 If Joe was ever arrested he should at once offer 
 himself as his counsel ! Fearing that Lillian 
 might go away with Miss Miller, or something 
 occur by which I should not see her for a long 
 time, I went out early with the hope of catch- 
 ing a glimpse of her face or form if I hung 
 around the shrubberies and porches of the 
 old house. 
 
 This the intense darkness made it easy for 
 me to do. There was no moon, and the stars 
 were hidden by sultry clouds which hung low, 
 promising rain. As familiar as the wood had 
 grown to me, at this time, it was with difficulty 
 that I stumbled through it, and came, by an 
 open field, into the grounds which more nearly 
 surrounded the old stone mansion. There were 
 lights in the parlor, and I ventured, after re- 
 connoitering for a time, to approach a window, 
 and look through a curtain of honeysuckle, 
 directly into the room. The first person I saw 
 was Inez, Mrs. Meredith, lolling back in an 
 easy-chair, her black garments falling about her 
 slight form in heavy folds, as her black hair fell 
 about her pale face ; her eye-lashes rested on her 
 cheeks as if she slept, and the hands dropped 
 listlessly upon her knee did not stir. Like a 
 child, she had wept herself to sleep. Presently 
 I became aware that Lillian and Miss Miller were 
 walking up and down the long room ; the 
 governess had her arm about her pupil's waist, 
 who was listening to her with a look which I 
 could not translate, but it seemed to me, of 
 wonder and incredulity. 
 
 ' ' Have you never had any reason to think 
 that Inez, herself, in a freak of jealousy or 
 anger — these Spaniards are so passionate, and 
 so unprincipled — ' ' spoke Miss Miller in a low 
 voice, as both paused close by the window at 
 which I stood. 
 
 "Oh, impossible. You do not know how 
 she loved him, — so grateful ! so fond of poor 
 papa ; and she did not know the use of such 
 things — don't you see ?" 
 
 "She is ignorant enough, if that be all," 
 sneered the governess. Forget what I have 
 said, Lillian. You know we are all under a 
 cloud, liable to suspicion — even me, or you, or any 
 one. I meant nothing in particular." 
 
 Lillian made no response, and they moved on ; 
 when they returned Miss Miller was saying — 
 " He loves you, ardently, but you are both too 
 poor to marry now. My brother has his way 
 to make, and dare not venture further responsi- 
 bility until — ' ' 
 
 "Thank God for that!" I breathed, as the 
 
THE FIGURL 
 
 two again passed from hearing. It was like a 
 reprieve to a condemned man. I had not heard 
 my cousin's reply, nor seen the expression of 
 her face ; I knew not hut that she might be 
 unhappy and disappointed, but for me, it was 
 joy to feel that she was not too quickly to 
 become the wife of that man whom I detested. 
 I forgot that I had said that for her sake I wished 
 she might be happily married. 
 
 I felt my face flame up at the touch of the night- 
 wind as I recalled Miss Miller's attempt to still 
 further injure and destroy poor Inez, by creat- 
 ing a cruel suspicion of her in the heart of her 
 only friend. This seemed the most malignant 
 thing I had known of all her conduct — only that 
 still-bitter jealousy could in the least excuse i* 
 for I felt that the governess did not belie^ 
 own words* 
 
 "If she is so wicked as that, T 1 
 son to spare her," I thought 
 make the most of the slig 1 
 keeping. 
 
 Presently Mrs. Meredit* 
 and a little cry. Iilli? 
 kissed her ; there was • 
 three talked together, 
 bedroom candles, to< 
 the door my cousin 3 
 about the room — at 
 the piano, the orn 
 well-worn carpet 
 
 " Ah, to-mor 
 stranger ! To-: 
 home, Inez ! T 
 Tdo. I was \ 
 mother died 
 choked her, 1 
 
 4 'If there 
 my vows, I 
 appointed t 
 yours, cous 
 whom I fir 
 not. 
 
 I wand 
 secure in 
 one, the J 
 could teE 
 Inez had 
 spark, wl 
 casern eDt 
 the wine 
 supposed 
 
 ngu- 
 paper, 
 ber of a 
 previously 
 article, I h 
 It gavf 
 approach]' 
 the night 
 tied in t 
 errand, 1 
 that nigh 
 me. Ind 
 than I en 
 flashes 
 
URE EIGHT. 
 
 ,<st — a 
 uiding- 
 3rediths, 
 the house, 
 But the 
 othing of 
 ; .r she set 
 in a rest- 
 he black 
 e had so 
 him. All 
 nan's lot. 
 u which 
 ->rous 
 
 not allow me to rest so 1 /ng as there was the 
 faintest hope that her patrimony could he re- 
 stored to her. However, that night, I felt no 
 longer any desire to enter the house. I might 
 have done so by climbing the back porch and 
 entering by an upper window which stood wide 
 open ; but I was so subdued by the misery I 
 had witnessed that I had not spirit left for the § 
 enterprise. 
 
 By this time, the thunder-storm which had ~ 
 been gathering for hours in the sultry air, was 
 ready for active operations. The first scattering 
 outriders of the rain came galloping on ; the 
 flash and roar of artillery was seen and heard 
 in the distance. This war of the elements just 
 -suited me ; fevered and excited as I was I rather 
 "d the threatened drenching, and I walked 
 'own the gravel path beside the man- 
 -~ arching silently by my side. The 
 in my confidence than any 
 always was with me in my 
 assuring me of his sym- 
 ' touch of his nose against 
 
 ter than eleven o'clock 
 aboratory transpired, 
 until the light dis- 
 in the upper hall, 
 
 could not endure 
 *oker's garret, I 
 ching presently 
 ed foot-passen- 
 'ghtning show- 
 standing, one 
 ately stepped 
 ^hes reached 
 g me, made 
 for another 
 *. were. 
 
 a pretty 
 .e vicinity; 
 " spirits" 
 ite hours, 
 is a voice 
 low mur 
 ? Iilliai 
 1 to him 
 the gate | 
 • that h 
 ling, an< 
 , or pre 
 
THE FIGURE EIGHT. 
 
 35 
 
 necessity, there came a succession of tremulous 
 gleams, one melting into another, making a 
 hrief day of that midnight darkness. Every 
 leaf and rain-drop grew distinct. I saw the 
 handsome, insincere face of Arthur Miller, look- 
 ing curiously pale or green in the livid light, — 
 and I saw another face upturned to his* smiling, 
 flushed, with parted lips glowing as if they had 
 just heen kissed— a fair face— a young face- 
 hut not Lillian's : — I almost wished that it was ! 
 
 ' ' You are getting wet — you will take cold. 
 Good-bye for to-night, I will see you again 
 soon — to-morrow — every day! How delicious 
 the roses are to-night, — or is it your breath ? 
 who can tell ? Take care of yourself, and again 
 — good night." 
 
 " Adieu, sefior ; pleasant dreams." 
 
 The next moment the black folds of her 
 mourning garments touched me as she went by. 
 
 "Ah, you bad dog, you surprise me," she 
 cried, under her breath, as her hand came in 
 contact with Tiger's damp coat, who trotted 
 away by her side. 
 
 Yes, there could be no mistake ! The woman 
 who met Arthur Miller, alone, and at an un- 
 seasonable hour, was Inez, the widow of a 
 month ; for whose sad fate as orphan, exile, 
 and widow, hundreds of eyes daily grew dim 
 with sympathy. If I had seen a sweet babe rise 
 from its cradle, with all the passions and dis- 
 figurements of mature life suddenly stamped 
 upon its face, I should not have been more 
 astonished. 
 
 CHAPTER VIII. 
 
 IN A NEW CHARACTER. 
 
 In our quiet village there was little specula- 
 tion in real estate ; the crowd in attendance at 
 the sale of Meredith Place was large, but the 
 bidding was tame, and the old homestead was 
 finally bought in by the creditor who held the 
 largest claims against the estate, at a sum much 
 below its value. He took the property because 
 he got it for two-thirds its worth ; but he would 
 gladly sell it at the first fair offer, and, in the 
 meantime, felt something as if he had an ele- 
 ^ iphant on his hands. All the well-to-do peo- 
 "^jple of Hampton had places of their own; no 
 "t| strangers were coming in, just then, and the 
 -^poorer class, who rented houses, did not wish 
 so expensive an establishment. The new owner 
 decided to advertise it in the New York papers 
 is for rent for the remainder of the summer, or 
 or sale as a country-seat. He did so ; but 
 dndly insisted upon Mrs. and Miss Meredith 
 emaining untilthe place was let. , This they 
 vere glad to do, as their plans were not yet 
 ully arranged. 
 It was Lillian's intention to open a private 
 
 school. She had reserved her piano from the 
 sale, that she might be able to give lessons on 
 it. Inez was to give instruction in vocal music 
 and on the guitar. 
 
 They were looking about for a suitable house; 
 one small enough to match their purses, yet 
 with a room which could be spared to the pro- 
 spective pupils. Lillian went about with a sub- 
 scription paper securing the names of her pupils. 
 I heard all this through Gram' me Hooker, and 
 was obliged to submit to it. Lillian soliciting 
 pupils ! I should as soon think of two hum- 
 ming-birds settling themselves to teaching, as 
 of her and Inez bound down to onerous duties. 
 Yet I gave Lillian credit for real strength of 
 character and for unusual intelligence. I knew 
 that she acted from a sense of duty ; that no 
 hero ever displayed more bravery than she in 
 the manner in which she had borne the events 
 of this terrible summer. 
 
 Miss Miller had returned to the city ; her 
 brother continued, for the present, the practice 
 of the law in Hampton, — at least his "shingle " 
 hung over his office-door, and he sat within and 
 smoked choice cigars. 
 
 I should have been away — had designed to 
 be, ere this, — away in some Western city, where, 
 under an assumed name, I hoped to earn money 
 by honest toil, which I could send to my cousin. 
 I sometimes smiled when I thought of her as a 
 teacher, consoling myself with the thought that 
 her experience would be brief, for, my life was 
 devoted to her ! I should not work without 
 returns ; and all that I had should be hers. I 
 would find means to convey it to her. 
 
 In the meantime I made the best use I could 
 of my enforced idleness, by frequent intrusions 
 into the library, from whence I supplied myself 
 with books, which served both to increase my 
 stock of knowledge and to fill up the wearisome 
 pauses in the play of life. 
 
 I could not always have escaped unnoticed 
 from these marauding expeditions, for the 
 most absurd stories circulated in the vicinity 
 concerning the ghost which haunted the garden 
 and the house, at Meredith Place. This restless 
 spirit was thought to prefer the arbor and the 
 library as its haunting-places. It was no delu- 
 sion of the ignorant ; — intelligent people had 
 laid in wait for it, and seen it. It visited, most 
 frequently, the scene of the murder. Books 
 had been placed in certain positions, and mark- 
 ed ; and had been found, in the morning, to 
 have been displaced, sometimes actually dis- 
 appearing. These were sure to be the Doctor's 
 favorite authors. Hence, some formed the 
 theory that disembodied spirits are not above 
 the use of material means for their intellectual 
 amusement or improvement. 
 
30 
 
 THE FIGURE EIGHT. 
 
 All this impressed upon me the necessity for 
 being more cautious in my movements. By 
 this time active search for me had ceased. The 
 police of the various cities had a written de- 
 scription of my person and habits, and were 
 instructed, generally, to be on the look-out for 
 as heartless a scoundrel and bold a criminal as 
 ever eluded their arts. 
 
 What I wondered at was, that the two girls, 
 — for what more than a child was Inez ? — should 
 have the courage to remain in that lonely place, 
 after Miss Miller was gone, and all the servants 
 dismissed but one elderly woman, who had 
 served the first Mrs. Meredith, and who would 
 not desert her daughter, if she worked without 
 other reward than love. It was a small house- 
 hold to fill so large a place ; but courage was one 
 of the new virtues which Lillian was developing. 
 
 " What should we fear ?" she asked Gram' me 
 Hooker, when spoken to on the subject ; "every 
 one knows that we have scarcely money enough 
 to buy our daily bread, — so we shall not be 
 troubled by robbers. As to the ghosts, gram'me, 
 I tell you, truly, if I thought my dear father 
 still visited the place which was so dear to him 
 while he lived, it would only add another and 
 deeper charm to it. I was not afraid of him in 
 life, why should I be in death?" — then she 
 burst into tears ; and gram'me wept in telling 
 me of it. 
 
 They were not entirely without friends, these 
 two lonely children : people who had long 
 known and respected Dr. Meredith were anxious 
 to manifest sympathy to his family ; but the 
 young folks of the village did not feel at liberty 
 to intrude their gay company upon the mourn- 
 ers, so that Arthur Miller was almost the only 
 young gentleman who visited at Meredith Place. 
 He spent nearly every evening of the week 
 there ; so that it came to be a settled belief 
 that he and Lillian were engaged. 
 
 But I have not told why it was that I still 
 lingered and skulked about this spot, instead 
 of making a bold effort for liberty and work. 
 I was engaged in a study so absorbing as, for 
 the time being, to leave me no choice of action. 
 Others might not have judged Mrs. Meredith 
 so severely, but to me there wag something 
 appalling in the fact that she had already en- 
 gaged in a flirtation with a young gentleman. 
 Since that night of the thunder-storm I had 
 asked myself many painful questions as to the 
 imprudence of my uncle marrying this young 
 stranger, and bringing her into his family. 
 He was a man most easily imposed upon by 
 any one who had a fair face or an innocent 
 look, — he revered women — as well he might 
 have done had they all been like Lillian's 
 mother — and did not look for duplicity or 
 
 baseness in them. Spanish women, as a rule, 
 were not notoriously good ; this pretty Cuban 
 girl had never been trained, in all probability, 
 to the practice of those high and stern prin- 
 ciples of honor and right which were regarded 
 as the natural heritage of my countrywomen. 
 
 I soon satisfied myself that Arthur Miller's 
 visits were for Inez, not for Lillian ; it was by 
 her side he sat ; to her he read ; to her he 
 brought flowers ; her music that he turned, 
 when, occasionally, she would sing one or two 
 Spanish songs. Lillian must be aware of his 
 desertion : — was it adding the last drop to her 
 overflowing trouble ? I could not decide. She 
 was always so sad, so quiet in the dignity of 
 her sorrow, that even I, who knew her so well, 
 could not tell how much notice she took of the 
 little drama being played in her presence. 
 Sometimes the whole three came to Gram'me 
 Hooker's cottage, in the course of an afternoon 
 stroll — Lillian always sad, patient, waiting on 
 the movement of the others, — Arthur gallant, 
 gay, Inez leaning on his arm, turning her great 
 black eyes to his, calling upon him for a hun- 
 dred little attentions. I could see them from 
 my hiding-place. Inez' manner was that of a 
 petulant, spoiled child. I could not make up 
 my mind that there was anything bad in her. 
 She seemed to me impulsive, selfish, fond, 
 timid, accustomed to self-indulgence. I be- 
 lieved that her imprudent and heartless con- j 
 duct was the result of untrained feelings always 
 allowed to run riot. She found grief wearisome, 
 solitude oppressive, and threw off both to bask in 
 that sunshine of gay society which her shallow 
 nature craved. Ah ! what a pity that Dr. Mer- 
 edith had "fcaken this butterfly to his bosom, , 
 who could flaunt her airy wings as brightly as , 
 ever before a single flower could spring on his ( 
 grave ! — what a pity that my cousin should be j 
 condemned to such companionship ! I saw j 
 then that it might have been better for her, , 
 and for all concerned, if my uncle had married j 
 that other woman who had loved him with a t 
 passion which mocked the foolish fondness of , 
 this young thing, and who would have been a , 
 counselor and support to Lillian in this crisis 
 of her experience. , 
 
 About the first of August, a gentleman came [ 
 out from the city to look at Meredith Place ; | 
 was delighted with it, and at once engaged it t 
 until the first of November. I did not know, [ 
 until his family arrived, that Miss Miller was a 
 member of it. She had gone to Mr. Chateau- h 
 briand's as a governess immediately upon leav- y 
 ing Hampton ; and it was she who induced that t 
 gentleman to look at Meredith Place when her \ 
 physicians ordered his wife away from the 5 
 sea-air. 
 
THE FIGURE EIGHT. 
 
 37 
 
 Whether Miss Miller wished to be near her 
 brother, or to look after the welfare of her for- 
 mer pupil, or whether she had interests of her 
 own to serve, no one save herself knew. Here 
 she was ; and here was the old mansion, so 
 gloomy and silent, so overshadowed by a dark 
 tragedy, suddenly transformed into a scene of 
 incessant gayety, life, and festivity. My poor 
 Lily was driven forth into the world. Quite 
 ready to go, she declared herself anxious to 
 ! begin her career as a day laborer. Mrs. Cha- 
 teaubriand, who knew her history from Miss 
 Miller, and who was wealthy enough to gratify 
 all her pretty fancies of tl '& kind, insisted that 
 neither Lillian nor Inez snould stir from under 
 that roof as long as her family remained ; she 
 would be only too glad to have them for vis- 
 itors, in that secluded village,— the house had 
 many vacant rooms, and they must help to fill 
 it ;— all this so prettily and urgently said, that 
 Inez was delighted, and wished to accept the 
 offered hospitality. When Lillian positively, 
 but most gratefully, declined,—" Let me stay, 
 then," pleaded Inez ; "you know I can never 
 earn my own living." 
 
 " Then I will earn it for you — for both of us, 
 dear Inez," said Lillian. And her companion 
 yielded, as usual, to the stronger will, though 
 not without petulance and a full complement 
 of tears. 
 
 A kind neighbor assisted Miss Meredith to 
 move her few household goods and gods to the 
 small dwelling just out of the main street of 
 Hampton, where she was to set up her new 
 Lares and Penates. She was not to open school 
 until the middle of September, so that she had 
 ample time to arrange her tiny household, and 
 1 to look over her old school-books with a view 
 ! to some practical use of the knowledge she had 
 J gained from them. Urged by me, Gram'me 
 ' Hooker made her almost daily visits ; if they 
 i were tedious inflictions, my cousin may now set 
 1 it down to my account ; I was selfish — I could 
 * not live without some hint of how my darling 
 M fared from day to day. I inferred that Inez 
 
 I was a great drag upon Lillian, instead of an 
 
 I I assistant ; that she was homesick, wanted to 
 j return to Cuba, wanted to visit Mrs. Chateau- 
 
 e | briand, wanted to have more company, to go 
 | out more, — everything, in short, but to really 
 it make herself useful, or patiently to bear the 
 r, hard circumstances which had come upon her. 
 a Meredith Place was a scene of long-continued 
 I gayety. Although its present mistress was 
 ?• something of an invalid, she was accustomed 
 it to see a great deal of company ; she had two 
 9 beautiful daughters, of an age to go into society, 
 ie and there was a constant coming and going of 
 friends from the city. Fashionably - dressed 
 
 young ladies promenaded the prim old walks ; 
 foppish gentlemen made bouquets for them out 
 of the old-fashioned flowers— even flowers may 
 be in and out of style ! Any quantity of flirting 
 was going on in the arbor ; the music of a grand 
 piano shook the honeysuckles at the windows at 
 all hours of the day and nearly all of the night ; 
 the stables were full of horses ; glittering car- 
 riages dashed about the drives ; silver and cut- 
 glass shone in the dining-room ; the novels of 
 the day lay carelessly on the very table where 
 my uncle, in dying, had left that illegible scrawl. 
 
 Little room, now, for ghosts to haunt the 
 old place ! The laboratory remained the least 
 changed of any of the rooms, — there was little in 
 it to interest these gay idlers, and as the room 
 was not required for other purposes, it was 
 allowed to stand as it was left, — the retorts, 
 the crucibles, the furnace, all the little instru- 
 ments and chemicals, idle now, with the dust 
 gathering over them from week to week. 
 
 In the midst of this excitement Miss Miller 
 led a secluded life. She had taken her place in 
 this fashionable family simply as the governess 
 of the three younger children ; she made no 
 attempt to gain unusual privileges ; instead, 
 she shrank from having her accomplishments 
 displayed for the pleasure or amusement of 
 these summer idlers. When she was not in the 
 school-room, she sat in her chamber, or walked 
 alone through the garden and woods. Many an 
 evening I saw her sit for hours, immovable, 
 her head leaning against the casement of her 
 window. 
 
 Sometimes her brother Arthur called to see 
 her. He was always welcomed by the ladies of 
 the house. He knew how to make himself at- 
 tractive ; the Misses Chateaubriand, like all 
 well-trained flirts, never had a superabundance 
 of cavaliers, — "all was fish which came to their 
 nets," in the way cf gentlemen attendants, 
 where morning-parties and picnics, as well as 
 evening gatherings, were the order of the 
 season. A young man like this, graceful, self- 
 possessed, toned down by the amenities of 
 civilized life to a respectable figure, was likely 
 to be doubly appreciated in the country. That 
 his sister was their sister's governess made no 
 especial difference with this appreciation on the 
 part of the young ladies, since the young gen- 
 tleman was " only for the summer," and not for 
 " all time." 
 
 I had a good view of the elder Miss Chateau- 
 briand a few days after her arrival. I was 
 perched among the branches of a hickory tree, 
 across the way from Gram'me Hooker's house. 
 It was a retired place, and had the advan- 
 tage of being more airy than my garret ; I 
 changed to it for variety, and many had been 
 
THE FIGURE EIGHT. 
 
 the hours I had spent in that " leafy and mur- 
 murous ' ' chamber. As I say, I was perched in 
 my secluded tower, with a book for company, 
 when a parly of ladies and gentlemen came 
 trooping out of a narrow bridle-path which 
 they had followed, idly, to find whither it 
 would lead. They were in high spirits, laugh- 
 ing, singing, and jesting, as they passed along. 
 I thought some of the girls very pretty as 
 their ponies ambled by, but when Miss Cha- 
 teaubriand (as I heard her escort address her), 
 brought up the rear, all the other figures and 
 faces seemed tame in comparison with hers. 
 She was one of those women who look well on 
 horseback ; tall, of full figure, with a slender, 
 supple waist ; her black velvet riding hat and 
 plume contrasted with the bright gold of her! 
 braided hair ; her eyes were a very dark blue, 
 looking black at times under the shelter of 
 lashes and brows many shades darker than her 
 hair. She was undeniably handsome, yet there 
 was more in her superb manners and witty 
 conversation than in her beauty, to attract and 
 fascinate her companions. All this, of course, 
 I did not discover, during my brief observation 
 as she passed by ; but I, like others, was daz- 
 zled at the first glance. 
 
 I saw what gentleman of the party elected 
 himself her escort, kept-nearest to her side, bent 
 oftenest to listen or to speak. It was Arthur 
 Miller ; nothing less could be expected of his 
 time-serving and capricious nature, but that he 
 should be in the suite of the newest beauty and 
 most promising heiress. I felt at once that 
 the inmates of the white cottage would see but 
 little of him the remainder of the summer. 
 
 Here let me remark that much of what I have 
 to relate did not pass in my presence, and was 
 not known to me at the time ; many things 
 came to me afterwards in the course of explana- 
 tions and repetitions, which ensued before the 
 drama of which I am the historian reached its 
 denouement. 
 
 The village talked much of Miss Chateau- 
 briand's popularity ; her less brilliant but pretty 
 sister, Sophie, was also well liked ; soon there 
 was gossip about Arthur Miller, in connection 
 with them. It was remarked that he was neg- 
 lecting Lillian Meredith, and that it was not to 
 be taken for granted that it was his sister who 
 called him so frequently to the old homestead. 
 
 No one suspected who it was who felt most 
 keenly his growing neglect ; that is, no one 
 save I and perhaps one other. Miss Miller had 
 not returned to Hampton without an ob- 
 ject. It might seem natural enough that 
 she should think of recommending Mer- 
 edith Place to her employers ; I alone 
 thought it singular that she should be willing 
 
 to return under such circumstances, and at once 
 set myself to find out what her object was. I 
 made up my mind that she was watching some 
 one ; that she, too, was playing the part of 
 spy, and I was not long in determining that 
 both of us kept in view the same person. 
 
 Once had I confronted Miss Miller, as several 
 times I had felt urged to do, I should have 
 pointed my finger at her, and said : " Thou art 
 the woman ! ' ' Now I was divided in my opin- 
 ion, racked by contrary theories, absolutely 
 laughed at by conflicting facts. 
 
 About the first of October the Chateau- 
 briands gave an evening entertainment of a 
 more pretentious character than usual. The 
 house was filled with guests from the city, and 
 all their acquaintances in and about Hampton 
 were invited. There was to be dancing in the 
 upper hall, with music by the two colored fid- 
 dlers which our village boasted. Gram'me 
 Hooker told me that the housekeeper had in- 
 quired of her where she could engage an extra 
 couple of waiters whom they should want on 
 the evening of the ball. A rash desire took 
 possession of me. I was so completely tired of 
 my summer's restrictions that it seemed to me 
 that I must have a change of some kind. I 
 wanted to see those persons together whom I 
 had watched from a distance — to have them 
 immediately under my eye, acting in concert 
 and unaware of my vicinity. I resoLved that I 
 would go to the ball. I felt assured that 1 
 could act the character of a mulatto waiter and 
 escape recognition. I was so mad to go that I 
 was willing to incur all risks. I told gram'me 
 to report to the housekeeper that she had se- 
 cured one waiter, who would be promptly at 
 his post in time to receive her instructions on 
 the night of the party. 
 
 Sheep strayed at pasture in the woods of Mer- 
 edith Place. There was one black fellow in the 
 flock, and I think I may take to myself credit 
 for the ingenuity with which I converted a por- 
 tion of his fleece into a wig, and a mustache of 
 which the most dandified Adonis of the colored 
 race need not have been ashamed. Gram'me 
 Hooker lent a large red silk handkerchief, 
 which I metamorphosed into a flaming cravat ; 
 the walnut trees gave the wherewithal to dye 
 my skin a handsome brown. 
 
 When I dressed myself for my part in the 
 evening's drama, I did not smile at my ridicu- 
 lous figure ; I never felt more solemn, more 
 sad, than when I set out upon my adventure. 
 This was.no farce, but an awful reality in which 
 I was engaged. I might pay with liberty and 
 life for my hardihood in running the risk of de- 
 tection, but this was not what I thought of. 
 
 I was to see Lillian ; to have the sweet priv- 
 
►THE FIGURE EIGHT. 
 
 41 
 
 ilege of watching her, hour after hour ; of 
 stealing near to her unaware. I should hear 
 her voice, meet the glance of her eye, her sable 
 garments might sweep across my feet, per- 
 chance, for I should certainly put myself in her 
 way. I knew that she would attend the party, 
 and the reason why. Inez had insisted upon 
 accepting the urgent invitation which they had 
 personally received. Mrs. Chateaubriand herself 
 had come to them and said that they need not 
 dance, nor sing, nor play, nor in any way make 
 themselves prominent ; but she would love to 
 have them come and look on ; they should 
 j have a quiet corner — it would do them good, 
 etc. , etc. Lillian had refused, with that gentle 
 firmness which was one of her most admirable 
 qualities ; but, after their visitor had departed, 
 Inez had burst into tears, stamped her foot on 
 the floor, and declared that she would, and 
 Should, and must go — she could not endure 
 this sort of life any loDger. Then my cousin, 
 thinking it wiser to cover the imprudence of 
 her father's widow by keeping her company, 
 consented to go for a few hours if Inez would be 
 very quiet and be sure to refuse all attentions 
 | of the gentlemen. Poor Lily ! she already had 
 j accepted her place as mentor and guardian of 
 one who should have been her adviser and 
 protector. 
 
 As I was reporting myself to the housekeeper, 
 on the important evening, Miss Miller came 
 into the dining-room for a glass of water. She 
 wore the velvet dress which she had had pre- 
 pared for that other never-to-be-forgotten occa- 
 i sion, but the jewels were foregone, except a 
 Ismail brooch. She looked pale, almost hag- 
 gard, ten years older than on that April day 
 when she had bloomed into a second girlhood 
 in anticipation of meeting the man she loved. 
 I think she was ill and agitated ; her hand 
 trembled as she took the glass, which I has- 
 tened to hand her from the salver. I always 
 did things audaciously, by bold strokes of im- 
 ! pulse. I was willing to test my disguise then 
 | and there ; for I had reason to believe that if 
 I her sharp eyes did not detect it I need fear no 
 I other. She did start, when, on returning the 
 glass, she looked at me as she said, " thank 
 iyou !" but I inferred that the thought or sus- 
 picion which might have momentarily occurred 
 to her as speedily passed away. I forgot that 
 others might be as subtle as myself, or have 
 their own reasons for keeping the peace. 
 
 Supper was not to be served until eleven 
 o'clock ; but I had opportunities for observa- 
 tion. I hung about the halls and doors after 
 the manner of colored waiters when they have 
 nothing else to do, and was very attentive to 
 the wants of the guests. 
 
 I saw Lillian sitting by a table in the parlor, 
 turning over a book of engravings. Many 
 came and spoke with her, and she answered 
 them all in a low voice, with a faint smile, and 
 hardly lifting her eyes. I knew that she was 
 trying to keep from crying. What a young 
 thing she was to be so desolate ! Only seven- 
 teen, and looking so childish with her floating 
 curls and fair forehead. How heavy and un- 
 natural was that black dress on one who had 
 always worn pink and blue a*nd white ! My 
 heart throbbed so that I thought the people 
 about me must hear it ; and I went away, only 
 to come back again and gaze as before. Inez 
 stood near, her cheeks crimson and her dark 
 Southern eyes blazing with excitement. I 
 could see her little foot patting the floor to the 
 music of the violins ; but she refused the few 
 offers which were made her to be taken to the 
 ball-room. The larger part of the company 
 were up-stairs ; she grew restless as she found 
 her companions deserting her. 
 
 " I promised you not to dance," she said, 
 when they were almost alone, to Lillian, " and 
 I will not. But I would like to go up and 
 look at them. Arthur Miller is there." 
 
 "Come, then, I will go with you," said my 
 cousin, speaking as to a child whom she must 
 indulge in order to avoid a scene, and the two 
 passed out. I manufactured an errand which 
 answered my purpose ; making my way to the 
 head of the hall, I spoke to one of the musi- 
 cians, then leaned against the stand and looked 
 on at the dance. Opposite me, in the first set, 
 stood Miss Chateaubriand and Arthur Miller. 
 Both were looking their best, danced superbly, 
 and were very animated. Lillian and Inez 
 were on a sofa near by. I was curious to note 
 how they regarded the scene before them. My 
 cousin was as calm, as sad as ever ; but Inez' 
 eyes burned with an intolerable light. Her 
 gaze never swerved from that gay couple, fol- 
 lowing their motions, even the movement of 
 their lips, with a fiery glance, betraying the 
 smoldering fury within. Jealous ! yes ; al- 
 most beyond control. I wondered that Miller 
 did not feel her eyes scorch him. He noticed 
 her after a time, and was not quite so easy in 
 his gallantries after that ; as soon as that dance 
 was over, he came to the sofa and bent over 
 Inez : 
 
 " I am so sorry you can not dance," he said. 
 " So am I." 
 
 "I am sure you dance beautifully ; I have 
 heard of the grace of you Southern ladies." 
 
 " Not so well as Miss Chateaubriand." 
 
 " Perhaps not," he answered, laughing; "I 
 will not swear to either until I see you dance." 
 
 "Si!" she suddenly hissed between her shut 
 
42 
 
 THE FIGURE EIGHT. 
 
 teeth ; " but beware ! it is dangerous to trifle 
 with me !" 
 
 Both spoke so low they did not expect to be 
 heard by others, and were probably entirely ob- 
 livious of the colored servant leaning near by. 
 
 " I know you are dangerous," he returned, 
 coolly — " there are those who have had ex- 
 perience of that. ' ' 
 
 She grew white, and red, and white again ; 
 her hand closed over the arm of the sofa, the 
 flashing eyes fell. He continued : 
 
 "Don't make yourself disagreeable, Inez; 
 you ought to be willing I should enjoy my- 
 self." 
 
 " No, no — not without me!" she whispered, 
 passionately. "I'm not good, like her," mo- 
 tioning towards Lillian ; "I can not bear neg- 
 lect — it sets my blood on fire. If you dance 
 with that girl again I shall be angry. I tell 
 you I can not but be jealous." Her syllables, 
 broken by the difficulty with which she spoke 
 our language, were soft and pleading ; her re- 
 sentment was merged for the time in anxiety. 
 
 " I like to see you jealous — it makes your 
 eyes so bright," and with a smile, half mock- 
 ing, half careless, he bowed and went away. 
 The very next five minutes he was floating by 
 in the waltz with Miss Chateaubriand, and his 
 laughing eyes met the fixed gaze of Inez, as the 
 pair whirled deliciously on in a glamour of 
 perfumes, lights, and music, which mingled to- 
 gether as they moved. 
 
 CHAPTER IX. 
 
 CARTE AND COUNTER CARTE. 
 
 It was near eleven o'clock, and I went down 
 to the supper-room. For the next hour I was 
 busied with my legitimate duties. I saw Miss 
 Miller and Inez standing together, waited upon 
 by Arthur, who seemed to have repented of his 
 up-stairs flirtation. 
 
 Lillian was not in the supper-room at all. 
 As soon as the first bustle was over, my desire 
 to know where she was induced me to forsake 
 my post and go out along the halls. Presently 
 I found her in the library, which was entirely 
 deserted save by her. Her head was bowed 
 upon the table ; large tears welled and dropped 
 in silence from her eyes. I struggled then 
 with the fierce desire to betray myself to her, 
 to tell her how I pitied her, to kiss away those 
 mournful tears ; but I was not certain that, should 
 I disclose myself, she would not shrink from me 
 in horror. I went back and secured a salver, 
 which I filled with the choicest delicacies of the 
 feast, and brought and placed on the table by 
 her side. 
 
 " 0 ! not here," she said, looking up quickly, 
 " you do not know ; — I could not eat here. 
 
 Thank you, waiter," she added, as if afraid she 
 had hurt my feelings by refusing. 
 
 I took the food away, angry with myself at 
 my blunder. 
 
 Presently, the three in whom I was most 
 interested left the supper-room in search of 
 Lillian. I was in the butler's pantry, from 
 which a small slatted window opened on the 
 back porch, and I saw, through the slats, 
 Inez and Arthur walking in the porch. Her 
 voice was so loud as to make me fear that she 
 would be overheard by strangers ; then she 
 stopped abruptly in her walk, turned upon him, 
 and struck him in the face. He attempted to 
 soothe her, but she grew more and more ex- 
 cited. I was impressed with the painful ab- 
 surdity of her conduct ; she might have reason 
 for anger, but this was not our woman's way of 
 showing it. Finally her companion turned his 
 back upon her, tired of attempting to parry her 
 accusations. Something flashed in her hand, 
 but a firm grasp seized her arm, and Miss 
 Miller's voice, low, but stormy with command, s i 
 said : 
 
 " Go to Lillian, Mrs. Meredith ; she is tired, i 
 and wishes to go home." She led Inez to the ] 
 hall door, almost pushed her in, then returned j ] 
 to her brother. The two stood directly under j 
 my window. 
 
 " Arthur, I must know what you are about ! 
 Do you intend to marry Mrs. Meredith ?" 
 
 " If she were not so confounded poor I would, i 
 I admire the little panther immensely." I ' 
 
 " Is she poor?" j ! 
 
 " What under the sun do you ask me about 
 it for?" I 
 
 "I have half an idea that she may have 
 means after all ?" \ 
 
 11 Sis, what do you mean?" i 
 
 "I have not watched you two all summer c 
 without results." 
 
 ' ' Hang me, Annie, if I know what you are j 
 driving at." 
 
 "Arthur, you shall not trifle with me. \\ 
 Whatever you may have done, or contemplate! 
 doing, it is safer for you to confide in me. If p 
 I knew all, I might be prepared to assist, if n 
 difficulties arose." 
 
 " Speak more plainly, sis ; no beating about p 
 the bush, please. ' ' 
 
 " Well, then, do you know if Mrs. Meredith 
 has possession of the money supposed to have \ 
 been stolen?" 
 
 There was silence ; I strained my ear for the jj 
 answer. g 
 
 " Confound it, sis ; I might as well ask if you a 
 knew who put that quietus in the Doctor's jf 
 wine, or what it was done for. ' ' 
 
 "Arthur!" , * 
 
THE FIGURE EIGHT. 
 
 43 
 
 " "Well, don't tease me, then. I know noth- 
 J ing of the old fellow's precious box, as I have 
 ! told you again and again. Things have come 
 to a pretty pass when one's own sister — " 
 
 " Never mind, Arthur ; I did not know but 
 you might have been taken into the confidence 
 of others. I do not like you to be so intimate 
 with Mrs. Meredith — she's an unprincipled, un- 
 disciplined young thing, quite unfitted by na- 
 ture or education to make a good — even a 
 tolerable wife. If you are willing to marry 
 poor, why do you give up Lillian?" 
 "I'm not willing to marry poor." 
 " Then cease flirting with Inez ; it is not safe 
 to play with fire." 
 
 "It is she who is flirting with me; don't 
 j blame me for it. She began it before the Doc- 
 f tor's mishap. I thought nothing serious of 
 i it ; I should not like, now, to believe that his 
 ' accident was owing to the power of my attrac- 
 , tions." 
 
 i "Don't!" Her voice was a groan as she 
 , said it. 
 
 "Beg your pardon, Annie, but I really 
 , shouldn't ; I should not rest well. I don't 
 e profess to read your sex very easily ; you know 
 1 I have guessed somebody else might have been 
 r jealous — " 
 
 He hesitated, but she made no remark. 
 ! "Do you think Joe Meredith is enjoying the 
 
 proceeds ?' ' he asked. 
 L ' 1 Why do you ask me V ' It seemed as if she 
 were impressed (as I was) with a feeling of un- 
 truth in all her brother did or said. 
 I "You were down upon him hard, at the 
 first." 
 
 e "That might have been policy; a person 
 who is threatened will turn in time. If I had 
 not directed attention to him, he would have 
 
 3 directed it to me. He has my handkerchief." 
 A plate on which my hand rested snapped 
 
 re under the weight. 
 
 "Good heavens!" cried Miss Miller. She 
 
 t had not noticed the window before. 
 
 te I knew that she would come straight to the 
 
 E pantry, to find who, if any one, had been a lis- 
 
 il tener to their conversation. 
 
 Other servants were passing in and out of the 
 
 lit pantry, and I immediately slipped out, leaving 
 them in possession. 
 
 th When Miss Miller came into the supper-room, 
 I was on the opposite side, with my back to the 
 pantry, busily arranging dishes on a side-table. 
 
 he Being a member of the family, it was not 
 thought strange that she should have an er- 
 
 :» rand here. She passed quickly to the pantry : 
 
 r'i If there were an enemy there, or a person who 
 had possessed himself of a dangerous secret, she 
 wrished to confront him at once. There was not 
 
 a grain of indecision in her make-up ; she might 
 commit a Crime, but she could face the conse- 
 quences. Presently she came out, walking lei- 
 surely about the room ; when she reached me, 
 she said : 
 
 "Waiter, I was so busy attending to the 
 guests, I forgot my own wants. Will you give 
 me an ice, now?" 
 
 I brought her the ice, and handed her a chair. 
 She sank into it heavily ; her paleness and hag- 
 gardness had increased, but she did not tremble 
 or appear nervous. 
 
 ' 4 Where do you live V ' she asked. * ' I knew 
 of no such person in this neighborhood ; — Wat- 
 son, they said your name was?" 
 
 " Yes, 'm." 
 
 Glancing around, and finding that no one 
 was in our vicinity, she continued, in her ordi- 
 nary tone: 
 
 " Your disguise is not as perfect as you might 
 wish, Mr. Meredith. Let me advise you to 
 leave here immediately, if you would consult 
 your own safety." 
 
 ' 1 If you recognize me, why do you not raise 
 the alarm?" I said, quite calmly, after my 
 first start of surprise. 
 
 " I have no desire to take an active part in 
 events ; I would rather let them rest, if that 
 were possible ; indeed, I would like to see you 
 go away before it is too late — I have been fear- 
 ing all the evening that you would be recog- 
 nized, and — I hate scenes !" 
 
 I I Why are you at Meredith Place ?" 
 
 " My business brought me here ; I came here 
 in the most legitimate way, but you — ' ' 
 " Have never left it." 
 
 "That is no news to me, Mr. Meredith. 
 Since the night when I met you in the arbor, I 
 have had no doubt of your vicinity — I knew 
 what ghost haunted this place. Are you watch- 
 ing me alone, or do others share in the honor 
 of your regards ?' ' 
 
 " Since you are so well advised, you ought to 
 know." 
 
 "You stop with old Mrs. Hooker." 
 
 "That is true; pardon me, Miss Miller." 
 With a movement too sudden for her to anti- 
 cipate or prevent, I snatched at a slender gold 
 chain about her neck, and pulled the charm 
 which was attached to it from its hiding-place. 
 
 " I have been very curious about this key," 
 I said, holding it in my hand, with a piece of 
 the broken chain. 
 
 She dared not struggle with me for it. for fear 
 of drawing the attention of the servants. Her 
 first thought was to look about to find if my 
 action had been noticed. 
 
 " Give it back to me ! — you shall not have it ! 
 How do you dare to rob me of my property ?" 
 
44 
 
 THE FIGURE EIGHT. 
 
 ' l Is it your property ?' ' 
 
 "I found it," she answered, without reflec- 
 tion. 
 
 "Where?" 
 
 "No matter — it is mine ! It will do you no 
 good." 
 
 I examined the key by the lamp which stood 
 near. It bore the mark, " Madrid, 1800," — an 
 ancient affair, of silver, and of unique shape. 
 
 " I remember it now !" I exclaimed, so loud 
 as to cause some of the servants to look round ; 
 " I remarked it at the time, but had forgotten 
 it. It is the key to that box ! When my uncle 
 showed us his treasure, I remember that key 
 was in the lock !" 
 
 " I know it ; I found it after the— his death. 
 If I could find the box, too, you might have 
 both to restore to their rightful owners." 
 
 "I believe you were the first to insinuate 
 that / had the box ; that I was the ingrate — the 
 serpent which stung the bosom which warmed 
 me !" 
 
 "I did — I thought so then ; what else could 
 I think?" 
 
 "Theijft you can not complain that I enter- 
 tained a similar opinion of you. You thought 
 avarice prompted me; I believed jealousy 
 prompted you ; we have a right to our opinions, 
 and to prove their truth if we can About this 
 key: what further good can it do you — you 
 have tried everywhere to make it of use?" 
 
 "That is why I acquit you of knowing where 
 that money is — because I have seen you look- 
 ing for it." 
 
 " Oh ! but I am sharper than that — my sus- 
 picions reach farther. I have seen you looking 
 for it, apparently, which may be all a pretense, 
 to cover up your knowledge." 
 
 " Why don't you denounce me, then — I could 
 scarcely escape from all these people?" 
 
 " I am not ready." 
 
 " I will borrow this key for a time ; if I find 
 it of no use, I will return it to you in a year or 
 two." 
 
 "In a year or two this tragedy will pass 
 from the memory of men One or two lives 
 are blasted, but the world will forget !" 
 
 " I shaH never forget, nor rest. Know, that 
 so long as I live, I am not resting nor forget- 
 ting!" 
 
 I placed the key in my pocket. 
 
 "It is not the key which is of value," she 
 said, bitterly. 
 
 Just then Arthur, with five or six young 
 gentlemen, came in to look for an extra bottle 
 or two of champagne ; they called upon me to 
 furnish it. 
 
 "For shame!" I heard Miss Miller whisper 
 to her brother; "you have had more than 
 
 enough already" — a fact which I had suspect- 
 ed, when he so recklessly annoyed Mrs. Mere- 
 dith. 
 
 I do not know what it was betrayed me, but 
 as I silently brought the wine, Arthur grew 
 very quiet to watch me ; this disconcerted me, 
 I made an awkward movement ; before I could 
 defend myself, he sprang upon me, pulled my 
 false hair from my head and face — 
 
 "Joe Meredith, as I'm alive! Secure him, 
 boys !" 
 
 ' ' Let him alone, brother Arthur ! — do let him 
 go !" pleaded Miss Miller, catching him by the 
 arm, and speaking in an agonized whisper. 
 
 " Let him go ? No, indeed ! Why should I ? 
 The infernal scoundrel ! The whole country 
 has been looking for you, Joe !" 
 
 He thought he had me, backed up as he was 
 by half-a-dozen men ; but I had no intention 
 of being taken then. Ketreating down the 
 room until I came opposite a door which led 
 into the kitchen hall, I sprang over the table, 
 knocked down the half-stupefied waiters who 
 faintly opposed me, and, to the music of crash- 
 ing china and the shouts and cries of men and 
 women, dashed down the passage and out into 
 the darkness. By daylight I could not have 
 escaped ; as it was, I easily concealed my flight, 
 and looking back, as I plunged into the forest, 
 saw lights glimmering hither and thither in 
 the grounds, and heard excited cries. 
 
 Mrs. Chateaubriand's ball was more of a sen- 
 sation than she had anticipated. 
 
 CHAPTEE X. 
 
 DR. MILTON 
 
 The next day the whole village of Hampton 
 turned out to look for the desperado who had 
 ventured under its very nose, but the /village 
 was too late, — that day I was sleeping off my 
 fatigue in a small room of a miserable board- 
 ing-house in one of New York's quasi-respecta- 
 ble streets. I had decided that, since Miss 
 Miller knew of my being secreted at Gram 'me 
 Hooker's, it would not be safe for me to linger 
 there, only long enough to gather up my slen- 
 der purse and small effects ; I was fortunate 
 enough to reach the night train, which my 
 pursuers were not ; — they thought of that train 
 a little too late — and I was off. 
 
 I felt that this incident would revive the 
 search for me ; for some time I remained very 
 quiet in my lodgings, enacting the part of a 
 gentleman in poor health, recovering from an 
 attack of typhoid fever. My looks were suf- 
 ficiently wretched to support this character ; I 
 had grown thin during that exciting summer, 
 pale with confinement and want of exercise, 
 and haggard with anxiety. 
 
THE FIGURE EIGHT. 
 
 45 
 
 My erst boyish face began to be covered with 
 a beard which I allowed to grow as it would. 
 I took on the name of John Milton, that the 
 initials might tally with those on my clothes 
 and carpet-bag— a liberty of which I hope the 
 great poet was unconscious, — and was known as 
 Doctor Milton by my landlady and fellow- 
 boarders. It was generally understood that I 
 had contracted fever by visiting hospital-pa- 
 tients, and that as soon as I was recuperated I 
 expected to set up an office and begin the prac- 
 tice of medicine. 
 
 This was my intention, which I soon carried 
 Into effect. I had abandoned my plan of going 
 j West, for the present. — I could not place such a 
 j distance between myself and Lillian, especially 
 1 while that which concerned her interests re- 
 ! mained in such deep mystery. 
 
 I did not much fear detection, if I avoided 
 ! places of public amusement, and kept "my 
 | eyes about me." I was in a quarter of the city 
 ! which once had been aristocratic, but was now 
 | given over to moderate-priced boarding-houses 
 j and unfashionable renters. 
 
 I had no difficulty in getting an office in the 
 ! basement of a very decent house adjoining that 
 i in which I took my meals, with "John Milton, 
 1 M. D," in gilt letters, displayed in the window, 
 i All the boarders of our house promised me 
 I their patronage. One old lady, living on an 
 j annuity which left her, sometimes, fifteen or 
 j iJwenty dollars over her expenses at the end of 
 ! a year, seeing how poor and forlorn I evidently 
 | was, was so benevolent as to feign a cramp in 
 : her foot and a loss of appetite, as an excuse to 
 I call me in and pay me three dollars for as many 
 j visits. 
 
 The old lady loved me, I know, from a re- 
 semblance, real or fancied, which I bore to her 
 i son, drowned at sea years before, and I was 
 i grateful for any one's love in those days. I 
 ! passed some quiet, pleasant evenings with her ; 
 i but I did not take her into my confidence. 
 ( My great need, in these times, was to hear 
 from Lillian. I could no longer watch my dar- 
 ling from a distance. I could not even know if 
 she were sick, or in want. Gram' me Hooker 
 j I was no expert with the pen, and I, of course, 
 ^ : could write to no one. • Many times I wrote 
 jlong letters to my cousin and then placed them 
 jin the fire instead of in the post, — the expres- 
 sion of my anxiety and longing in words was 
 i a relief, though I destroyed the sheet the next 
 I hour. 
 
 Miss Miller was now in the city. She re- 
 j turned, with the Chateaubriands, in November, 
 jand was still governess in their family. What 
 interested me more, and gave me something to 
 ' do in the way of speculation, was the fact that 
 
 Arthur was also in New York, having bidden 
 Hampton farewell, and resumed his practice in 
 a Wall street office. He had not brought Lillian 
 with him as his bride, — nor Inez. Instead, I 
 discovered, by dint of much hovering in that 
 vicinity of evenings, that he was a constant 
 visitor at the Chateaubriand's in Madison 
 Square. More, he visited there, mornings, like 
 a gentleman of leisure ; he sent costly flowers, 
 and came in expensive carriages to take the 
 young ladies out. 
 
 I made myself familiar with his habits ; I 
 knew the price he paid for his board at a stylish 
 hotel ; what stables he patronized, and what 
 billiard-tables. I was not long in discovering 
 that his income from his practice would not 
 equal the tenth part of his expenditures . There 
 was "a screw loose " somewhere. It might be 
 that he won money in gambling, but I did not 
 think it. 
 
 I observed no such change in his sister's 
 habits. I saw her, oftentimes, accompanying 
 her charges, or going with the young ladies to 
 drive or shop. She was always dressed with 
 great plainness, and her demeanor was quiet 
 and sad. The haughty ambition which once 
 spoke in every look and gesture was no longer 
 there. Still, she was a woman who made her 
 presence felt. The Chateaubriands treated her 
 with the greatest respect, and were anxious 
 that she should be contented in their family. 
 
 I knew that she corresponded regularly with 
 Lillian. Sometimes I was tempted to betray 
 myself to her, and ask for news. I should have 
 been foolish to do so, not knowing how much 
 her mood might have changed since our curious 
 interview in the dining-room at Meredith Place. 
 
 It was said that Arthur Miller and Miss Cha- 
 teaubriand were engaged, with the consent of 
 her parents, the young man, under Mr. Cha- 
 teaubriand's skillful direction, having recently 
 gone into some operations in stocks, which had 
 proven highly successful, and given him at least 
 the beginning of a fortune to match with that 
 of his betrothed. 
 
 I could easily credit that he had attained to 
 this promising position. False, fickle, and of 
 no distinctive talent, he was one of those who 
 wear the gilt all on the outside. He could 
 make his way where more modest and more 
 worthy men were not admitted. 
 
 Poor Lillian! she had lost her lover when 
 she lost her prospects of wealth. What if this 
 man had her money, without even such poor 
 salve to his conscience as sharing it with her 
 might be ? 
 
 About this time one of those circumstances 
 occurred, which, trifling in themselves, are yet 
 of great importance when fitted into a mosaic 
 
 1 
 
-18 
 
 THE FIGUKE EIGHT. 
 
 of evidence ; and are sometimes startling in 
 the appearance which they have of being or- 
 dered by a special Providence. 
 
 One dull December day I was sitting in my 
 office, about as miserable and unoccupied as a 
 man can be, when I was aroused from my 
 reverie by the sight of a span of runaway horses 
 dashing down the street, dragging a light sleigh 
 or cutter in which were two gentlemen. I just 
 had time to observe the danger, when they ran 
 against another stouter vehicle, and their egg- 
 shell conveyance was crushed into twenty pieces, 
 the occupants were thrown out, and the mad- 
 dened horses flew on, scattering robes and frag- 
 ments on the way. One of the gentlemen 
 struck in a pile of snow which had been shoveled 
 from the walk, and was not at all hurt ; the 
 other, less fortunate, was thrown against a 
 lamp-post, and so badly bruised that he was 
 insensible when taken up. He was carried into 
 my office and laid on my threadbare sofa. His 
 head was bleeding from the blow which had 
 stunned him, but he was not otherwise much 
 injured, and I was enabled to assure his alarmed 
 friend that the consequences would not be 
 serious. By the application of stimulants he 
 soon revived, when the crowd dispersed, and 
 his companion, leaving him with me to still 
 farther recover, went to look after the horses. 
 He was gone some time. Meanwhile, my pa- 
 tient lay comfortably on the sofa, bearing his 
 misfortunes like a philosopher. We talked 
 together, when he began to feel like it, and I 
 saw, what I had before conjectured from his 
 features and dress, that he was a Cuban. He 
 was wrapped, almost to his eyes, in rich furs, 
 and his dress was elegant and foppish. He was 
 young and fine-looking, with the yellow com- 
 plexion, fine silken mustache, and glittering 
 eyes of his countrymen ; jewels sparkled in 
 his wristbands and on his slender hands; he 
 glanced about my poor room, half humorously, 
 as if drawing a contrast between it and myself, 
 — for he seemed to accord me all the respect I 
 could demand, and to be interested in my con- 
 versation. 
 
 In the midst of our chat, I drew my hand- 
 kerchief from my pocket. Something came 
 with it, and fell, ringing, upon the floor. It 
 was the silver key ! I hastily picked it up, but 
 before I could return it to its receptacle, the 
 stranger's hand was outstretched : 
 
 " I beg your pardon ; may I look at that ?" 
 
 Handing it to him, he turned it over, looked 
 at the date and lettering, and remarked — 
 
 "It is a curious key ; may I ask where you 
 got it?" 
 
 He had put his question in the shape most 
 difficult to answer. 
 
 "It belonged to a friend of mine," I said, 
 not without a hesitation which he must bave 
 noticed, "why do you ask?" 
 
 " I did not know there were two such in ex- 
 istence. My uncle had one precisely similar to 
 this, which had been in his family since they 
 came from Spain. It belonged to a box, made 
 of mahogany, banded with iron, with steel 
 rivets, in which he, and his father before him. 
 kept their money and jewels. The key was 
 manufactured by a locksmith in Madrid, espe- 
 cially for that box, — yet here is another so much 
 like it I could almost swear the two were one." 
 
 "Perhaps they are," I said, " or could that 
 not be?" 
 
 " Heally, I do not know. My uncle lost his 
 fortune two years ago, by mercantile specula- 
 tions into which he entered. Being very proud, 
 he took his losses much to heart, finally emi- 
 grating to California in the hope of retrieving 
 them. I have not heard what his success has 
 been, — I should think he might do well there ; 
 but the sight of this key makes me uneasy. I 
 have neglected him too long. I shall write, as 
 soon as I get to my hotel, ask him to forgive my 
 remissness, and to* allow me to hear from him 
 occasionally. But you. have not told me the 
 friend's name who owned this. Perhaps it was 
 my uncle. Have you been in California?" 
 
 " No. And this key was given to me by an 
 American lady. I think she had it from 
 gentleman who is now dead, a doctor, who 
 had returned from California but a short time 
 before." 
 
 "Ha!" ejaculated the young Cuban, deeply 
 interested. 
 
 He remained thinking for a moment, which 
 gave me a chance also to reflect. If I told him 
 that his uncle was dead, his cousin married and 
 a widow, he would at once demand her place of 
 residence ; would doubtless visit her, when he 
 would make known the news by which he had 
 ascertained her whereabouts, and I should no 
 longer be safe in my new locality. The fact 
 that / had in my possession the key to the box 
 would add to the strong presumptive evidence 
 against me. My own safety demanded that I 
 should keep silence. It must be months before, 
 by inquiries which he might institute in that 
 distant city on the Western shore, he would be| * 
 able to trace his cousin, and in those monthslr 
 the end to which I had pledged myself might 80 
 be attained. 
 
 "A doctor," resumed my visitor, after a 
 pause ; 4 4 that loc '&& bad ! Can it be that my un- 1 fi 
 cle is dead ; that this physician attended him, 
 perhaps receiving, as his only fee, this empty 
 box, which was once always so crowded with 
 the riches of a proud family?" 
 
THE FIGURE EIGHT. 
 
 47 
 
 I remained silent. He sat up, now, forget- 
 ful of his aching wound, in the interest of the 
 subject : 
 
 " If so, I wonder what has become of Inez," 
 he continued, more to himself than me. " She 
 must be a woman now. I used to fancy the 
 child, little spit-fire though she was. She had 
 so much spirit ! bright eyes, too ! It is a 
 shame for our family to have neglected her so. 
 I hope her father has not died and left her 
 alone in that wicked city. It would be terri- 
 ble, though, doubtless, she is married before 
 [this. She was a coquette from her cradle — lit- 
 tle Inez was — a cunning child ;" then to me : 
 " You say the friend is dead who possessed this. 
 Then, I can not seek information in that quar- 
 ter. I must curb my impatience until I shall 
 hear by letter. Have you any objection to 
 parting with the key ?" 
 
 "I should not like to, unless you have a 
 stronger claim upon it than I." 
 
 "I don't know that I have any — the least — 
 only as a clue to my uncle, who certainly once 
 owned it. If you prize it, I will not ask it ; 
 but if you see the lady soon who gave it to 
 you, pray inquire if she knows its history. 1 
 will call upon you again before I leave the 
 city." 
 
 Here his friend returned with word that the 
 horses had injured themselves badly, and that 
 he had sent them to the stable, jested about 
 the accident, and the cost of a sleigh-ride — " a 
 novelty," he said, "with which he was now 
 sufficiently acquainted." It seemed they had 
 turned off the main routes, because the sleigh- 
 ing was better in our quiet avenue. 
 
 " Supposing I should obtain information 
 which I thought you would like to receive ?" I 
 asked, as they prepared to leave. 
 
 " Call on me at the New York Hotel ; I shall 
 be there for the next four weeks. Farewell, 
 and many thanks for your attention." 
 
 He laid his card on the table, along with a 
 gold piece quite too large for the slight service 
 which had been rendered ; but Ididnot see the 
 money until, after they had left, I raised the 
 card. 
 
 " ' Don Miguel de Almeda' — quite a grand 
 name," I mused, smiling at the pompous sound 
 as I read. " I wish his Donship had not left 
 so much money. It looks too much like be- 
 stowing alms I " I, too, was proud, with the 
 pride of an American, who, while he laughs at 
 titles, likes well to preserve his independence. 
 "If he comes again, I'll give him his gold 
 piece ; if he don't, why, it seems as if fate had 
 made me a present of the means for a journey 
 to Meredith Place." 
 
 My desire to return to Hampton was like the 
 
 longing and restlessness of a fever-patient ; and 
 the first use which it occurred to me to make of 
 the money was to spend it in a secret visit to 
 the Place. 
 
 I did not feel quite at ease about allowing 
 Don Miguel to go away with no tidings of his 
 cousin. I had boasted to myself my intention 
 of supporting Inez, if Lillian should marry. It 
 is true that my feelings towards the young 
 widow had changed very much since the night 
 I had detected her in a stolen interview 
 with Arthur Miller ; I now knew her to be 
 fickle, imprudent, and selfish, if nothing worse. 
 Still she was young, scarcely more than a child, 
 and never had received training to make her 
 otherwise than what she was — the creature of 
 every impulse. I did not mean to be too se- 
 vere in my condemnation of her conduct. If 
 this cousin of hers really felt any interest in 
 her, it would probably be very greatly to her 
 advantage that he should be allowed to know 
 where she was. He was rich and liberal. It 
 was natural to suppose that he would take her 
 with him to her relatives in Cuba, if she would 
 consent to go. This would be much better for 
 her than giving lessons on the guitar. It would 
 certainly be a hundred times better for Lillian. 
 I knew as well as if I could see their daily life, 
 how Inez' petulance and complaining wore 
 upon my cousin, and that the burden of the 
 work must rest upon her shoulders. 
 
 It would be cowardly in me to place my own 
 convenience in the way of the interest of either 
 of those two girls. 
 
 I was not long in making up my mind that I 
 would call upon the Don and inform him where 
 his cousin Inez could be found. But, before 
 taking such a step, it was evident that I must 
 be prepared to quit my present name and local- 
 ity, and that so prudently as to leave no trace 
 of my flight ; for Don Miguel would of course 
 relate by what means he had discovered his 
 cousin, when it would at once be surmised who 
 had the key of the missing box, and I should 
 be arrested in less than three days. 
 
 " It will be a month before he leaves the 
 city," I said to myself. "In ten days it will 
 be Christmas. I will take my holiday then. 
 One brief visit, under cover of night and dark- 
 ness, to the old place ; one stolen look at Lil- 
 lian's face — then, if nothing occurs to give me 
 farther hope of a speedy resolution of the prob- 
 lem, I will return, place Don Miguel on the 
 track of his cousin, and myself fly to some 
 more distant city, where I can go to work with 
 a will, to do something for my darling's ease 
 and comfort. Inez will be provided for ; per- 
 haps, also, Lillian, for the Don ' ' Here a 
 
 spasm of jealousy shook my heart-strings. The 
 
48 
 
 THE FIGURE EIGHT. 
 
 Cuban gentleman was young and attractive in 
 every way — he could not meet Lillian with- 
 out being enchanted by her ! what was to 
 be expected but that they should love one 
 another ? 
 
 If Lillian's affections # were not hopelessly 
 fixed upon Arthur, nothing, I argued, could 
 prevent, those two from becoming interested in 
 each other. The Cuban, accustomed to the 
 darker charms of the South, would be doubly 
 alive to the exquisite type of my cousin's beau- 
 ty ; while he, so gallant, so graceful in every 
 movement, full of pride and high spirits, would 
 appear to her as if one of the heroes had walked 
 out of a poet's story to meet her. 
 
 Well, why should it not be so ? This would 
 furnish for her all that I craved for her wel- 
 fare — love, protection, and wealth. Ought I 
 not, poor as I was, resting under a cloud, com- 
 pelled to work under every disadvantage, to be 
 glad to throw such a chance in her way ? I 
 had not the least idea that my cousin ever 
 thought of me, except as a cousin, and a vagrant 
 one at that. She no more guessed the passion 
 I felt for her than that she had a lover in the 
 moon. 
 
 I said to myself that I should like to know 
 that she was mated with one who struck me as 
 favorably as this young gentleman. But my 
 heart gave the words the lie. It would make 
 me unutterably miserable to know it. Was 
 unutterable misery too great a sacrifice to make 
 for her ? No, it was not ! I would make it. 
 My plan should be carried out. 
 
 Perhaps better days were in store for all but 
 me. I can afford to smile sadly now as I look 
 back and recall with what a brave struggle I 
 nerved myself to send a suitor to the feet of the 
 girl I loved — a lover to my own darling. 
 
 CHAPTER XL 
 
 A HEART-VAIL THROWN ASIDE. 
 
 Christmas eve was passing into Christmas 
 morn as the midnight train dropped me at 
 Hampton station. A slouched hat and thick 
 overcoat were all the disguise needed at that 
 lonely hour ; I felt no apprehension of being 
 recognized, even if I should encounter acquain- 
 tances. The train went roaring off into the 
 distance, and I turned to my solitary walk. 
 
 The moon hung directly in the zenith, the 
 snow lay in dazzling whiteness everywhere ; it 
 was the perfection of a winter night, — calm, 
 brilliant, cold. The station was between Hamp- 
 ton and Meredith Place ; between the station 
 and the latter place was the cemetery of the 
 village. As I passed it, its white tomb-stones 
 standing solemnly in the whiter moonlight, look- 
 
 ing so desolate as they rose out of the drifted 
 snow, my heart urged me to go in and linger a 
 few moments by the graves of my relatives — 
 by his grave, dearest friend I ever had, save one. 
 For I had loved my uncle as I loved no other 
 human being except his daughter. Mine was 
 not one of those natures to love swiftly and 
 warmly — to forget quickly and coldly. With 
 me, love was deathless. 
 
 Opening the smaller gate, I passed along the 
 untrodden road until I came to the path which 
 led off to two mounds rising side by side, one 
 crowned with a slender marble shaft, the other 
 as yet unmarked. The path to these graves 
 bore the print of feet which had come and gone 
 more than once ; and as I knelt beside them, I 
 saw myrtle wreaths laid on both, while on Dr. 
 Meredith's was a garland of the most fragrant 
 and costly hot-house flowers, so fresh that I 
 could guess that it had not been there many 
 hours. I knew who placed it there. I had in- 
 formed myself of Miss Miller's intention to 
 spend her fortnight's holiday with Lillian in her 
 humble little home. Lillian was to have a 
 brief vacation, like the rest, and her former 
 governess was to visit her, not only for the 
 enjoyment of her society, but to clear up some 
 of the difficulties in the path of the young 
 teacher. From a dark corner of the New York 
 depot I had watched Miss Miller depart, six 
 hours earlier than myself, and in her hand she 
 had carried this wreath ; I could guess that she, 
 too, had paused, in coming, at this cemetery, 
 and had left here, under the shadow of the tw i- 
 light, this token of remembrance, unseen by 
 mortal eyes. 
 
 Would a murderess deposit flowers on the 
 grave of her victim ? 
 
 The thought struck me there with the force 
 of something new. Still, many a woman has 
 murdered the man she passionately loved, giv- 
 ing up her after-life to remorse and despair. 
 But flowers ! 0, how could she bring them to 
 mock this cold and glittering mound, if she 
 had anything to do in bringing the sleeper 
 here ? — tearing him away from life, when at its 
 fullest and best, to bind him here an untimely 
 prisoner ! To think of it made me furious. I j 
 caught the wreath, and tore it in a hundred 
 parts, which I threw as far from the grave thus ! 
 desecrated, as my arm had strength to hurl 
 them. 
 
 " Murderess ! murderess! murderess !" I kept 
 hissing between my shut teeth, as I did so. 
 
 ' 4 No ! do not call me by that dreadful name." 
 
 I started as the unexpected voice said this, 
 close at my side, — deep, trying to be firm, but 
 trembling with pathetic weakness, — started aa 
 if a ghost had risen from the tombs about me. 
 
THE FIGURE EIGHT. 
 
 51 
 
 " You, Miss Miller, here, at this hour of the 
 night!" 
 
 ' ' Why do you persecute me?" she continued, 
 reproachfully, with a manner so totally unlike 
 her usual haughty self-possession, that I was 
 touched in spite of myself. " My poor flowers, 
 even, are not allowed to warm his icy grave — 
 <I, who loved him with a love which put to 
 shame the tamer and more selfish affection of 
 all his other friends ! Lillian, poor child ! she 
 truly appreciated him. I love her. I would 
 do anything for her ; hut that other — that soul- 
 less, heartless thing ! neither woman nor child, 
 without feeling, save for herself ! without power 
 j to understand what happiness was hers ! she^ 
 : young tigress ! — I have no word of scorn and 
 hate to express her. It is time we understood 
 each other, Joseph Meredith. Let us no longer 
 play this silly game of hide-and-seek. De- 
 nounce me to the authorities, if you will. Go 
 boldly to Hampton village, and tell them you 
 - have found the woman who did the deed. Call 
 I me, in the face of the world, as you called me 
 I now, to those deaf ears of the dead — murderess, 
 f Give them what proofs you have, — the key, the 
 handkerchief. Relate my midnight wander- 
 |j rags. Or I, if I so determine, will denounce 
 Jjyou ! — will point out your little office where 
 *i John Milton practices medicine when he can 
 find a patient ! JYjou see I know all. I am, at 
 : (least, as sharp, and have as set a purpose, as 
 ' yourself. Let us no longer treat each other as 
 j secret enemies ; let us be open in our warfare. | 
 | So, if you wish it; as for me, I would rather 
 | (enter into a league with you. I admire your 
 I subtlety and your perseverance. I believe if 
 | we enter into a compact to serve each other, 
 Ijthat both will sooner arrive at the truth. Both 
 |have the same object in view. Why not join 
 | forces?" 
 
 1 "My object is to discover and punish my 
 sjuncle's murderer," I replied, coldly, although 
 || intensely surprised at her excited words, es- 
 Ipecially at her last request. "To punish that 
 k murderer, without show of mercy, be it man or 
 1 woman ; and to restore, if possible, to my be- 
 I loved cousin, the patrimony of which she has 
 I been so relentlessly robbed." 
 | " Our aims are identical ; then why not enter 
 into a partnership ? I know, perfectly, that for 
 a, long time, you believed me — me only — to be 
 the guilty person ; that at times, even yet, 
 though you have seen things which have 
 shaken your first impressions, they return 
 upon you at intervals, as they did to-jiight. I 
 acknowledge, also, that for some time, I be- 
 lieved you were the criminal ; but I now ex- 
 onerate you in my own mind, from the slightest 
 suspicion. I have satisfied myself by watching 
 
 you. If I were called to the witness-stand to- 
 morrow, I should swear my conviction of your 
 innocence. You think me hard and designing, 
 but I try always to do justice. You disliked 
 me, because you thought I had designs upon 
 your uncle. I had, if to love a man as I loved 
 Doctor Meredith, can be called having a de- 
 sign upon him. I appreciated him ; I enjoyed 
 studies which he enjoyed; the bent of our 
 tastes was similar. I felt, that, should he be 
 drawn to love me, we should be very happy to- 
 gether. I acknowledge that, during his absence 
 in California, I was upheld in our loneliness and 
 almost absolute poverty, to do my duty to his 
 child, and take care of his house, by the hope 
 that, on his return, he would see what I was to 
 him, and we should be married. Was there 
 anything selfish or vile in that? You are 
 young, sir, and youth, let me tell you, is ever I 
 critical and exacting in proportion to its own 
 inexperience and vanity. Had you been older, 
 better read in the world, you would not have 
 been so free in launching your arrows of scorn 
 at a woman, the depth of whose nature yours 
 could not fathom." 
 
 She paused a moment, in a superb attitude 
 of passion and tragic grief, the frosty moonlight 
 increasing the pallor of her face, her eyes blaz- 
 ing, her lips quivering ; I was silent, for I felt 
 the force of what she said, and remorse for the 
 many wicked opinions I had indulged against 
 her. 
 
 / << y ou must be aware," she went on, " that 
 I was sacrificing much in remaining, as I did, 
 at Meredith Place, — and if I expected my re- 
 Ward, what was that more than others, than 
 you, yourself, would do? I did look forward 
 1 to a union with Doctor Meredith, but I should 
 not have cherished this expectation had I not 
 felt myself entirely capable of being his friend 
 and helpmeet as well as his wife. God knows 
 I was selfish, in that I expected to be so blessed, 
 after a lonely and desolate life, — but not entirely 
 selfish, for I looked, also, to his happiness." 
 She paused again. 
 
 " It was not pleasant for me to feel that you 
 were always watching me, nor that you laughed 
 at my feeling, setting me down as a woman 
 too old to be romantic, — only you could truly 
 love, beardless boy that you were ! It is never 
 agreeable for a woman to have her love sus- 
 pected before she is certain of its return ; hence, 
 I did not like you to play the spy upon my 
 heart. I did not like you, your antecedents, 
 nor the promise you gave for the future. I was 
 willing that Lillian should have opportunity to 
 see other young men, before she became en- 
 tangled with you, and I brought on my brother 
 Arthur, and introduced her to the young society 
 
52 
 
 THE FIGURE EIGHT. 
 
 of the village, with the purpose of giving her 
 freedom of choice. You put the worst con- 
 struction on all my actions ; so be it, — I forgive 
 you for it, if only you will work with me for 
 an object in which we have equal interest. 
 
 " When Dr. Meredith brought home that silly 
 creature, you alone guessed the effect it had 
 upon me. The first few hours I was stunned 
 by the blow. Pride enabled me to keep up 
 appearances, but I was wretched, most wretch- 
 ed for my own sake. But, when I grew calm 
 enough to look upon her, I began to be miser- 
 able for his sake. I saw the mistake he had 
 made — a mistake which one of his generous 
 and unworldly nature would be sure to make 
 under the circumstances." 
 
 She was silent, apparently lost in painful 
 recollections. 
 
 " You have called her a silly creature, a child, 
 and a tigress," I remarked, after a moment ; 
 " do you speak at random ?" 
 
 " No, she is all three : — a child in want of 
 discipline ; silly by the narrowness of her mind 
 and smallness of her ideas ; a tigress in passion, 
 when her Southern blood is aroused." 
 
 " Then why have you permitted your brother 
 to be so attentive to her ?" 
 
 " Some things must be permitted that others 
 may be accomplished. 0, to think of her, 
 allowing her wayward fancies to run after 
 other men, when he, her benefactor and hus- 
 band, lies here with the snow above him — the 
 cold snow ! ' ' 
 
 Her last words were sobbed out, and she 
 made a movement as if to throw herself on his 
 grave, but restrained herself, wiped the icy 
 drops which were freezing on her cheeks, and 
 went on — 
 
 1 ' Tell me, truly, Mr. Meredith, have you not 
 reversed your decision with regard to me? 
 Rave you not been forced to conclude that I 
 am not the guilty party ? — (as if I would have 
 harmed a hair of his head!)" in an undertone 
 to herself. " Is there not another person whose 
 conduct really gives rise to more suspicion than 
 mine?" 
 
 "There is," I said, after an instant's hesi- 
 tation 
 
 " Would you spare her any more than me, if 
 she should be found guilty by you and me in 
 our researches V ' 
 
 " No, I would not," I answered, shuddering. 
 
 She noticed the shiver, and seemed to think 
 I was cold. 
 
 " I will not keep you here any longer," she 
 said. " Possibly, too, we might be observed. 
 How long did you expect to stay in this vicin- 
 ity?" 
 
 " Only twenty-four hours." 
 
 " Will you be at Gram' me Hooker's ? I ask( 
 because I would like to see you again, to com 
 pare notes with regard to a certain person." 
 
 " I do not know. Is there a tenant now, a 
 Meredith Place V ' 
 
 " Lillian told me there was none. The hous< 
 is entirely empty. If you wish to go there, n< 
 place will be safer, — for the stories of its bein| 
 haunted keep all intruders away. I came ou 
 to-night, after Lillian and Inez were in bed. 
 wished to visit this place alone. I had littl 
 thought of your being here. If you were th 
 murderer you would fly from, instead of to 
 this grave." 
 
 "Perhaps, — though I have heard of guilt; 1 
 consciences which forever urged their owner i 
 on to the lonely hollows or the deep well| \ 
 where the bodies of their victims lay concealed! i 
 Miss Miller, I will not pretend a friendshii 
 which I do not wholly feel. I have been to<[ in 
 deeply prejudiced to change my opinion sudjrt 
 denly ; but this I will say, that I am ready t | 
 cooperate with you in any scheme to disco ve| & 
 the cause or motive of my uncle's death, an a 
 the whereabouts of his fortune. Has it nevel ji 
 occurred to you that he might have been driveij ta 
 to suicide by unpleasant discoveries with regarij n 
 to bis young wife ?" (f 
 
 "It has," she said quickly; "but the ide ai 
 is always controverted by the probability thai) if 
 in such a case, he would have left his dyin; n 
 message, before he drank the fatal draughl a; 
 We should have known the meaning of tha i> 
 mystery — the figure eight." 
 
 "True." e: 
 
 " We must not linger here. I will talk wit! , 
 you about these matters to-morrow. In th 
 afternoon, just before tea, I will walk out t 
 Meredith Place. Are you not going ?" 
 
 " In a moment." 
 
 She turned away, and I, stooping, plucked . | 
 spray from the myrtle which Lillian had twine ^ 
 for her mother's grave. Kissing the dry, sens*; j,, 
 less leaves, I placed them in my note-book, an ^ 
 struck off into the woods which fringed on L 
 side of the cemetery. No leaves now on th ra 
 bare and glittering branches, which swung wit| ^ 
 melancholy and mysterious moans, above m<i [ 
 while the crisp snow crackled under my fee ra 
 By a circuitous route through the familiar fores) L 
 I gained Meredith Place, deserted now even t B 
 Tiger. The mansion loomed up in the nigh & 
 huge and desolate ; the ivy waving from tl . 
 stone tower seemed the only living thing ther, f . 
 
 I was greatly agitated as I approached it . 
 so much had been done and suffered in th; L 
 house, I could not behold it again, after an al 
 sence, without emotion. I soon found a windo 
 which yielded to my efforts, and opening it, ~ 
 
THE FIGURE EIGHT. 
 
 53 
 
 ■i itered, closed it behind me, and was alone in 
 m ie shadowy, dimly-moonlighted, chilly house, 
 hich, one year ago, had been so warm and 
 
 £ right with love, hope, and gay young life. 
 
 j '.Too much agitated to feel sleepy, I walked 
 BS irough all the familiar rooms, in which the 
 o< .d furniture still kept its place. The clock was 
 iq lent now, in the silent hall. In a freak of 
 :n incy I climbed to the face and wound it up. 
 
 If visitors should come here within the week, 
 t! ley will swear the place is haunted, sure 
 ihaough," I thought, as I turned the key and 
 to it the pendulum to swinging. 
 
 Immediately the voice of the old clock peal- 
 fo i out loud and clear, ringing through the 
 empty mansion with startling distinctness. 
 ■II gain, as once before — eight I 
 & I can not describe how solemn and powerful 
 lijie effect upon my excited mind. Did the 
 01 me-piece always pause at that precise point, 
 id hen it run down,— or was this a chance coin- 
 ti deuce ? Doubtless the first ; but it did not 
 e;em thus to me, as I stood alone in the de- 
 al ;rted house, long bars of moonlight and black 
 I roups of shadows dividing the hall. That 
 enartlmg peal, ringing out for my ear alone, 
 n jemed to me my uncle' s voice. It said — ' 4 You 
 
 re sleeping, — you are letting the months go by; 
 e ly body is mouldering into dust, my friends 
 it re forgetting me — while you rest upon your 
 i< rornise. Work ! work I Do not grow discou- 
 itiged — do not be fooled by a woman's art, nor 
 I Lye way to compassion, nor be deceived by 
 
 ae or the other, until the pledge you gave is 
 
 ideemed : Eemember the figure eight !" 
 B, As if I ever thought of anything else ! 
 l 
 
 CHAPTER XII. 
 
 TWO STEPS IN THE RIGHT DIRECTION. 
 
 I awoke, the next morning, in a broad blaze 
 
 I f light, the cloudless sun shining on the crust- 
 *1 snow. The village bells were calling to 
 e durch, and I found, by consulting my watch, 
 
 II aat it was ten o'clock. I had slept well in my 
 1 Id bed in my own old room, despite of its 
 
 r ant of airing ; and if I now felt rather stiff in 
 de joints, a few minutes exercise got rid of 
 iiat. The wallet which I brought with me 
 ras filled with provisions, for I anticipated 
 eing my own provider. A loaf of bread, some 
 rackers and cheese, dried beef, and a small 
 ackage of tea, promised me sustenance for 
 lore than one day, should any circumstance 
 rise to detain me. 
 I felt the necessity for something warm to 
 rink, and for a fire ; but I did not intend to 
 ommit the imprudence of kindling a fire in the 
 atchen, whose smoke would betray me. I re- 
 alled to mind the furnace in the laboratory, 
 
 and the charcoal ready to my hand, and, hav- 
 ing obtained a covered saucepan from the dress- 
 er, I betook myself to the room which I could 
 not visit, even for this homely purpose, without 
 strange sensations. Taking the precaution to 
 turn the key in the door, I busied myself pre- 
 paring my simple breakfast. 
 
 Having obtained water from a well under 
 cover of the laundry, and dusted a shelf on which 
 to spread out my food, I turned my attention to 
 the small furnace which my uncle had caused 
 to be placed in the laboratory, to assist him in 
 his experiments. I proposed to kindle a few 
 coals in its mouth, sufficient to steep my cup 
 of tea : but I no sooner took down the little 
 iron door before it, than I saw that some person 
 or persons had been here since my last visit to 
 the room. This was not surprising, as the 
 summer tenants had remained several weeks 
 after my flight. Some member of the family 
 might have had occasion to use a fire and a 
 crucible, if only to mend some piece of furni- 
 ture ; but, as I lifted the crucible to give the 
 saucepan its place, something which gleamed 
 in the bottom caused me to carry it to the 
 window — to forget my charcoal and my tea ; 
 everything but the fact that a few grains of 
 gold clung there to the bottom of that vessel. 
 
 They had not been there when I went away ! 
 My thought leaped instantly to one conclusion : 
 this was Doctor Meredith's gold ; some one had 
 discovered it, or had known its whereabouts 
 from the first, and, afraid to use it in the shape 
 of bullion, was surreptitiously smelting it, as 
 opportunity offered. 
 
 For a few moments the blood ran as molten 
 in my veins as if I had been tried in that fur- 
 nace ; but I soon grew calm enough to consider 
 the situation. 
 
 The first question which presented itself was, 
 whether the gold had all been disposed of, or 
 whether the party was still engaged in the 
 work. If the latter, all I had to do was to 
 cover all trace of a visitor having been to the 
 house, and patiently, tirelessly watch, until 1 
 detected the surreptitious operator at his work. 
 
 Forgetting all about my breakfast, I com- 
 menced investigations in the room. But the 
 inference that others visited Meredith Place — 
 that I was not the only ghost, made me very 
 careful. I closed the blinds to the window, 
 hung something before the key-hole of the 
 door, and proceeded cautiously in my examin- 
 ation. It was, as I have said before, a room in 
 which one had rich opportunities for conceal- 
 ment, full as it was of nooks and crannies, 
 cupboards, shelves, drawers. It was more than 
 an hour before I reached the ash-hole — a little 
 iron box under the furnace, where refuse was 
 
54 
 
 THE FIGURE EIGHT. 
 
 thrown. It looked very innocent in its dust 
 and ashes, but as I poked about with a pair of 
 long pincers, they struck against something 
 hard beneath the little heap of ashes, and in 
 another instant I held in my hand the dies for 
 coining the gold eagles of the United States ! 
 I felt then, as children say, when playing hide- 
 and-seek, that I was "warm" — very near the 
 objects of weary months of "seeking." The 
 sweat broke out on my forehead ; my first 
 impulse was to thank God that this much had 
 been accomplished ! 
 
 Now, I must set the trap to catch the rat ! I 
 replaced the dies exactly as I found them, threw 
 back the ashes in the same careless heap, re- 
 moving every trace of disturbance. I was even 
 sorry that I had dusted the shelf, for I could 
 not replace the dust, anil, gathering up my 
 breakfast, I betook myself to an upper cham- 
 ber, content to eat it cold. When I had satis- 
 fied my hunger, I made my bed, locked myself 
 in my chamber, that no one might too sudden- 
 ly surprise me, and placed myself in a window- 
 recess with a book which I had brought with me 
 to help pass the time. I dared not venture to 
 Gram' me Hooker's by daylight, and many hours 
 must intervene before the interview appointed 
 with Miss Miller. 
 
 But I did not much enjoy reading. In the 
 first place, I was cold, and I remembered how 
 merry were most homes on that festival day. 
 I pictured the children with their gifts, and 
 their elders, sitting down to tables laden with 
 choice feasts. I was lonely — homeless — name- 
 less — an outcast, and unutterably sad. 
 
 I thought of Lillian. My longing eyes turned 
 ever in the direction of the little white 
 dwelling, which I could not see, but of which 
 my fancy made a picture. I was so afraid my 
 darling was not comfortable — that she suffered 
 actual want, and I felt that she must be sorely 
 tried by this first recurrence of the Christmas 
 festival since her affliction. It was cruel that I 
 could not go to her and offer her my sympathy ; 
 that I was driven, by the persecutions of those 
 who were perhaps themselves the criminals, 
 from her society. 
 
 Flinging my book down, I walked back and 
 forth to prevent numbness from the cold, ponder- 
 ing upon how I should conclude to receive Miss 
 Miller's overtures, which had so surprised me. 
 
 While her tone and manner were those of a 
 sorrowful and truthful woman, I did not forget 
 that duplicity wears all colors, and that she 
 might be seeking my friendship in order to 
 get possession of the key and handkerchief, 
 and perhaps to make a tool of me to work out 
 her own designs. 
 
 Yet I had no longer any reason to suppose 
 
 that she had the least knowledge of the stolei 
 property. My brain was dull and heavy witl 
 the everlasting pressure of the subject ; yet i 
 horror, to which all previous dread was light 
 crept over me — chilled me, thrilled me, whei 
 I saw that the finger of fate pointed toward 
 her of whom the governess and myself were no^f 
 both suspicious ! 
 
 The weary day crept on — a doleful Christmai 
 to me, with only one glint of brightness in it— 
 the feeling that I was near to Lillian. Th< 
 afternoon shadows were growing long, when ]j 
 heard the clash of the closing gate, and ap 
 proaching voices. Peering between the cur 
 tains, I saw Miss Miller, Lillian, and Inez, 
 coming up the avenue. Miss Miller talked i 
 little loud, I could infer, with the purpose o: 
 warning me to conceal myself, and, as thej 
 drew near, looked up and flirted her handker- 
 chief. 
 
 Her face was anxious, which led me to believe 
 that the girls had insisted on bearing her com- 
 pany against her wish. I could only stand 
 there, like a man in a trance, drinking in the 
 consciousness of Lillian's presence. It is well 
 the curtains concealed me, or I fear I should 
 not have had the sense to withdraw. I had a 
 good look at her, as she came slowly up the 
 walk, the great key of the hall -door in her 
 hand. They had asked permission to visit their 
 old home, that there might appear nothing 
 hidden about it. She looked eagerly from side 
 to side, as if recalling every bush and shrub. 
 Not even the ghastly shadow of this tragedy 
 could wholly obscure the bloom and round- 
 ness of her youthful face : time alone could 
 complete the work which sorrow had begun ; 
 but she was pale, for her, and the enchanting 
 gayety of expression was gone. 
 
 My door was fastened, and, as I knew that 
 the governess would take the precaution to 
 precede the others and divert their attention, I 
 gave myself no uneasiness about being discov- 
 ered. I heard Inez give one of her little 
 shrieks as she entered the hall, and I thought 
 about the clock which I had set going. 
 
 " I must stop that," I thought. 
 
 ' ' I will not stay one moment. I know the 
 house is haunted," I heard the Cuban girl cry, 
 while the others, with lower voices, strove to 
 pacify her alarm. 
 
 Presently they came up stairs, Miss Miller, 
 as most courageous, taking the advance, look- 
 ing into all the chambers as they passed along. 
 She laughed lightly, when, trying mine, she 
 found it locked. 
 
 "I told you, Inez, the owners had been 
 about the place. Of course, they take care of 
 their property — probably visit it every few 
 
THE FIGURE EIGHT. 
 
 57 
 
 days. For all I know, they keep the clock 
 wound all the time. They have fastened up 
 this room, — bed-linen in it, probably, or 
 something they are afraid might be carried off." 
 
 "Oh, let us go down. I don't like it up 
 here at all. I'm sorry I came ; but Lillian 
 would have her own way." 
 
 I longed to hear my cousin's voice. 
 ' "This morning you said you would like to 
 come," she spoke, soft, clear, as she always 
 spoke. 
 
 " Oh, but I changed my mind. If the house 
 was full of company it would be different ; but 
 it is so cold, so gloomy ! I wonder if the Cha- 
 teaubriands will be here next summer ?" 
 
 No one answered. The other two were not 
 dreaming of summer festivals. Soon they 
 made the round and descended the staircase. 
 Presently, I heard the sound of weeping in the 
 next room, which had been Dr. Meredith's 
 sleeping-chamber, the death-room of the first 
 wife, the bridal-chamber of the last. I knew that 
 Lillian had gone there to give way to her sor- 
 row. Every sob she uttered struck to my heart. 
 
 In a few moments some one else rushed in, 
 and I heard Inez cry : 
 
 ' ' Miss Miller went off to the laboratory, and 
 left me entirely alone, as if she did not know I 
 would be frightened to death. I ran up here to 
 find you. I would not stay alone for the world. 
 What are you crying for, child ? Oh, I know." 
 
 There was a brief silence ; even Inez could 
 forget herself for an interval, in this place. She 
 was the first to speak again. 
 
 " Lillian, I should think you might answer 
 jme, now ! You know what I asked you this 
 morning. I don't see anything to prevent, 
 now that Miss Miller has come ; I could go 
 home with her, do my shopping, and come 
 iback. You must have money to spare, now 
 'that your quarter's pay has come in." 
 
 I did not hear what was said in answer ; 
 but Inez spoke up in the shrill voice which was 
 hers when she was in a passion. 
 
 " My clothes are dreadfully shabby. I did 
 not have opportunity to replenish them, after 
 the sea-voyage, which spoiled what few I had, 
 before — before you know what. And we had 
 only enough to do at the time we made up 
 our mourning. I wish now the doctor had 
 istopped on our way here, in New York, and 
 Ibought me the jewels he promised me. I 
 should have them, at least. But he was in such 
 la hurry to get home ! He promised to take me 
 |to the city soon. I think now, Lillian, you 
 ought to keep your father's promise. I must go 
 to New York ! " 
 
 Again the unheard reply, and again the pas- 
 sionate voice. 
 
 "Avaricious? Yes, I did not think it of 
 you ! Some of that money is mine. I gave 
 guitar-lessons to two pupils. I ought to have 
 a great deal for that ! Never mind, Lillian 
 Meredith, I shall not long be your slave ; I 
 shall not long hide myself in this dull village. 
 I am accustomed to a different life. If I had 
 known to what I was coming, I would have 
 staid in California. I will go to New York, I 
 tell you. I must see Arthur Miller ! ' ' 
 
 "Oh, Inez!" burst from my cousin's lips, 
 " can not you wait until he comes to see you? 
 Such conduct would not be proper." 
 
 ' ' Proper ? I hate propriety ! He will not 
 come to see me. I hear he is engaged to Miss 
 Chateaubriand ; and I must see him and ask 
 him if he dares coquette with her, after he has 
 told me that he loved me." 
 
 ' 1 So soon ? Oh, Inez ! ' ' 
 
 "It is not so very soon. I did not propose 
 to marry him until after my year of mourning 
 has expired. ' ' 
 
 "And you have 'already forgotten my 
 father ?" 
 
 " No, I have not forgotten him. He was my 
 good friend. But I never loved him ! You did 
 not suppose a young girl bike me could love an 
 old man like that ! He was kind to me. like 
 a father, and I married him because there was 
 nothing else forme to do. He was very fine — 
 a gentleman — but not like Arthur Miller ! You 
 must acknowledge there was a difference, Lil- 
 lian." 
 
 ' ' I say it is more natural for me to love a 
 person of my own age and tastes." continued 
 the Cuban, when she gained no reply, "just oe 
 you will when you have a suitor. Perhaps yon 
 are jealous?" with a mocking laugh. "I be 
 lieve he fancied you before I came. Ah ! all 1 
 am afraid of is that he is a coquette. Lillian, 
 if we could find that box of gold, I think he 
 would marry me. It is because I am poor and 
 Miss Chateaubriand is rich. But he loves me 
 best ; I know that.' ' 
 
 Poor Lily sighed a sigh so much of a groan 
 that I heard it where I stood. Poor child ! I 
 could only pray that a marriage, or something 
 else, might quickly free her from such compan- 
 ionship. Presently. Inez began, in a coaxing 
 voice, putting aside her passion : 
 
 "Lily, sweet, I'm going to tell you some- 
 thing which I have never before mentioned. 1 
 knew the doctor hid that gold the night before 
 i he died. I complained of having it in the 
 I room with us ; said I was afraid we should 
 1 be murdered if we kept so much gold in our 
 ! closet. I got up such a panic about it, — you 
 ' know how timid I am, Lillian ! — that, at last, 
 | he indulged me by removing it. He said he 
 
58 
 
 THE FIGURE EIGHT. 
 
 knew where there was a very safe place where 
 burglars would never think of looking for it, 
 and he tugged and rolled the box away and 
 came back, after almost an hour, when I was 
 actually asleep, and woke me up by saying, 
 laughingly, that ' I was safe now.' Why do 
 you look so surprised ? " 
 
 My cousin's voice was inaudible. 
 
 " At first, I was too frightened. I was afraid 
 they would think strange of it after what hap- 
 pened. Afterwards, I thought, if I told of it so 
 late, it would look stranger still. Indeed, in- 
 deed, I have tried very hard to find it. If we 
 could only find it, Lily, we should be rich. 
 You could give up that dreary school, and Ar- 
 thur would marry me. Oh, I wish we could, 
 now, before it is too late." 
 
 I think my cousin asked if she had never told 
 any one, for Inez answered: 
 
 " Never — that is — nobody but Arthur." 
 
 " You should not have told him !" exclaim- 
 ed Lillian, quite loudly^ggk 
 
 " Don't you think if y/fjti and Miss Miller and 
 I were to search everywhere, we might find it ? I 
 can not tell you how I have looked, — hours and 
 days in all. But, there she comes. Don't 
 speak of it to-night ; it is getting too late. But 
 to-morrow or some time." 
 
 The voice of the governess now mingled with 
 theirs ; presently they went down, and looking 
 out, I saw Lillian and Inez walking rapidly 
 away. It was nearly dark. I wished to see 
 gram'me before the old creature was in bed, and 
 I desired my interview with Miss Miller to be 
 brief. I had decided not to confide to her at 
 pr^ent the important discovery I had made. 
 If she were not honestly anxious for the truth, 
 it would be placing the weapon in her -hand 
 with which to defeat me. 
 
 She came to the door and knocked, and we 
 descended to the parlor together. 
 
 "I sent my companions away," she said. 
 " They wished to come, and, to avoid suspicion, 
 I was obliged to allow them . Did you see Lil- 
 lian ? You must have had a cheerless day of 
 it here, Do you go back to-night ?' ' 
 
 " Probably, — but I will not say certainly." 
 
 " Do you find traces of other spirits haunting 
 this house besides ourselves ?' ' 
 
 " I think there have been others here." 
 
 " Is my cousin well ? is her school a success ?' ' 
 
 " She is well, but very sad. I think the care 
 of that Cuban girl more onerous to her than 
 the charge of the school. Both united will soon 
 tell, even on her young vitality." 
 
 "I think your brother has made love to 
 Inez, Miss Miller. I shall be glad when they 
 can be decently married, — for Lily's sake." 
 
 "He shall never marry her," she cried. 
 
 "Do you think I would submit to that? I 
 would rather see him dead. He is engaged to 
 Miss Chateaubriand, and they will be married 
 early next summer." 
 
 " Then he is a villain," I said, coolly, "fox 
 I know he has made love to Inez. ' ' 
 
 "Well, how could he help it? Say rather 
 that she made love to him — that will be nearer 
 the truth. Still, I want you to understand that 
 I do not defend Arthur. He is vain, frivolous, 
 without any fixed principles ; and, I am afraid 
 unless he soon marries and settles down, will be- 
 come dissipated. I do not like the new habits he 
 is forming. I do not know how he continues to 
 make so much money, though he talks largely 
 of his stock operations. I do not entirely ap- 
 prove of Miss Chateaubriand, — but she is good 
 enough for him. I should desire to see him 
 marry Lillian, only he is not worthy of her. I 
 know it as well as you. I have done what I 
 could for him, as a sister ; I have been sister ] 
 and mother to him. He no longer respects my , 
 advice. Henceforth he must make or break his f 
 own fortunes." 
 
 She spoke sadly, and I pitied her. 
 
 "He ought to be advised of one thing," I ? 
 said ; " that it is not safe to trifle with a person j 
 like Inez Meredith. Her impulses carry her ( 
 judgment quite away. She is revengeful, too." D 
 
 " I know it, — but as he makes his bed, so he • 
 must lie in it ; I have warned him. ' ' 
 
 " I think I know of a way of disposing of D 
 her, which will relieve Lillian, yourself, and all j ff 
 concerned," I said, after a little hesitation. 
 
 I saw no reason for keeping from my com- ^ 
 panion the fact of Don Miguel de Almeda's re- 1 ^ 
 lationship to Inez, since it now appeared that ^ 
 Miss Miller was aware of my residence in the ^ 
 city, and of my assumed name. I could ask her 
 not to allow the affair of the silver key to be ^ 
 made public, and she would have as much ob- 
 ject as I in preventing it. 
 
 " How is that?" 0! 
 
 I answered her by telling her of the Don, his 
 recognition of the silver key, and his apparent y, 
 interest in his cousin. t 
 
 " I am quite certain he would take her to her 
 friends in Cuba," I concluded, " and that she jk 
 would be glad to go. She imagines herself in l : 
 love with your brother, because, for the time t 
 being, he is the only object upon which her f ( 
 roving fancy can conveniently settle ; but, once t, 
 let her have the opportunity to pass into a 
 sphere where she can throw off all memory of l5r 
 her distasteful life here, and she will eagerly ac- t 
 cept it." 
 
 " I think so," responded Miss Miller, evi- 
 dently gratified. ' ' We can ask nothing better 
 than that, — it is far better than she deserves," t 
 
THE FIGURE EIGHT. 
 
 59 
 
 she added, bitterly ; still, I don't know that it 
 is for us to pass judgment upon her, or to pun- 
 ish her. She will get her deserts in the next 
 world, if not in this." 
 
 1 then told Miss Miller what I had overheard 
 Inez confess — that Doctor Meredith had him- 
 self taken the box from the closet and concealed 
 it, the night before his death, at her instiga- 
 tion. "Now," said I, "this is a fact of the 
 utmost importance. It makes one of two the- 
 ories certain. Either Inez is herself both mur- 
 deress and robber — and, heartily as I despise 
 her, I do not conceive that she has either cun- 
 ning or courage to execute these desperate 
 crimes — or else some inmate of, or visitor to, 
 this house, happened, or purposely watched, to 
 see the doctor dispose of that box, and formed 
 the resolution to compass his death in order to 
 secure the tempting treasure. It would seem 
 as if only one of the family could have poisoned 
 him in the manner it was done. "Who else 
 would bring him wine, and from what hand, 
 except the hand of a friend, would he accept it ?" 
 
 We looked each other full in the face. It 
 was deep twilight now, but the eyes of both 
 were blazing, and we each looked the more pale 
 for the dusky shadows about us. I was trying 
 to read her inmost soul, and she was thinking, 
 no doubt, strange thoughts of me. It was as 
 if circumstances compelled us to suspect each 
 other. Had there been any servants whose 
 conduct made them liable to suspicion, then 
 our speculations would not have taken so nar- 
 row a range. For the moment, all the vague 
 impressions we had received of the Cuban girl's 
 wickedness faded out — nothing seemed more 
 improbable than that she should have had any- 
 thing to do with the catastrophe : with eager, 
 piercing gaze, we searched each other. 
 
 The governess was the first to break the spell. 
 
 " In vain ;" she said; "man by man was 
 never seen. * Let us not foolishly anger each 
 other. All we can do is to discover the truth 
 by patient investigation. How soon, after 
 your return to the city, shall Inez have reason 
 to expect her cousin ?" 
 
 1 ' As soon as he chooses to seek her. I shall 
 see him within one or two days of my return. 
 I must first give myself time to settle my own 
 small affairs, for I shall not remain in New 
 York after I have sent Don Miguel to Hamp- 
 ton." 
 
 " I shall be sorry to know you are driven 
 away for this cause. Why do you change 
 again ? I pledge you my word of honor that 
 you shall not be molested from any cause aris- 
 ing out of this, or which I can prevent." 
 
 "Nay, you can not promise for others. I 
 shall not rashly place my life in any one's hands. 
 
 Don Miguel, when he comes here and hears the 
 story of his cousin's widowhood, will at once 
 see that the young man who had the key, was 
 the runaway and suspected nephew of the 
 doctor. He may feel it his duty to denounce 
 me." 
 
 "I will persuade him to a different course." 
 
 "You could hardly give good reasons for 
 doing so, without causing him to think strangely 
 of you. I shall again change my place and 
 name. And I may as well bid you farewell 
 here and now, Miss Miller, as I wish to run over 
 and see my old friend, Gram' me Hooker, before 
 she is in bed. ' ' 
 
 " Yes, it is time I was going. Well, good- 
 bye." 
 
 She held out her hand, I touched it, and she 
 was gone. If it had not been for her and her 
 brother, I felt that I should not have been the 
 nameless wanderer which I was ; my bitter en- 
 mity could not change into friendship in an 
 hour ; though I had reversed many of my first 
 opinions, I still felt harshly towards the gov- 
 erness. 
 
 CHAFER XHT. 
 
 THE NEW YEAR'S CALL. 
 
 On the afternoon of New Year's day, three 
 women sat around the cheerful fire in Lillian's 
 little parlor. A small table in one corner held 
 a loaf of cake and bottle of wine, for such friends 
 as were intimate enough to be permitted to call, 
 — the pastor, and a few others, were expected 
 in the course of the day or evening, but the 
 family was not at home to general visitors. 
 For some time there had been silence. Miss 
 Miller sat in the arm-chair, her elbow resting 
 on the arm, her chin in her hand, the heavy 
 square brows drawn down, and the deep eyes 
 shining underneath with unshed tears ; she was 
 gazing into the bed of coals, while the flush of 
 the fire-light playing over her stern, sallow 
 face, gave it a bloom which was no longer its 
 due. 
 
 Inez was on an ottoman, restless as usual, 
 now thrumming her guitar, then getting up 
 and going to the window, only to resume her 
 seat with a sigh and a querulous word. She 
 wore almost her only ornaments, a brooch and 
 ear-rings of pearls ; a few white flowers were 
 placed in the heavy braids of her purple-black 
 hair. Lillian sat opposite Miss Miller, dressed 
 with her usual plainness, a few geranium leaves 
 lying in their fragrant greenness amid the glos- 
 sy gold of her curls, being her only attempt at 
 keeping holiday. Some kind of embroidery 
 occupied her fingers, and if she sometimes made 
 a misstitch from the tears which dimmed her 
 eyes, she patiently wiped them away and began 
 
30 
 
 THE FIGURE EIGHT. 
 
 again. The slumberous spell of the silence and 
 the warm fire quieted even Inez at last ; she sat 
 full fifteen minutes without speaking or mov- 
 ing, looking listlessly out at the people who 
 passed. 
 
 I did not see the group which I so boldly de- 
 scribe ; as I said once before, the links of my 
 story, needed to fill up the gaps, were supplied 
 by others. But I afterwards felt the influence 
 of that day and hour on my own life. 
 
 "Don't you think Arthur will come to see 
 us to-day ?" Inez finally broke the silence by 
 inquiring. " Didn't you say, Miss Miller, that 
 he would be here during your visit ?' ' 
 
 " He said he might come to escort me home. 
 But I'm quite positive he will not be here to- 
 day. He has a great many friends in the city, 
 and this, as you know, is a great day there. He 
 is too fond of pleasure to follow me out to this 
 dull village before his New Year's calls are 
 made.' ' 
 
 " We are dull, I know," said Inez, bitterly. 
 " You don't flatter us, Miss Miller. You are 
 not as great a flatterer as your brother. Of 
 course he has troops of beautiful lady friends 
 who are dressed in jewels and flowers, and stand 
 in their grand parlors to receive him. He would 
 be foolish to think of us at such a time. Once 
 I had all these things, and I mean to have them 
 again ! No one cares for you unless you are 
 able to keep up style. It is worth making an 
 effort to get it. I am as handsome as any of 
 them, I know, when I can dress myself pro- 
 perly. Oh, I am so tired of this village ! Do 
 you really think he will come at all, Miss Mil- 
 ler?" 
 
 " I am nowise certain about it." 
 
 " There !" cried Inez, " there is some one on 
 the steps now. Perhaps it is he ! The train 
 came in a short time ago. ' ' 
 
 Miss Miller was also thoroughly aroused. 
 She had been, for two or three days, expecting a 
 visitor to inquire for Mrs. Meredith — but not 
 her brother Arthur. 
 
 ' ' How slow your old servant is growing, 
 Lillian," exclaimed Inez, impatiently. "He 
 has had to knock the second time." 
 
 "Don't find fault with her," said Lillian, 
 softly. ' ' What should we do without her ? 
 Here she comes with a card." 
 
 The old woman handed it to Miss Meredith ; 
 she never would acknowledge the other as her 
 mistress, and had given the card to Lillian, al- 
 though Inez had been particularly inquired for. 
 
 "Don Miguel de Almeda," read the young 
 girl, aloud. 
 
 " My cousin," cried Inez, flinging her guitar 
 to one side, springing to her feet and clapping 
 her hands with the joy and excitement of a 
 
 child. She was about to rush to the door, then 
 hesitated, changed color, trembled, and hung 
 back. 
 
 " Shall I tell her to show him in?" asked 
 Miss Miller. 
 
 " Oh, yes. I am so glad," murmured Inez, 
 recovering from the check, whatever it was, 
 which had embarrassed her feelings. " Lillian, 
 you will ,like him so ! There is no one here to 
 compare with him. ' ' 
 
 The next moment the young gentleman en- 
 tered, and the Cuban girl, springing forward, 
 threw her arms about his neck with a little cry. 
 He spoke with her a moment or two in Spanish; 
 Lillian did not understand it, but Miss Miller 
 did; they were words natural to the occasion of 
 greeting, to affection and surprise. 
 
 " My little cousin grown up, married, and a 
 widow !" he exclaimed, after the first welcome. 
 " How strange it seems tome!" 
 
 "Yes," said Inez, bursting into tears, "a 
 widow, Miguel. Could you believe it?" and 
 she looked piteously at her black dress. 
 
 Then she remembered others enough to wipe 
 her eyes and introduce her friends. 
 
 "My little cousin's step-daughter! the 
 quaintest thing of all !" he said, smilingly, as 
 Lillian gave him her hand ; and his dark eyes, 
 warm with the tropic glow of his. nature, rested 
 admiringly on her fairest face. 
 
 " I too, am a relative — remember that !" he 
 continued, still with a gayety that was charm- 
 ing because so natural, and releasing the little 
 hand, he turned to bow to Miss Miller. 
 
 Summer seemed to have come into the small, 
 low room. Lillian could but look at him more 
 than she wished. It was her first meeting with 
 one of the opposite sex in every way fitted for 
 her companionship. Utmost ease of manner, 
 ready, agreeable conversation, a grace, partly 
 inherent and partly the result of cultivation and 
 constant intercourse with the world— a dark, 
 glowing beauty — he lighted the little sitting- 
 room with a brightness it never before had worn. 
 He apparently noticed no want of the luxuries to 
 which he was accustomed, giving of his best to 
 these three ladies in return for their hospitalities. 
 
 When Lillian went out to give orders for tea, 
 Miss Miller followed, knowing that Don Miguel 
 would desire to ask his cousin many questions, 
 which he could not ask in their presence. 
 
 The two were alone together nearly an hour. 
 When they were summoned to the tiny supper- 
 room, Inez came out in a blaze of splendor, 
 which caused Lillian to look at her in astonish- 
 ment. 
 
 She had never seen her so brilliant, not even 
 before the doctor's death. Her sallow cheeks 
 were like roses, her whole face sparkled. 
 
THE FIGURE EIGHT. 
 
 Gl 
 
 "My cousin is so good," she cried. "He 
 has invited me to go to the city for a fortnight 
 or more. He says he will engage a private 
 parlor for me at the Xew York Hotel, and I 
 shall go every evening to an opera, or the the- 
 atre. It will be perfectly delicious, after this 
 dreary, moping winter ! He is going to write 
 to Uncle Juan about me. I expect I shall go 
 back to Havana next spring." 
 
 " It will add greatly to Inez' pleasure, I am 
 sure, if Hiss Meredith will consent to accom- 
 pany her. She requires a more sedate friend to 
 keep her raptures in check. I only dare to ask 
 it in her name ; but it would make us both 
 very happy." 
 
 " 0, thank you. But I am one of that class, 
 who are bound to their necessities. Xext "Wed- 
 nesday my school re-opens." 
 
 "Your school. Truly, my cousin did tell me 
 that you two young ladies were engaged in 
 earning your own living. "But I did not realize. 
 It's terrible ! Why, I can not yet understand 
 it. All I know is that it must come to an end. 
 My cousin giving lessons, and you, Miss Mere- 
 dith?" 
 
 The Don did not know the other lady was a 
 teacher by profession, or he would have been 
 less demonstrative in his indignation. 
 
 Lillian laughed, almost gayly, as she re- 
 plied : 
 
 " Pnat horrifies you, I have no doubt. But, 
 here, we do not think it so frightful. I think 
 work really has been to my benefit. Inez, per- 
 haps, cannot say as much. A very little is too 
 much for her." 
 
 "Oh, yes! Cousin Miguel, you can not im- 
 agine what a slave I have been ! — two lessons, 
 twice a week, on the guitar, to the stupid little 
 girls. What would my father have said to that ? 
 In Havana we would not do such things. But 
 now I am going to the city with you, and can 
 forget all this sadness. Lily, you can tell the 
 children I will not teach them any more. ' ' 
 
 "How, after the two weeks pleasuring are 
 over ? ' ' asked Miss Miller. 
 
 " Ah, I suppose — I'm sure I don'tknow — but 
 cousin Miguel — ' ' 
 
 "Will take care of his little girl, hereafter. 
 Certainly, Miss Miller, now that we have found 
 her we shall try to keep her. I shall write at 
 once to my father and mother ; and, unless 
 there is something strong enough to hold her 
 here, shall take her back with me when I re- 
 turn, in February. How is it, Inez? are you 
 not homesick for your bowers of orange-flowers 
 and ease ? " 
 
 She glanced at him, blushed, and looked 
 down at her plate. 
 
 " I shall decide before the end of the fort- 
 
 night," she answered, attempting to cover her 
 confusion with a laugh. 
 
 Miss Miller and Lillian both knew that she 
 thought of Arthur. If he was irrevocably lost 
 to her, she would return with her cousin ; but 
 it might be that this propitious change in her 
 circumstances, this favoring of titled and 
 wealthy relatives, would draw him back to 
 her, Place her in a worldly position equal to 
 Miss Chateaubriand's, and she would engage in 
 the rivalry, with spirit. The Don did not par- 
 ticularly notice his cousin's embarrassment. 
 Familiar as he was with her frivolous nature, he 
 did not anticipate that the widow of a few months 
 had already engaged in another affaire de cceur. 
 
 The 2ST ew Year's day closed more brightly 
 than it began. There is something contagious 
 in the buoyant happiness of a gay and care-free 
 spirit. Don Miguel endeavored to tone himself 
 down to a seriousness which should express his 
 sympathy, yet he could not be otherwise than 
 delightful. Miss Miller, herself, was not obliv- 
 : ious to his powers of pleasing, while Lillian ap- 
 1 peared more like her old gay self than she had 
 'since her father's death. He sang the newest 
 songs, accompanying himself on the piano ; then 
 i he and Inez gave the other old Spanish songs to 
 | the guitar. 
 
 As several neighbors called, during the even- 
 ing, all Hampton knew, the next morning, that 
 a Cuban gentleman had come in quest of the 
 dark-eyed stranger whom the doctor had 
 brought into their midst. His wealth, and the 
 general splendor of his dress and demeanor, 
 were not dwarfed in the describing. 
 
 Don Miguel might have remained several 
 days, but his cousin was so eager for her holiday 
 
 I excursion that she fairly coaxed him into taking 
 
 | the afternoon train into the city. 
 
 "0, lily," she went on, as the other assisted 
 
 | her in her hurried preparations, " I am so sorry 
 
 ! you can not come along ! But I tell you, in 
 confidence, I have planned it all out, so as to 
 change this gloomy school-teaching. You shall 
 marry my cousin ! He is handsome and rich, 
 and I know you can easily make him love you, 
 for I saw, last evening, how he admired -you. 
 I shall praise you to him all the time I am 
 gone, and when I come back, I shall bring him 
 with me, — that is, if I come back at all, which 
 I suppose I shall for a few weeks. Don't you 
 think him magnificent ? ' ' 
 
 "Yes," said Lillian, "I think him very 
 agreeable ; and he must have a kind heart to 
 indulge you as he does. But his destiny and 
 mine are not cast in the same mould ; he is de- 
 serving of some one brilliant and world-wise, 
 like himself. He would not think of me, — and 
 then, Inez, it is not our custom, here, to 
 
62 
 
 THE FIGUKE EIGHT. 
 
 choose a lover so quickly. I do not like to have 
 you say such things. Don't speak so again to 
 me ; and I pray you don't breathe such a fool- 
 ish thought to him. It would destroy all my 
 pleasure in his society." 
 
 "I promise you I will say nothing then," 
 said Inez, who seldom kept her promises. 
 " But I know he liked you, — he could not re- 
 move his eyes from you. It would be so nice ! 
 — I thought of it over an hour, last night. I 
 could visit you in Havana, during the winter, 
 and you could spend your summers at the North 
 with me." 
 
 "Hush, Inez, I will not listen. If yon do 
 not change the subject I will leave you to do 
 your own packing. But, as to your remaining 
 at the North, is that settled? " 
 
 4 ' You remember what I told you Christmas 
 Day. If Arthur marries that girl, I suppose I 
 shall have to go home to my uncle. But I do ! 
 not think to go down to New York for nothing. 
 Ah, I will be revenged yet ! I have half a 
 mind to tell Arthur that we have found our 
 box of gold, that you have divided it equally 
 with me, and that you will probably marry my 
 cousin. You will see, if I tell him that, how 
 he will run after us." 
 
 "Inez, Inez, how Tecklessly your tongue 
 runs. If you knew how it hurt me to hear you, 
 you would not talk so. Shall I put your 
 Spanish vail and mantilla in the trunk ? ' ' 
 
 "Yes, I shall wear them to the opera. Lil- 
 lian, don't you think I might venture to lay 
 aside my mourning occasionally now? The 
 doctor has been dead more than half a year." 
 
 A heavy sigh was her only answer. 
 
 "You won't decide for me. Then I must 
 decide for myself. You know, Lily, caro, there 
 is so much at stake with me — and I look so well, 
 in the evening, in rose-color. "Will you lend 
 me that pearl necklace of your mother's? I 
 suppose, really, it ought to be mine, but, since 
 she gave it to you herself, we will not quarrel 
 about it. I will be very careful of it, and it 
 just makes out my set." 
 
 Without a word, .Lillian went to her room 
 and brought the little casket containing her 
 greatest treasure ; she scarcely expected ever 
 to have it returned to her, and she placed it in 
 the trunk with dim eyes. She had loved Inez 
 so much when her father brought her home 
 and asked her to give his wife a place in her 
 heart, she had abandoned herself to all the 
 pleasure of a friendship with one of her own 
 age ; but now, day by day, she was being 
 alienated from a person so selfish and exacting, 
 and above all, so untrue to her revered father's 
 memory. She could but feel, as she tied Inez' 
 bonnet-strings and kissed her good-bye, that it 
 
 would be a relief to be free for a time from hex 
 complainings and freaks of behavior. 
 
 " A good riddance ! " spoke Miss Miller, with 
 emphasis, as the village hack rolled away from 
 the gate with Don Miguel and his companion. 
 " If he can endure her exactions for a fortnight, 
 you will have quite a rest, my dear. I wish 
 you were never to see her face again." 
 
 CHAPTEK XIV. 
 
 IN VINCULUM. 
 
 "I shall be quite alone when you, too, go 
 away, ' ' said Lillian, trying to conceal from her 
 friend the glow which had risen in her cheeks 
 under the young Don's lingering gaze. "I 
 wish we could live together always, you and I. ' ' 
 
 " So do I, my darling. And there is nothing 
 in the world to prevent, except the probability 
 that no sooner would we be cosily settled to- 
 gether, than some envious man would come 
 along and steal you away from me." , 
 
 " But I should not go, Miss. Miller. I shall 
 never marry. I love you better than I ever 
 Shall any one who will ask me." 
 
 4 ' Nay, I do not place much confidence in 
 such assertions made by an untried girl. It is 
 to be expected that your time will come to love, 
 and marry. I hope it may. In the meantime, 
 if you wish it, and Inez deserts you, I will come 
 back to you. There will be enough for both of 
 us to do, if your school grows with the village. 
 We will have a model school, — teach all the 
 possible and impossible accomplishments, be 
 fashionable, and ask a large price. Don't yon 
 think we can manage it?" 
 
 ' 4 My dear friend, ' ' replied Lily, clasping her 
 about the neck ; 4 4 it is you who are my second 
 mother in heart. 0, how I love you !" 
 
 She did not understand why the bosom to 
 which she clung heaved with such force, as if 
 great sobs were strangled within ; she did not 
 understand the emotion, but she knew it was 
 ,there by the tumult of the panting breast, and 
 (she drew the pale face down, covering it with 
 kisses, as forgetful of Don Miguel as if his dark 
 eyes had never lingered upon hers. 
 
 Miss Miller closed her visit with the under- 
 standing that when her year's engagement had 
 expired with the Chateaubriand's she would re- 
 turn to Hampton and to Lillian. This promise 
 was comfort, almost happiness, to the poor child, 
 whom she left weeping on the threshold of her 
 lonely little home. Ever since her mother's 
 death Lillian had relied on her governess ; to 
 have that faithful friend always to share her 
 cares and enlighten her inexperience, was the 
 best thing she could ask ; and, with this hope 
 to brighten the winter, she returned quite cheer- 
 fully to her work. 
 
THE FIGURE EIGHT, 
 
 It was an absolute relief to have Inez away, 
 since she was probably in good hands and en- 
 joying herself; that the trip was prolonged 
 from a fortnight to three weeks gave Lillian no 
 uneasiness ; especially as she received a polite 
 note from Don Miguel, saying that his cousin 
 was too indolent to write, and deputed him to 
 the duty of letting Miss Meredith know that she 
 was well, and so pleased with her visit that she 
 proposed extending it to another week. 
 
 At the end of that time Inez came home, and 
 Don Miguel with her. 
 
 "Inez had led him such a round," he de- 
 clared, 4 ' that he was tired of dissipation. He 
 came to Hampton to refresh himself with a 
 little quiet," — and, taking a room at the village 
 hotel, he endured, without murmuring, such ac- 
 commodations as were provided for him, spend- 
 ing all his evenings with "his relatives," 
 | taking them out to ride, always, on Saturdays, 
 | and grumbling because he could not do it every 
 
 I day- 
 
 " That terrible school !" he said one day; " it 
 is a perfect ogre, Cousin Lillian. I could not 
 catch a glimpse of your face, while that rules 
 regnant, — no, not if I were perishing of ennui." 
 
 " I am sure you have Inez altogether to your- 
 self. Since she gave up her guitar-lessons, she 
 is enabled to devote herself to you. I think 
 you have nothing to complain of. ' ' 
 
 " Inez is well enough ; she keepB me busy, to 
 | say the least ; but, between you and me, I 
 i like my northern cousin the best." 
 
 " Treason— rank treason!" laughed Lillian, 
 t " Inez, did you hear that ?" — a little art of hers 
 1 to call another into the group, for something 
 in the Don's voice and look warned her not to 
 3 prolong a duet with him. 
 I "Never mind, Inez, stay where you are. I 
 I was just telling Cousin Lillian that I preferred 
 5 the northern snow-drop to the southern rose, 
 d Only," dropping his voice, "you are too much 
 h of a snow-drop, cousin, — you are ice— frozen to 
 \ the heart's core !" 
 
 " I believe I am," replied Lillian, willing he 
 I should think so. 
 
 id "If I only dared hope that the fervor of 
 e- [southern skies would melt you," he went on, 
 * playfully, but with a tremor in his voice under 
 1, all. 
 
 i Miss Meredith did not hear him ; she had 
 drawn aside the curtain and bent to watch the 
 «) "resonant steam-eagle" (resonant eagle, think 
 ifi of that!) mark "upon the blasted heaven the 
 I measure of her land," — or what used to be her 
 pe land before Meredith Place was sold away from 
 9 her. The last wreath of vapor had melted in 
 the rosy frost of sunset before she turned again, 
 
 03 
 
 with a careless remark on an entirely different 
 subject : 
 
 " My mind is made up about the school," he 
 continued, determined to advance, now that he 
 had taken the first step. "It must be dis- 
 missed — not for a night, but all time." 
 
 "Per contrary," responded his companion, 
 "Miss Miller's plans and mine are laid to ex- 
 tend it, improve it, and cause it to flourish like 
 the green bay tree. I see plainly now, that I 
 was created for no other purpose, save to teach 
 the young idea how' to shoot." 
 
 "I wish they were all shot," muttered Don 
 Miguel. 
 
 A little silver ring of firmness in her voice 
 warned him to say no more at present ; but he 
 was a man with a will, as might be seen by the 
 outline of his thin red lips. 
 
 Inez had returned from New York in high 
 spirits, which did not lose their buoyancy in a 
 long time. The world was an entirely different 
 world to her since her cousin's appearance on 
 the scenes. She kept Lillian up and awake half 
 the first night, discoursing upon the excitements 
 of her visit, and displaying the presents her 
 cousin had purchased for her. 
 
 "I did buy a few dresses which were not 
 mourning," she said, speaking a little rapidly 
 at first, knowing she introduced an unpleasant 
 subject. "No one there was acquainted with 
 my circumstances, — those who saw me did not 
 know but I might have laid aside mourning a 
 year ago. I will not wear these things here ; 
 at least, not yet, but there I saw no objection ; 
 do you ? Look ! here is the rose-colored silk ! 
 I ordered it and had it made within twenty-four 
 hours after reaching New York. I wore it tho 
 first time I went to the opera, with my pearls. 
 Miguel provided me with a superb fan and 
 bouquet, and I wore my Spanish mantilla and 
 vail, with white flowers in my hair. Oh, Lily, 
 I was magnificent ! I knew that before I left 
 my room ; but if you had seen the glasses lev- 
 eled at us all the evening, you would know that 
 I did not flatter myself. Miguel, you see, is 
 very handsome, too, and his foreign air and my 
 foreign dress, made us so conspicuous. I was 
 willing it should be seen we were Spanish, — 
 dark eyes and hair look so well with the vail. 
 Miguel himself told me I was the star of the 
 house. And oh, Lily, do you know, Arthur 
 came in late with the Chateaubriands, and took 
 seats not far from us ! When he saw that all 
 the lorgnettes pointed in one direction, he turned 
 and gazed with the rest. He was really pale 
 with surprise. I gave him a very slight, care- 
 less bow, which he might share with Miss 
 Chateaubriand, who was staring, too. It was 
 a most delicious evening ; the music turned my 
 
64 
 
 THE FIGURE EIGHT. 
 
 head, and my blood danced as I felt how col- 
 orless and passee that girl looked in comparison 
 with myself. She had on a blue dress, and it 
 was not becoming to her. 
 
 " The next day I sent him my card, and Don 
 Miguel's. He called on us at the hotel ; so 
 did the Chateaubriands. She tried to vex me 
 by saying how surprised she had been to see me 
 at the opera, not knowing I was in town. She 
 scarcely recognized me at first, not supposing I 
 would be out of black so soon ! Spiteful, wasn't 
 it ? I told her I was not out of mourning, but 
 I had laid it aside for an evening, to please my 
 dear cousin, Don Miguel. You should have 
 seen how agreeable she made herself to him, 
 and how urgently the family invited me to 
 visit them, for even if the elder one is engaged 
 to Arthur, there is Miss Sophie yet to provide 
 for ! I was quite willing to reciprocate, for I 
 knew there was not the slightest danger to my 
 cousin from the charms of any one : he had 
 given me to understand that his heart was al- 
 ready taken captive." 
 
 "Did Arthur say nothing positive to you 
 during your stay?" Lillian asked; "you cer- 
 tainly ought to know before this, if he has any 
 intention of returning to you." 
 
 " He had already committed himself to her, 
 I know that ; but he does not love her — he is 
 going to marry her to secure hi3 position in so- 
 ciety. But he did love me, and does yet — I 
 can see it in every look ; he is ashamed to say 
 so now, for fear I will despise him — but I can 
 see it : it is my revenge to see how he regrets 
 his falsehood. I begged him, last autumn, to 
 be patient about our finding the money, but he 
 was not, and now he is nicely entangled. 
 Bertha Chateaubriand shall never marry him ! 
 I can win him away from her yet — and I'm 
 going to do it, out of revenge !" 
 
 ' 1 I should think you would scorn a lover like 
 Arthur Miller too deeply even to seek to tri- 
 umph over him !" 
 
 " I don't scorn him," cried Inez, passionately. 
 " I know if it were you, you would despise him ; 
 but I love him still, and I can't be cruel to him ; 
 it is her I hate ! I shall get him away from 
 her yet. They are not to be married until 
 midsummer, and they are coming out the first 
 of May — the Chateaubriands are — to Meredith 
 Place again ; that will give me all the oppor- 
 tunity I want. I shall try to coax Miguel not 
 to return to Havana in the spring ; and I do 
 not think" — archly — "that he is as anxious 
 about it as he was when he first came." 
 
 All Inez' private conversations were in the 
 same strain, until Lillian avoided her company 
 as much as possible during those hours when 
 they were alone. 
 
 But she could not shake off the torment, and 
 she could not get rid of Don Miguel. Perhaps 
 she did not wish to. Her life was far brighter 
 than in the old desolate days. No heart is so 
 self-sustained as not to feel the pleasure of 
 another's devotion. There always was a vase 
 of hot-house flowers on her desk — Don Miguel 
 brought them when he came from the city 
 where he usually visited once or twice a week 
 Then he always brought fresh music, and they 
 must go over it together. She could not resist 
 or put aside his constant delicate attentions, of 
 which Inez received her share, and which 
 seemed to originate simply in his care for her — 
 of course his other cousin could not be left out 
 of all these. One thing she did refuse, which 
 was, to receive any other gift than flowers 
 music, or a book. His own sense of propriety 
 induced him to accept her decision, yet it was 
 plainly to be seen how the generous and gallant 
 young Cuban fretted under the restriction 
 Inez had no modesty about accepting unlimited 
 stores of pretty things ; her severest trial wae 
 the concession she made to Lillian's feelings in 
 keeping on black dresses ; and every day she 
 feasted her eyes on the treasures she had ac 
 cumulated for the "better time coming." 
 
 Inez, in her somber silks and velvets, movec! 
 about in state ; but her friend never divergec 
 from the plain garments befitting her income 
 and occupation. In these she /appeared more 
 lovely to the fiery-hearted Don than all the 
 fair ladies whose habit it was to display theh 
 fine dresses for his admiration. 
 
 It was so unusual to find so much dignity o 
 character in one so young and beautiful as Lil 
 lian, that this moral charm, even more thai 
 her fair and exquisite features, fascinated one 
 accustomed to finding women impulsive, selfish 
 and trifling, after the manner of his own cousin 
 The feeling grew upon him until it might b< 
 noticed he hesitated in expressing opinion 
 which might in any way displease her. 
 
 "Lily would make a Puritan of him," Ine 
 said, in her scornful way. 
 
 It is a fact, that men may jest about, an< 
 stand in awe of Puritans like Lillian, but whei 
 they have their best and most enduring love t 
 offer, they are apt to lay it upon such spotles 
 shrines. 
 
 CHAPTER XV. 
 
 THE GOLD COINEE. 
 
 John Milton, M.D., had vanished utterl 
 from the face of the earth ; his landlady kne 1 
 him no more ; his few forlorn patients looke 
 up other young doctors, who would attend t 
 their ailments and charge moderate fees. H 
 had concluded to emigrate to the far West, an 
 had taken a through-ticket to Chicago, the 
 
THE FIGURE EIGHT. 
 
 (*5 
 
 the rising city on the outskirts of commercial 
 progress — at least, his landlady was instructed 
 to say so to such as might inquire for him, and 
 this was the answer Miss Miller received when 
 she called at his whilom residence a few days 
 after her return from Hampton. 
 
 I did go as far as Buffalo, for I did not like 
 the fact, that thus far the governess, at least, 
 had kept track of me— knew my habits and 
 whereabouts, and might be, at most unexpected 
 times, a spy upon my movements. I resolved 
 to escape her farther observation, if possible ; 
 should I wish to confer with her, of course I 
 could do so at any time — for the present, I de- 
 sired only opportunities to prosecute my own 
 plans. 
 
 Thus, when I reached Buffalo, I turned and 
 came back to Hampton, taking care, as usual, to 
 arrive in the night. I now took up what I may 
 call my permanent residence at Meredith Place. 
 The deserted and gloomy old house was my 
 abiding-place ; I slept there, and there took the 
 most of my meals — generally, however, stealing 
 n over to Gram' me Hooker's, in the twilight, for 
 if the warm supper which she always prepared for 
 & me, and carrying back provisions for the next 
 lay. 
 
 That my life was one of real hardship may be 
 ^xnnprehended. • Gram' me' s cooking was not 
 ai ifter the style of Francatelli's, and the only fire 
 ,r( [ allowed myself, was a little charcoal in the 
 rrate of my chamber. I was obliged to use the 
 sifitmost caution, and to maintain that 1 ' eternal 
 rigilance ' ' which is the price of success. Above 
 0 dl things I desired to prevent rumors of any 
 me haunting the place ; for my whole hope 
 jfljvas that I might, sometime, surprise the guilty 
 M >arty at his or her work. To one young and 
 $ tctive like myself, such a life was dreary enough; 
 ^rat I never once thought of abandoning it, as 
 ong as there was any prospect that I might 
 rack to his haunt, and catch in the very act, 
 he person engaged in coining my uncle's gold 
 tomato money. I had the library as a resource, 
 and I studied the old poets and old scholars 
 ^frith an interest due not so much to my tastes 
 t| s my idleness ; I do not now regret that en- 
 orced course of reading, but I would then glad- 
 tify have exchanged it for the*pleasures of liberty 
 nd young society. 
 
 The owner of the place came, once or twice, 
 hile I was in the house, to give it a cursory 
 xamination, but he saw nothing to arouse sus- 
 icion, and probably would have been incred- 
 lous, had he been informed that a tenant was 
 ving, rent-free, in the old mansion. Once I 
 as under the bed in my chamber, in consider- 
 able fear of a little terrier who was snuffing 
 Dout the room ; the other time, I was driven 
 
 to the darkest recesses of the cellar; but I escaped 
 detection, and was thankful. 
 
 I was very careful of Gram' me Hooker, 
 during the January thaw and February cold. 
 I caused her to clothe herself in red flannel and 
 to wear two pairs of stockings when she went 
 out ; for I did not forget that she was liable to 
 be laid up with rheumatism, and upon her de- 
 pended not only my daily food, but all infor- 
 mation concerning what transpired in Hampton. 
 I say Hampton, but I mean one little dwelling 
 in that village, around which all my interest 
 centered. 
 
 The good old creature knew that I wanted to 
 hear her talk of nothing but Lillian, and she 
 gratified me by going over, in minutest detail, all 
 she could glean of what was said and done and 
 rumored. If to gossip was any pleasure to her, 
 she must have passed a cheerful winter, for I 
 did not stint her in the strength of her tea nor 
 the length of her story-telling. 
 
 The burden of her narrative rang with two 
 names — Lillian and Don Miguel. As much as 
 she loved and commiserated me, I do believe 
 gram' me secretly favored the fine Spanish gen- 
 tleman. Gay manners, handsome features, and 
 plenty of money, are seductive to all, — my only 
 friend was not proof against their charm, but 
 forgot what I suffered in listening, while she 
 expatiated on his numberless perfections, how 
 popular he was in the village, how all the girls 
 were crazy about him, how fond he was of Inez, 
 and how generous to her, — and, above all, how 
 any one could see with half an eye, that he was 
 perfectly wrapped up in Miss Lillian. 
 
 "But does she return his love? Do you 
 know if they are betrothed? Do you know if 
 he has declared himself?" — I suppose I asked 
 these questions a hundred times. 
 
 Gram' me was not quite certain ; but the child 
 was looking more like herself, — she certainly 
 seemed happier, — and, indeed, it would be a 
 fine thing for Miss Lily. Still, she hardly 
 thought any engagement had taken place, for 
 Miss Lily had told her, more than once, that in 
 June Miss Miller was coming back, and they were 
 going to organize a Young Ladies' Seminary. 
 
 " Lillian is not one to give up her heart at a 
 glance," I said to myself; "but long before 
 June she will change lier mind. God bless my 
 dearest, my darling, in lier choice. Even I, 
 who love her, can not but like Don Miguel, — 
 and, surely, her happiness ought to be more 
 precious to me than my own." 
 
 I have not said much, have I, in this record, 
 of my own personal unhappiness and misfor- 
 tunes. Loss of character, home, and friends, 
 did not fall upon me without wounding me al- 
 most to the death ; but, the resolution to which 
 
03 
 
 THE FIGURE EIGHT. 
 
 I so steadily held, to discover the really guilty, 
 was so powerful as to eclipse all else in my 
 mind. And in this I was not moved so much 
 by the desire to clear myself, as the hope to re- 
 store her inheritance to my cousin, or at least 
 to bring punishment on those who had deprived 
 her of her father. 
 
 Now, Don Miguel became my torture. As I 
 say, I rejoiced that my darling was thus pro- 
 vided for, but for myself I did not rejoice. I 
 suffered the fiercest pangs of jealousy. Without 
 disliking him, or refusing to do him fullest 
 justice, — on the contrary, exaggerating his good 
 qualities — I dwelt on his perfections as devotees 
 kneel on peas. 0, happy Don Miguel ! Every 
 evening he could bask in the sunshine of my 
 darling's eyes, — while I was banished to this 
 lonesome darkness. Sometimes, through the 
 intense stillness of my prison, it seemed to me 
 I could hear her rippling laughter, or her voice 
 blending with his in some sweet love-song. I — 
 I could not even look upon her face ! Ready as 
 I might be to act the spy upon those I suspected, 
 in the interest of truth and justice, I never took 
 the liberty of stealing to her windows to watch 
 the brightness of her smile which shone for 
 him. I was wild just to look upon her and 
 near her speak — but I never went near the cot- 
 tage where she lived. 
 
 It was strange, the life I led in that old house, 
 so solitary, yet so intense. I could see that my 
 image, reflected from the tall mirrors standing 
 high in their antiquated frames, grew daily 
 more pale and shadowy — daily more like the 
 colors in the brocade curtains and Turkey car- 
 pets, which were slowly fading out. How much 
 Hike a living thing a mirror is ! When I go 
 iinto a deserted mansion they face me like 
 : guards, and startle me. I did not dare to cheer 
 myself with a fire in the chimneys ; I did not 
 dare to soothe myself with my old violin, which 
 .still hung in my chamber ; but, cold, silent, and 
 melancholy, flitted about the darkened rooms, 
 Foeholding myself dimly in those ghostly mirrors, 
 ©r with locked door and feet to the little char- 
 coal brasier, hung languidly over my books, 
 waiting for night to come, that I might gossip 
 with gram' me about Lillian — waiting for night 
 to come , that I might resume my wearing and 
 ceaseless vigil. 
 
 Unhappy love and gnawing suspense were 
 telling fearfully upon my youth and health. I 
 was becoming nervous, from want of proper 
 sleep, and from the habit of being everlastingly 
 on tite watch, with ear intent to catch every 
 sound, by day or night. My eyes acquired a 
 wild, bright look, almost like that of insanity ; 
 my complexion was bleached like that of a 
 plant growing in a cellar ; my clothes were 
 
 shabby and hung upon my shrinking limbs ; 
 my hair grew in thick masses of curls down my 
 neck. I suppose if I had confronted all Hamp- 
 ton in the open day, scarcely two persons 
 would have recognized me, and if any had sur- 
 prised me in my retreat they would have been 
 more alarmed than I. 
 
 " What a dangerous rival I should prove to 
 Don Miguel de Almeda, if I were to present 
 myself, now, to my cousin 1" I would say to 
 myself, in mockery. 
 
 Sometimes I thought that my endurance 
 might fail me utterly before the hour of tri- 
 umph came ; I might grow too ill to take care 
 of myself, when, unless I could be sheltered at 
 gram' me' s, I should be detected, and all re- 
 sults of my long labors would be lost. This 
 fear made me as careful of myself as circum- 
 stances would permit. 
 
 It was about the middle of March that an 
 event occurred which partially rewarded my ten 
 weeks of unceasing watchfulness. I had been 
 driven to the conclusion that the robber must 
 have disposed of the whole sixty thousand dol- 
 lars worth of bullion before I made the discov- 
 ery of the crucible, and that I had wasted time 
 in this idle waiting ; and had resolved to leave 
 the spot before the first of April if nothing tran- 
 spired. If the Chateaubriands were coming 
 out on the first of May, I foresaw that the 
 month of April would be given over to repairs and 
 house-cleaning, so that my time was necessarily 
 short. I had resigned expectation of any re- 
 sult of my vigils, and was in that despondent 
 mood which amounts to indifference, when 
 making my way to Gram'me Hooker's, through 
 a drizzling rain, one Friday evening, she told 
 me that she had been at Lillian's that morning, 
 who had spoken to her of receiving a lettei 
 from Miss Miller, announcing that she would 
 arrive that afternoon to spend Sabbath with 
 her, and that her brother Arthur would accom- 
 pany her. 
 
 " She's as strange a creature as ever I saw, 
 muttered gram'me, when she had bolted th< 
 door, and pulled down the green paper blind, 
 preparatory to placing my supper of fried port 
 and roasted potatoes on the table before me. 
 
 " Who is strange ? Miss Miller ?" 
 
 " No, no, t'other one." 
 
 " I don't know who you speak of, gram'me. 
 
 She placed the dishes before me, and poure< 
 out my tea ; as she handed me the cup, sh 
 said, a little impatiently: 
 
 "Why, that Spanish woman, of course 
 What under the sun an' airth Dr. Meredit; 
 ever married her for, beats me. He might knoi 
 her ways wouldn't be like ours. But, men c 
 his age allers makes fools of themselves in thei 
 
THE FIGURE EIGHT. 
 
 67 
 
 second choice ; and the more they knows, and 
 the more book-l'arned they be, the greater 
 simpletons !" 
 
 " What set you to thinking of that, just 
 now ?" 
 
 4 ' She was by when Miss Lily mentioned that 
 Mr. Miller was comin' along. You oughter 
 have seen her cheeks redden up an' her eyes 
 blaze ! The minute before, she looked as sailer 
 and pale as a bowl of cream, and all of a sud- 
 den she colored up like a rose. I don't deny 
 she's as handsome as a picter when she's 
 pleased or flattered — an', my, how she does 
 dress ! To be sure, she wears black, but it's 
 velvet and all kind of rich things, an' she lays 
 back on the sofa an' flirts her fan or tinkles her 
 guitar, while poor Miss Lily is just fagged out 
 with teaching and keeping house and all." 
 
 "Do you think it is injuring Lillian, 
 gram' me ?" 
 
 " Wall, I jest do, to say truth. If she had 
 her hull strength I don't know as 'twould, but 
 she was too young to be very strong, you see ; 
 she hadn't settled arter gettin' her growth." 
 
 1 ' Oh, gramme ! But then Don Miguel will 
 j soon put an end to that ! Yes, he will take 
 care of her !" 
 
 " I think he will," was the dry reply, and I 
 swallowed my hot potato as if it were so much 
 ashes. ' 1 Yes, I never did see a young man 
 more completely bound up in a girl. He's like 
 her shadder. I shouldn't be surprised if a wed- 
 din' was to take place as soon as the season of 
 mournin' had ended. Not before — no ; Miss 
 Lily wouldn't permit that." 
 
 I pushed away my plate and cup. 
 
 " Have another tater, Dr. Joe ? I do believe 
 you' re gettin' tired of ' em. I wish I had suthin' 
 better to offer you. You're drefful thin and 
 holler-eyed, Doctor Joe. You'll" kill yourself, 
 if you don't quit mopin' round that old place 
 and settin' up nights so much. I wish you'd 
 go to Wisconsin, where my boy is. He says 
 he's fatted up wonderful, and '11 send fur me this 
 summer. Couldn' t you go along ? Ain' t much 
 sickness there ; but there ain't no doctor 
 either, and you'll have the first chance." 
 
 "I shouldn't be at all surprised if I went 
 with you, gram' me." 
 
 " Dear me ! how tickled I shall be ! You'll 
 forget your troubles there, and feel like an- 
 other person. I make no doubt you'll grow 
 rich and be a great man." 
 
 " Thank you, gram'me, for the prophecy." 
 
 " That brings me back to that Spanish wo- 
 man ag'in, said gram'me, settling her elbows on 
 her knee3, her chin in her hands, and staring 
 hard into the fire. 
 
 "What does?" 
 
 " Speakin' of prophesying and sich like 
 witchcraft. I'm goin' to tell you what she did 
 to-day, Doctor Joe. She put on her bonnet 
 when I came away, and said she was going to 
 walk with me as far as the woods, to see if she 
 couldn't find some wild violets. It was threat- 
 enin' to rain, then, and I was rather surprised 
 at her goin', for she don't trouble to be very 
 polite to an old body like me ; but she walked 
 along by my side, very friendly, till we come to 
 the woods, and then she pulled a few violets, 
 and asked me, with a very red face, if I was 
 wise about plants and medicines and sich 
 things. I told her I knew the use of harbs 
 pretty well, and could stew up a mess that was 
 good for liver complaint ; likewise, I could cure 
 a sore throat and the bite of a copperhead. 
 Then she asked me if I ever made love-philters. 
 'What,' said I, 'do you believe in that 
 stuff?' 'Yes,' said she, 'all the young girls 
 where I come from use love-philters. Some- 
 times they pay a large price for them. Come, 
 gram'me,' she said, very coaxing and soft, 'I 
 believe you know how to fix 'em. I want one of 
 the most powerful kind, and I will come an' git 
 it in the mornin', and she took a gold piece 
 out of her pocket and slipped it in my hand. 
 
 " ' Then you must tell me what you want it 
 for, and who, or I can't make the charm work,' 
 I said, not because I wanted the money, Doctor 
 Joe, but jest to see what was in that girl's 
 head. 'I didn't know we had to tell who,' 
 she said, kinder sot back. 'Oh, no matter, 
 then, but I'll guess. It's the young gentleman 
 that's comin' here to-morrow with his sister, 
 ain't it?' She whispered 'yes,' and then I 
 asked her what particular charm she wanted 
 the philter to have, and she said she wanted 
 one as would make a false heart true ; as would 
 win a lover back, whom a handsome girl had 
 stolen away from her. 
 
 "Fool — little idiot!" I muttered, in con- 
 tempt ; "can she really be so silly, gram'me ?" 
 
 " She was in dead 'arnest, Doctor Joe. And 
 now I want you to give me a little powder, 
 that'll do no harm. You can get some out o' 
 the doctor's office, can't you ? an' I'll go over 
 to the house with you, when you go back, and 
 bring it, so's to have it ready in the mornin'." 
 
 " I don't wish to have anything to do with 
 such ridiculous folly." 
 
 " Indeed, it ain't the money. I shan't take 
 much from her ; but I've a curiosity to see how 
 that woman will carry on." 
 
 "There may be something in that," I an- 
 swered, after a little reflection. ' ' A girl so artful 
 and so ignorant might become dangerous — " 
 here I paused, for I was choked by the sudden 
 leaping of my heart into my throat at a thought 
 
08 
 
 THE FIGURE EIGHT. 
 
 — " misbecome," perhaps had been dangerous ! 
 Doubtless this Cuban compound of jealousy, 
 passion, art, and ignorance, had played similar 
 tricks before. 
 
 It might be — but no ; the idea was not credible. 
 
 "Here's a scrap of paper she took out of her 
 purse with the money,— it fell on the ground, 
 but she didn't see it, an' I picked it up. As 
 near as I can make out, it shows she's on the 
 look-out for magicians and sorcerers." 
 
 The old woman laughed heartily as she hand- 
 ed me the paper — a few lines cut from a New 
 York daily , reading something after this fashion : 
 
 " Astonishing ! The Turkish Charm of Eden, war- 
 ranted to fascinate, and never fail. Also, Love Secrets, 
 Beautiful Arts, etc. Try it. Send 25 cents, and re- 
 ceive by return mail, etc." 
 
 " I knew she was superstitious and narrow- 
 minded, but I did not suppose her given over 
 to anything so absurd. Well, gram'me, we 
 will exercise all the might of our intellect and 
 power of our education in ooncocting a philter 
 which shall win the false knight from the little 
 feet of Miss Chateaubriand back to the soft 
 chain of the lady's guitar-ribbon, which he 
 shall wear, henceforth, about his neck forever- 
 more. I must go back now. I feel as if some- 
 thing were going to happen. I shall begin, 
 presently, to believe in fore-warnings as well as 
 love-philters. 
 
 « Fetch me that flower — the herb I showed thee 
 once; 
 
 The juice of it on sleeping eyelids laid, 
 Will make a man or woman madly dote 
 Upon the next live creature that it sees. 
 Fetch me this herb : and be thou here again 
 Ere the leviathan can swim a league.' 
 
 We must find this ' little western flower ' for 
 our fair Inez. ' ' 
 
 " What's that I'm to fetch, Doctor Joe?" 
 
 "Nothing, gram'me. I was only quoting 
 from a play I was reading to-day, ' ' and I drew 
 on my overcoat. "There is a certain little 
 flower, — blue, not purple — I would like to 
 squeeze the juice from, for this dainty lover. 
 They don't call it 'love-in-idleness,' but lo- 
 belia, gram'me. What do you say to a dose of 
 that?" 
 
 She laughed till her sides shook. 
 
 "I'll warrant it would do him lots of good, — 
 'specially if he's threatened with fever, — love 
 fever or bilious, it don't matter which. ' 
 
 Bather coarse jesting ; but the best to be had 
 under the circumstances, and a good laugh 
 might be the salvation of me, my nerves had 
 been so long strung to the highest. I did laugh 
 at the idea of lobelia for a false lover ; but I 
 was half in earnest, too, my dislike of Arthur 
 Miller increasing the temptation. 
 
 " However, gram'me, I shall be prudent, and 
 put up nothing which will betray the foolish 
 
 girl's more foolish arts. It is too wet for you 
 to go out to-night. Stay you at home, and I 1 
 will place the powders between the shutters of 
 the kitchen window ; you can get them, as you 
 go by, in the morning. Good night. ' ' 
 
 I stepped out into the darkness from the 
 cheerful little room ; the rain pattered on the 
 dead leaves over which I walked ; the air was 
 close, but balmy with the damp breath of the 
 woods ; not a star shone, but I was too familiar 
 with the oft-trodden path to be at a loss ; I 
 knew when I came to the brook and when to 
 the broken fence. An overpowering melan- 
 choly took possession of me, as I slowly glided 
 forward in the musical darkness, so intense that 
 it wrapped me about like a garment. No long- 
 er upheld by the hope which had so long sup- 
 ported me, life was objectless. Why not lie 
 down on the dead leaves and perish like them, 
 since I had dropped from home and love like 
 the leaf from its branch ? It appeared to my 
 sense, that, if I would lie down and let the 
 warm rain fall on me all night, in the morning 
 I should be oblivious to all which now troubled 
 me — dead — and at rest. 
 
 I resisted the temptation, pushed on wearily, 
 found the gate, the garden, the unfastened 
 door, which I opened and closed with the noise- 
 less movement that had become habitual with 
 me, and glided up to my room. I had decided 
 not to look for the material for those silly 
 ' ' powders ' ' in the evening, as I should have , j 
 to strike a light, which I did not care to do. j - 
 The fact that Miss Miller had probably arrived ; 
 in Hampton was enough to renew all my old J ^ 
 caution. Taking off my damp clothing, I bolt- ! i 
 ed my door, crept into bed, and sank into deep * 
 slumber. It was not usual for me to sleep be- j $ 
 fore midnight, but this evening the droning of £ 
 the rain acted on my restlessness like an opiate. 
 
 I must have slept several, hours, when I 
 suddenly awoke, with every faculty on the 
 alert. I do not know what aroused me so com- 
 pletely ; I raised myself silently in the bed, and 
 listened. I was certain I heard retreating foot- 1 
 steps, very light, as if the person was walking 
 in stockings. It might have been only the pat- 
 ter of a mouse — I was not positive ; many a 
 time I had been falsely alarmed ; I did as I had 
 previously done an hundred times, slipped out 
 upon the floor and dressed myself. I waited 
 fifteen or twenty minutes. I might have re- 
 turned to my slumbers thinking I had deceivec 1 
 myself, but a door slammed, as if a current 01 
 outside air had driven it shut. It sounded like 
 thunder in the empty, silent house, echoing 
 through every hall and corridor. I can not de- 
 scribe how it affected me — who had waited s< 
 long. For a few moments I trembled ; thei 
 
THE FIGURE EIGHT. 
 
 71 
 
 grew calm and perfectly self-controlled. Proba- 
 bly the intruder was alarmed at the noise himself 
 had made. I would wait a little until his as- 
 surance was restored ; yet not long, for I was 
 afraid he might be going away. 
 
 I slipped the bolt of my door without making 
 the least noise, opened it a little— all dark, all 
 still. I passed on to the stairway, down it; 
 still, all was rayless darkness. I glided through 
 the parlors, listened at the library door — not a 
 sound ! On to the laboratory. The door had 
 stood open when I left to go to my tea ; now it 
 was closed! I stooped to look through the 
 key-hole, but it must have been stuffed, for not 
 a beam of light was visible. I longed to try the 
 knob, to find if the door was fastened on the 
 inside, but hardly thought it prudent until I 
 had further investigated. I heard movements 
 within — the clinking sound of metal— and the 
 soft roar of the current of air which was being 
 forced into the furnace to bring the fire to an 
 intense heat. 
 
 I suppose I was terribly excited, but I did not 
 realize it so much until the reaction same. 
 Making my way to the baek hall-door, which I 
 found unfastened, I went out to the window 
 which belonged to the laborateiry, and eau- 
 tiously unclosed the slats a little way. I found 
 I need not be so careful, for a newspaper had 
 been pinned up inside, which effectually pre- 
 vented my looking into the room ; but the 
 dull red glow of the furnace shone inside, and 
 I could faintly discern a shadow on the opposite 
 wall, stooping and rising, as the person at the 
 furnace stooped and rose. 
 
 What should I do? All winter long I had 
 waited for the hour, and now that it was upon 
 me I could not decide what step to take ! If I 
 should go to the village and arouse the sheriff, 
 and bring him here, all might be over before 
 our return, when I should have exposed myself 
 to arrest, given warning to the thief, and ac- 
 complished nothing! He might have been at 
 work hours before I knew it, and be nearly 
 | through with his night's labor. If there was one 
 person only, better for me to wait until he at- 
 ! tempted his exit, and then throttle him ; or 
 jdog his steps, and ascertain from whence he 
 jprocured the secreted gold. If I once ascer- 
 jtained who the person was, I could more easily 
 arrange matters for his detection and arrest. 
 
 As there was no conversation. I made sure 
 that only one was engaged in the work. I felt 
 a senseless anger at the paper, which alone in- 
 terposed between me and a sight of the operator 
 jat his toils. If that were away, I might watch 
 ihim at my leisure 1 
 
 I 0 ! now if I had Lillian with me, how pure 
 |as the daylight could I be made in her eyes ! 
 
 1 1 even wished that I had brought Gram' me 
 Hooker with me to act as witness. I need not 
 say that in my mind a connection arose between 
 the visit of the Millers to Hampton and this mid- 
 night adventure at Meredith Place. 
 
 It was still raining lightly and softly, and I 
 was glad of it, as the murmur served to hide 
 any faint noise of footsteps or breathing which 
 I might make. After Some hesitation, I went 
 back, armed with a heavy cudgel with which I 
 had previously provided myself, and took up 
 my station by the laboratory door. 
 
 The darkness was absolute ; all my senses 
 were concentrated in the one of hearing ; I 
 could make out the whole process of the work 
 inside. More than an hour passed. Did you 
 ever feel the approach of an object in the dark? 
 Standing here, I fancied some one crept down 
 the hall, though I heard nothing ; paused, as I 
 had paused ; was listening, as I was listening — 
 stood at the opposite side of the doorway. I was 
 tempted to stretch out my hand and grasp, to 
 see if some one were really there; but even the 
 singular fact of another person being on the 
 watch, if fact it were, was second to the neces- 
 sity of discovering the robber within — to whom 
 any noise might give the alarm. 
 
 Yes, I heard breathing, repressed, and conse- 
 quently, hurried. I softly reached forward my 
 hand, but it touched nothing ; and again I felt, 
 as I had once before, as if some soul were here 
 without its body. There was something awful 
 about the silence and the waiting. 
 
 All things must have an end, — my vigil had. 
 I noted the clearing up and the putting in order 
 which was going on in the laboratory ; then 
 some one came to the door, cautiously turned 
 the key, opened the door. There was no light, 
 for lamp and furnace-fire had been extinguish- 
 ed. I raised my weapon, and brought it down 
 heavily ; there was a cry — a fall — some one 
 uttered a shriek and stumbled ! Was there 
 more than one ? I thought not, and resolved 
 that this one should not escape me. I stooped 
 to the fallen figure, and closed my vise-like 
 arms about it. Good God ! it was a woman' sJJ 
 I dragged her into the laboratory, shut ana 
 locked the door, and relighted the lamp which 
 I knew stood on the table. 
 
 I hesitated before turning the light of the 
 lamp on the woman, for two reasons : I was 
 afraid I had killed her, and I dreaded, after all, 
 to convince myself of who it was. 
 It was Miss Miller ! 
 
 CHAPTER XVI. 
 
 BROKEN AND MENDED. 
 
 I saw that she was dead or unconscious, and 
 catching the lamp, I ran out to find if she had 
 
73 
 
 THE FIGURE EIGHT. 
 
 any confederates lurking about. The more I 
 thought of it, the more it seemed to me as if 
 two persons had cried out at the moment I 
 struck ; but I found no one in the house, or 
 about the porches. I immediately fastened the 
 back hall door, which, as I said, had been un- 
 locked when I first came down, and then 
 searched every room, even to the cellar. No 
 one was in the house save us two, and I made 
 sure that no one could get in. As I came back 
 to the laboratory, close by the door lay a small 
 bag, which I must have passed over without 
 notice as I went out. I knew what was in it 
 before I examined it, — it was heavy with the 
 newly-coined gold. Taking it with me into the 
 room, I now gave my attention to the woman, 
 who lay on the floor, prostrated by my own 
 hand. She had on a hood and a waterproof 
 cloak, both drenched with rain. As I took off 
 the hood, the heavy waves of her jet-black hair 
 rolled down either side of the marble face — a 
 face so pale that I felt, hurriedly, for the faint 
 pulse at her wrist, which assured me that 
 she was alive. I shrank as I touched her 
 wrist. Helpless and wounded as she lay before 
 me, all my old dislike sprang up anew at thought 
 of the consummate acting of which she had been 
 guilty — of the heartless, bold, and wicked char- 
 acter which could execute the scheme of wrong 
 and robbery, while pretending to be Lillian's 
 best friend. 
 
 However, the first impulse of a physician is 
 to save life. I could not let her die before me ; 
 no, rather bring her back to the punishment 
 which must await her. I had been her assail- 
 ant, now I must be her surgeon. I was glad to 
 find that the tremendous blow which I had 
 dealt had not fallen on her head ; there was a 
 blood stain on her cheek where she had cut it 
 in falling ; but my weapon had struck her 
 shoulder and arm, and the latter was broken 
 midway between the shoulder and elbow. She 
 moaned as I handled the injured limb. 
 
 Going to the laundry, I procured cold water ; 
 then I fastened myself and my patient in the 
 
 boratory, which, — having always served Dr. 
 
 eredith as a sort of office and drug-shop com- 
 bined, for the benefit of poor country people — 
 was still supplied with everything needful. 
 Cold water on her forehead, and a spoon-full of 
 brandy between her lips, soon caused Miss Mil- 
 ler to open her eyes and stare at me silently. 
 
 " I have broken your arm, and I'm going to 
 set it," I said, as I cut the sleeve from it with 
 my knife. 
 
 "Thank you," she answered, in a voice as 
 cold and firm as my own, though not, perhaps, 
 as strong. 
 
 It was a beautiful arm, perfect in its propor- 
 
 tions, with flesh firm and smooth as flesh coulc 
 be, except where the ugly bruise was alreadj 
 beginning to swell and discolor. I could no) 
 handle it as I would have handled a man's arm, 
 greatly as I disliked its owner ; I thought onot 
 or twice my nerves would fail me ; but hei 
 own firmness aided me to bring my task to i 
 successful end. She never groaned while I forcec 
 the bones into place and applied the splints; bu1 
 when I turned to give her some water, at the 
 close, she had slipped off again into insensibili- 
 ty. More brandy ;— then I went for pillowt 
 and a mattress, which I spread on the floor, 
 adjusting her as comfortably as possible, with 
 plenty of cold water bandages on her shouklei 
 and arm; but no sooner had she entirely recov- 
 ered consciousness than she sat up, saying — 
 
 "I must go back now, before it grows light." 
 
 " No, Miss Miller, you are my prisoner." 
 
 ' 4 Let me go back to Lillian before the daj 
 breaks. You can not wish to get up such a scent 
 at Meredith Place as will follow our being found 
 here." 
 
 ' 4 Do you think yourself in condition to wait 
 a mile ?.' ' 
 
 " Yes, yes ! you need not doubt that. Mj 
 arm pains me a little, but lam strong as ever." 
 
 Her face was like the linen it rested on, and 
 her pulse already rising. I regarded her witt 
 something like compassion. 
 
 " You could not do it, Miss Miller." 
 
 "I must. There is so much at stake." Rising 
 to her feet, she staggered to the door, but found 
 it locked, and the key in my possession ; she 
 sank into a chair beside it, looking so strange 
 in her disheveled dress, with her bandaged arm 
 and white face — 
 
 ' ' You were always my enemy, Joseph. Oh,J 
 do be merciful now, and let me go away from 
 this before the day breaks." 
 
 For answer, I turned out on the table the 
 hundred gold eagles, scarcely hardened from 
 the mould — glittering witnesses, telling of guilt 
 and shame. 
 
 ' ' Dr. Meredith' s gold — Lillian' s inheritance. ' ' 
 
 I thought to speak sternly, but my voice wag 
 hollow and trembling with emotion, — two 
 burning tears ran down my thin cheeks at sight 
 of this reminder of all that had occurred. 
 
 44 Poor boy," she murmured pitiifully; 44 pool 
 Lillian ! I am so sorry for all — and for myself. 
 If I knew what was right for me to do, I would 
 do it." *> 
 
 44 You can not restore the dead to life ; you 
 can not — " 
 
 "Ah! don't! dont!" 
 
 "You can not restore the money already 
 squandered, perhaps ; but you can give ovei 
 what remains, to the rightful owners. You can 
 
THE FIGURE EIGHT. 
 
 7a 
 
 to furnish your brother with means to 
 keep up appearances which his own fortune 
 does not warrant, while she whom you pre- 
 tend to love and befriend suffers all the hard- 
 ships of poverty. Because you did not suc- 
 ceed in obtaining the lead in Dr. Meredith's 
 family, you have turned your ambition, I sup- 
 pose, in the direction of the Chateaubriands. 
 Your brother's alliance with that family will 
 be a great honor, will it not? It does seem 
 cruel to nip this fair prospect in the bud !" 
 
 "You have not the power to blast us," she 
 defiantly returned. "Am I in your power? 
 No ! — we two are here, each to witness against 
 the other. Whose word will be most readily 
 received? Have you thought of that? You 
 Bwear you found me here engaged in coining 
 money. I swear that I came here because I 
 had reason to know that you were haunting this 
 house, and had been all winter secreted here. 
 [ came and found you at your task of melting 
 your uncle's gold into coin, and when you dis- 
 covered that I was on your track you struck me 
 iown, probably with intent to kill me, and put 
 the inconvenient witness out of th« way. Whose 
 story will be most easily believed ? My path 
 aas been straightforward since? the day of the 
 doctor's death, in the broad daylight, so that 
 ill might see it ; yours has been covered by all 
 nanner of deceits and secrecies. Your course. 
 Tom first to last, is enough to condemn and 
 »nvict you, a dozen times over. Don Miguel 
 will swear that you had the key to your uncle's 
 ;reasure-box, while practicing your profession 
 mder an assumed name. Come ! let us com- 
 promise." 
 
 j "Never! I can die in a good cause. But I 
 jvill not permit you longer to impose on my 
 »usin Lillian your false friendship, as far as 
 isrords of mine have power to warn her." 
 
 " Your words will have no power against me. 
 ifou forget the light in which she views you. 
 j>he would sooner listen to the hissing of a viper 
 han to your voice, whom she regards as her 
 •ather's murderer ! " 
 
 "You told me that she never believed me 
 guilty ! " I cried, stung by her cruel words the 
 more deeply that I felt them true, 
 j She laughed, — you know how maddening a 
 laugh can be, how much harder to bear than 
 Jtny sarcasm or angry epithet ! I felt the im- 
 pulse to punish her in some frightful way, but 
 |;he had overtasked her strength, and again 
 jrrew faint. 
 
 I could not strike a helpless woman — so I 
 brought the camphor instead of the cudgel ; 
 nut she was obliged to lie down, and give up, 
 jbr the present, the hope of going home. 
 
 "Is it growing light?" she asked, after a 
 short time. 
 
 I took down the newspaper and looked through 
 the slats of the shutters ; the rain had ceased, a 
 rosy streak lay along the horizon, the black 
 mist in the garden began to lighten into gray. 
 By some chance, I bethought me to look at the 
 date of the paper — it was an evening New York 
 daily of the previous day ! 
 
 I seated myself at the table with pen, ink, and 
 paper. Miss Miller lay quite still, watching me. 
 Suddenly she asked : 
 
 "May I look at that bag? " 
 
 She referred to the one which had held the 
 money. Her question caused me to take it up 
 and examine it. It was of brown linen, more 
 like a lady's reticule than the canvas-bags 
 which are made for coin ; and in the top, just 
 under the hem, was worked in red letters, A. M. 
 It was soiled, and wore the print of money, 
 plainly showing that this was not the first time 
 it had served the purpose. 
 
 4 1 You can not look at the bag. I have taken 
 possession of it." 
 
 "Who are you writing to — the sheriff?" 
 
 I made no answer, but went on with my writ- 
 ing by the dimly burning lamp, feeling those 
 black eyes fixed on me with no loving glance. 
 Presently I was interrupted with — 
 
 " I meant to tell you, since you really feel so 
 badly about your cousin's loss of fortune, that 
 you hardly need bear such an onerous burden of 
 care any longer. She will soon marry Don 
 Miguel, who is able to replace what she lost, 
 five times over. ' ' 
 
 Perhaps she saw the blot made on my letter ; 
 if so, doubtless it gave her a malicious pleasure 
 in the midst of her pain. 
 
 The dawn was beginning to overpower the 
 waning lamp-light as I finished and folded the 
 sheet on which I had written. It read : 
 
 I told you, ■when I deserted name and fame, that it 
 was in order to keep free to -work for you. Probably 
 you did not believe me ; — I scarcely hoped you would. 
 Since then I bare never ceased to wait and watch. To- 
 night my investigations have culminated in the ar- 
 rest of the person who has made use of her knowledge 
 of these premises, as well as her chemical knowledge, 
 and familiarity with the laboratory, to coin the bullion 
 which was in the missing box, into money. 
 
 Whether the same person prepared the fatal draught 
 whish deprived you of your father, I have not positive- 
 ly discovered. You must draw your own inferences. 
 j She is familiar, as you know, with the nature and uses 
 of poisons. I came here at Christmas and found gold 
 in a crucible. Since then I have kept watch for the 
 coiner. To-night I heard her at the work, surprised 
 her as she came from the laboratory, and struck her 
 down, in the darkness, unknowing who it was. Had I 
 guessed that the offender was a woman, I should have 
 been less savage in my assault. 
 
 She laughs now, and declares that the cards are 
 still in her own hands. She will assert that I am the 
 guilty one, and that the discovered me. I quite expect 
 
76 
 
 THE FIGURE EIGHT. 
 
 that you will give her statement the preference. All 
 the proof I can offer in my own favor, is this paper, 
 and this bag, which held the money. Perhaps you will 
 recognize the bag as hers ; — the paper was pinned up 
 at the window. You can see that it came from the city 
 yesterday afternoon, and Gram'me Hooker will tell you 
 that I have not left this vicinity for over ten weeks. 
 
 I believe, too, that I will send this handkerchief. I 
 picked it up in this room, on the afternoon of my uncle's 
 death. It lay upon the floor, under the shelf contain- 
 ing poisons. You will observe that it has two holes 
 eaten in it by a drop of acid; 
 
 I did not show it to you, while I remained in the 
 family, for I did not like to shock you, and I had then 
 no other proof. Now, I know it to be my solemn duty 
 to warn you against one in whom you repose every 
 confidence. I leave the whole matter in your hands. 
 You can keep it secret, or expose it to those who will 
 assist you in compelling her to divulge where the re- 
 mainder of your father's fortune is. You can believe 
 me, or weakly submit to be farther deceived by one 
 who has preyed upon you without mercy. I hope that 
 the larger part of your inheritance will be restored to 
 you ; — also, that you will be happy, and prosperous, as 
 I hear there is every prospect of your being. Having 
 done all that I could for the restoration of the £old, I 
 leave it to you to command it. There is nothing more 
 for me to do, in your service, and so, farewell. 
 
 J. M. 
 
 A formal epistle, meet for the eye of Don 
 Miguel's betrothed. I had scarcely any hope 
 that Miss Miller would fail to smooth the whole 
 affair over to Lillian. I regretted, angrily, 
 that I had failed to secure a witness, which had 
 left me, still, so much at her mercy. I would 
 have given much if Gram'me Hooker had been 
 there, through the curious proceedings of that 
 night, to bear her testimony. 
 
 To remain longer in Meredith Place would be 
 unnecessary, for, of course, the coining would 
 never be repeated; and I suspected that the 
 box of gold would be delivered to my cousin, 
 either openly or surreptitiously. However, I 
 determined to make one more effort to render 
 the matter certain. I turned down the lamp, 
 flung open the shutter, and, as the gray morn- 
 ing light fell on the pallid face, I said, ab- 
 ruptly— 
 
 "You knew, then, from the beginning, the 
 mystery of the figure eight ? ' ' 
 
 " Before God, I do not, Joseph Meredith ! " 
 
 "Tell me where the box is." 
 
 " I do not know." 
 
 " Where did you get the gold? " 
 
 "Why should I tell you? You have no 
 right to it." 
 
 "If I promise to keep the matter perfectly 
 quiet, to conceal it, even from Lillian, allowing 
 you to make such excuse as you choose for your 
 broken arm, will you tell me where the box is ?' ' 
 
 "I told yOu that I do no* know. I have 
 looked for it, as earnestly as you, and have 
 never found it." 
 
 I turned away in disgust ; why could she not 
 content herself with simply denying my request, 
 without adding this falsehood to it ? 
 
 "Good bye forever," I said, turning a last 
 contemptuous look on the governess, as she 
 lay there, helpless. I could not but admire, 
 even then, the haughtiness, the dignity, which 
 never deserted her. 
 
 " She would die on the scaffold, like a queen 
 going to be crowned," I muttered, as I turned 
 the key, and locked her in. 
 
 I had previously folded a few squares of 
 white paper containing some harmless powders 
 of bi-carbonate of soda and powdered sugar, — 
 with these, the newspaper, letter, handkerchief, 
 and linen bag, I departed from Meredith Place ; 
 the gold I left lying on the table, as I had 
 turned it out. 
 
 Walking rapidly to Mrs. Hooker's, I found 
 her preparing breakfast. 
 
 "Give me a good, strong cup of coffee, 
 gram'me. I am about to set forth on the 
 journey of life to-day, and I shall need that to 
 sustain me. ' ' 
 
 " What do you mean, Doctor Joe ? Be you 
 ral'y goin' ?." 
 
 " Yes, quickly, and, I think, forever. Per- 
 haps I shall turn up in Minnesota before long, 
 and then you will hear from me through your 
 son," I added, as she began to cry. 
 
 "If you must go, do go there," she urged, 
 and I thought favorably of it myself ; though 
 my first anxiety was to get out of Hampton as 
 speedily as possible. 
 
 "And now, dear, good, kind gram'me, 
 good-bye," I said, as, having drank my coffee, 
 put a crust of bread in my pocket, and made up 
 my small bundle of linen and placed it in my 
 traveling-bag, I started on this new journey. 
 
 "If the world was a desert island, and I a 
 Kobinson Crusoe, just wrecked, I should not 
 feel half so desolate. Eemember, take this 
 package immediately, and deliver it into my 
 cousin's own hands. Be certain that she has it 
 within an hour. Give it to her yourself. Do 
 not allow any one else to act as messenger. 
 Here are the love-philters, too, for Inez. Don't 
 disappoint her ! If Arthur Miller only remains 
 over Sunday, they will have to do their work of 
 fascination speedily ! Again, farewell, and God 
 bless you !" 
 
 CHAPTER XTO. 
 
 THE TOWER CHAMBER. 
 
 The retired village of Hampton was changed, 
 in a season, into a fashionable resort. The 
 Chateaubriands had so faithfully praised it to 
 their friends during the winter, saying always 
 to those who wondersd 1 ' where they should go 
 next summer," to "ao as they expected to do, 
 go to Hampton," tljat when May came, all the 
 quiet old farmers were beseiged with applica- 
 tions for board, and what few houses were to ha 
 
THE FIGURE EIGHT. 
 
 T7 
 
 had, were rented to such "high-flyers" as had 
 never before graced these modest dwellings. 
 
 The one hotel-keeper, seeing that this was 
 "the tide, which, taken at its flood, leads on 
 to fortune," repaired the large, rambling shell 
 which went by the name of Hampton House, 
 re-papered, re-whitewashed, re-furnished, sent 
 to the city for a cook who could fry potatoes a 
 la Mountain House, laid in stores of young chick- 
 ens and fresh eggs, hired half-grown boys to 
 rifle the trout-streams, and set himself up in a 
 flourishing business with summer boarders. 
 I There were young men, now, to keep Don Mig- 
 uel company in fishing, hunting, and driving ; 
 for the Spanish gentleman had not yet returned 
 to Havana. He was waiting the pleasure of 
 his cousin, he said, who had not decided 
 whether she preferred the North or the South. 
 As for Inez, she hardly thought it prudent to 
 return to Cuba in the hot season, now that she 
 had become, in a measure, acclimated here. 
 
 Even if she had had no deeper reason for de- 
 siring to remain in Hampton, the prospect of 
 gayety was enough to bewitch her ; her cousin 
 was so popular and so admired, that the over- 
 flow of the attention he received quite deluged 
 her and Lillian. And, indeed, with some one 
 to dress her, indulge her, wait upon her, and 
 *' bring out her good points," she would have 
 been a belle anywhere. The fact of her having 
 been the bride of a few weeks and the widow of 
 a few months, only added to the interest felt in 
 the beautiful Cuban, the dark splendor of whose 
 eyes was supposed to borrow its deepest charm 
 from the pensive fall of eye-lashes which knew 
 well when to droop. Doubtless, it would have 
 put the finishing-touch to her attractions, if it 
 could have been announced that the mystery of 
 Meredith Place had been solved by a discovery 
 of the missing gold ; Don Miguel, who was as 
 worldly-wise as he was polite and fascinating, 
 smiling in his sleeve when certain elegant 
 youths, who hardly knew how to pay their 
 board-bills, endeavored to draw from him, . in 
 confidence, how much of a settlement he in- 
 tended to bestow on his favorite cousin. 
 
 The Chateaubriands were the leaders in all 
 in-door gayeties, as Don Miguel was in all out- 
 door excursions. 
 
 The young ladies commanded almost as many 
 followers as they could have done at Saratoga, 
 which, in these days, was the watering-place ; 
 and, for once, Miss Sophie, the younger, had 
 her full share of attention, for it was, by this 
 time, pretty well understood that the elder was 
 affianced to the young broker and lawyer who 
 came out every Saturday from the city, and re- 
 mained until Monday morning. 
 
 Yes, Bertha Chateaubriand, in the midst of 
 
 picnics, rides, drives, and evening reunions, had 
 to take time to prepare her trousseau, as her 
 wedding-day was set for the 20th of July, after 
 which a six- weeks bridal tour was to follow. 
 
 Her parents had consented to her marrying 
 Mr. Miller, seeing that she obstinately declared 
 her purpose to do so, with or without their 
 consent ; but they were far from satisfied 
 with the alliance. They had expected their 
 eldest and handsomest daughter would make a 
 more brilliant match — some foreign diplomat, 
 or leading politician among our own distin- 
 guished men, being the least to which they had 
 aspired, Mr. Chateaubriand having quite inti- 
 mate relations with great people in public life, 
 and being more ambitious for power than 
 money. It was a disappointment of very an- 
 noying character to find that Bertha preferred 
 this unknown lawyer, whose sister actually 
 earned her own living ; but, the family had 
 been wealthy in Miss Miller's younger days ; 
 they liked her, and Arthur evidently was ac- 
 quiring money — he appeared well at a dinner- 
 party, or in the waltz — would sometime be a 
 wealthy old broker, as his expected father-in- 
 law was before him, and with this they were 
 obliged to be content. Having once yielded, 
 they had the good sense to refrain from irritat- 
 ing Miss Bertha with complaints or sarcasms, 
 and furnished money for the trousseau almost as 
 liberally as if her fiancee had been a member 
 of the French Legation, or a German count. 
 
 It might be thought that Arthur Miller would 
 have preferred the Chateaubriands to have 
 taken almost any other than Meredith Place, 
 where he had once desperately flirted with Inez, 
 if not with Lillian also, and where he would 
 have to meet, continually, the fiery and jealous 
 gaze of the Cuban. But, for reasons of his own, 
 he was well satisfied. * 
 
 Everything went merry as a marriage-bell. 
 Inez had plenty of cavaliers, and, if she cherished 
 resentment or revenge, she hid it, for the pres- 
 ent, deep in her heart. She and Sophie Chateau- 
 briand grew to be great friends, and were to- 
 gether almost daily and hourly. Acpording to 
 Sophie, Inez was one of the most childish, art- 
 less, and exquisitely delightful beings that ever 
 lived — a little pettish and exacting, flying in a 
 passion to get over it in a minute : but even 
 this high temper was one of her charms — she 
 indulged it in such an open, infantile way. 
 
 Sophie bore it with the utmost sang froid, 
 when Bertha, whose choice was already made, 
 remarked, pungently, that it was plain the 
 lady was only a faint reflection of the perfec- 
 tions of her cousin, Don Miguel de Almeda. 
 
 "I don't deny it," laughed Sophie, going to 
 the great mirror of the boudoir where they sat 
 
78 
 
 THE FIGURE EIGHT. 
 
 — the little east chamber which had once been 
 Lillian's — and drawing her pale, flaxen ringlets 
 through her fingers out to their full length, 
 while she studied the contour of her slender 
 figure, the poise of her head, the turn of her 
 nose, and the shade of color in her blue eyes — 
 " that if I were as handsome as you, Bertha, I 
 should make a tremendous effort to conquer the 
 Don. You must acknowledge he's far superior 
 to Arthur. Wouldn't mamma's eyes dance, if 
 I could bring that splendid cavalier to her feet 
 as a suitor for her second daughter's hand !" 
 
 " Why don't you set yourself seriously to the 
 work, then?" queried Bertha. "Papa would 
 be pleased to have a live Don in the family. 
 He has never been fully Americanized — papa 
 has not. The noble blood of his French father 
 still runs in his veins too freely to allow of his 
 being a good republican. Catch the Don, 
 Sophie, and make him happy for life." 
 
 "Who?— the Don, or papa?" 
 
 " Both, if you can. Why not? Don Miguel 
 is remarkably good-tempered, for a Spaniard. 
 If I had not been already promised to my dear 
 Arthur, I'm not certain what the effect would 
 have been upon me, of his magnificent manners, 
 dress, and all that. Dazzling, I dare say !" 
 
 "It's fortunate I'm not so impressible, since 
 the current report in Hampton is, that he is a 
 perfect slave to Lillian Meredith. I'm not 
 beautiful enough to engage in a rivalry with 
 her." 
 
 " Nonsense 1 You've grown very modest all 
 at once. Your style is the same as hers — a 
 blonde, blue eyes, light hair, rosy cheeks; and 
 certainly you have every advantage of dress, 
 air, and manner, as well as your father's po- 
 sition in society." 
 
 " Advantage of dress I acknowledge, and of 
 family — that is, of money, for I believe Dr. 
 Meredith was a gentleman, and a man of talent ; 
 for the rest, I give up, without competing. I've 
 tried to find fault with her, and I can not, and 
 what more can a rival say than that ? How- 
 ever, don't think I utterly despair. Inez con- 
 fides to me that Lillian has refused Don Miguel — 
 would you believe it ? She tells him that her 
 spirits are so broken by the tragedy of her 
 father's death, that she would not be such a 
 wife as he deserves — that she can not even 
 think of love, as yet ; that she never expects to 
 marry ! Did you ever ? Throws away this 
 brilliant opportunity — probably her only one — 
 and clings to that tiresome little school ! I 
 hardly know what to make of her ! — though 
 I'm much obliged to her, I'm sure, for refusing 
 the Don. It seems he is not greatly discouraged 
 by her coyness, as he persists in waiting until 
 she has changed her mind. ' ' 
 
 "In the meantime, do your best, my love, 
 to make him change his mind. It would be 
 such a balm to the wound I have inflicted on 
 the family pride!" And the beauty went on 
 with her interesting task of basting a piece oi| 
 yellow Chateaubriand lace around the neck of a 
 salmon-colored satin evening dress, whose tint J 8 
 was scarcely deeper than that of the lace. 
 
 Sophie turned from the mirror, and threw fj 
 herself indolently into her favorite seat — the 
 low and deep embrasure of the window, close al 
 beside which, on the outside, rose the tower 
 which gave to Meredith Place its distinguishing p 
 feature of dignity. The house was one of those K 
 to which such an adjunct was not inappropriate, 
 being built of solid blocks of smooth gray ^ 
 stone, and the tower rising out of its eastern 
 and northern angle, clothed from head to 
 foot with the glorious old Irish ivy, whose *[ 
 dark green leaves glistened in the June sun- 
 light. 
 
 A joy forever that ivy had been in the eyes 
 of Lillian, from her babyhood up, and hex 111 
 wistful gaze turned often towards it now in the 
 days of her exile. Perhaps Sophie felt some ol ^ 
 the weird, magnetic influence of the place — for, 1 
 as she sat in the window, gazing out at the 
 tower, and breathing the breath of the rosee 
 which swung at her own casement, her face 1 
 took on an awed expression, and she spoke, aftei " 
 a time: 
 
 " Bertha, do you know sometimes I feelj 
 afraid in this solemn old house ! All tbe ! ^ 
 neighbors hold to the unshaken belief that it is 0 
 haunted ; every old farmer will have a story to ' 
 tell you about it. They say the doctor's spirit ' 
 is wandering about it, searching for his losi c 
 gold ; some think that nephew who murdered 1 
 him is still lurking about, living in caves, oi 
 dens, or what not, and that he visits the place : 
 whenever he dares. Ugh ! the very thought 
 makes me shiver ! Fancy that demoniac young 1 
 man coming in at windows of nights, and look- 
 ing at us as we sleep ! I'm certain, Bertha— 1 
 certain, that some one was in that queer room thej 
 call the laboratory last Saturday night ! I saJ ; 
 up reading a novel until very late, and I weni 
 to the dining-room for a glass of ice-water— ( 
 about two o'clock, it must have been — and 1 
 heard a noise in there — a curious noise, whici 1 
 I could hardly explain ; it sounded like souk 
 mysterious miser counting out his money !" 
 
 " Nonsense ! You had been reading a ghost- 
 story, I suppose." 
 
 * "No: nothing worse than Jane Eyre. 3 
 did hear something, as truly as I see yot 
 now!" 
 
 "Mice running amongst the bottles, I sup 
 pose." 
 
THE FIGURE EIGHT. 
 
 79 
 
 " Perhaps; but I don't think it. It had a 
 very supernatural sound, I assure you. By the 
 way, you and Arthur keep very late hours. ' ' 
 
 "Do you call eleven o'clock 'late hours'?" 
 
 " Oh, no, puss ; but I happen to know better 
 than that. I heard some one pass, in the up- 
 per hall, while I was undressing, and I was so 
 nervous about our being haunted, that I screwed 
 my courage to the sticking-point, and peeped 
 out, just in time to see Arthur close his room 
 door. It was half-past two by my watch." 
 
 "Well, I don't know what he may have 
 done, but mamma sent me to bed at eleven. 
 Perhaps he, too, had a copy of that fascinating 
 Jane Eyre. I have heard of its keeping several 
 people up until the ' wee sma' hours.' " 
 
 There was a pause, while Bertha finished off 
 the neck of the dress and turned her attention 
 to the sleeves. Then the younger, whose 
 thoughts had run on in the same channel, 
 resumed : 
 
 " Inez often talks with me about the Doctor's 
 missing money. She firmly believes that it is 
 still somewhere about this house or garden ; for 
 she says her husband himself secreted it the 
 night before his death." 
 
 " Oh, all the world knows that the theory is, 
 that he was followed by his nephew, who saw 
 where the box was placed, and then resolved 
 to get his uncle out of the way, that he alone 
 might enjoy the concealed riches." 
 
 " Yes, I know it. But still Inez persists in 
 believing that he did not succeed in getting 
 off with the gold. She says he could hardly 
 have escaped detection had he carried so much 
 with him. Perhaps he is still keeping watch 
 over it, awaiting an opportunity to convey it 
 away." 
 
 " They have searched everywhere, even to 
 digging up every foot of the garden." 
 
 " I know it. Still, who knows but what we 
 may stumble over it sometime ? Inez is always 
 looking. I have a fancy now, that it is in the 
 very top of that tower !" 
 
 "Do be quiet, Sophie. You make me 
 nervous." 
 
 "Here comes Inez. I was just saying, my 
 dark-eyed darling, that perhaps your fortune 
 lay concealed in some cobwebby nook in this 
 old tower." 
 
 " Oh, every beam and rafter has been inves- 
 tigated long ago,— the loose boards of the 
 garret-floor all lifted. No, no, it's not there ! 
 I wish I could find it. I'm tired of being poor ! ' ' 
 
 " You do seem rather poverty-stricken," re- 
 marked Bertha, scanning with laughing eyes 
 Inez' costly morning-robe, and the jewels 
 which she wore, with southern taste, by day as 
 well as evening." 
 
 "My cousin is generous enough; he can 
 afford to give me what I want. But that is not 
 all one wants money for, — to buy clothes !" 
 
 " To buy a husband is it, then ?" Bertha was 
 on the point of saying, when prudence as well 
 as delicacy checked her ; she had heard that 
 her own promised husband had been not insen- 
 sible to the lady's attractions ; and as she now 
 glanced up she met a strange look in the black 
 eyes. 
 
 " I wonder if she is jealous," she thought, as 
 her own eyes fell. ' 4 Arthur told me that she 
 was, but that he had never given her any reason 
 to be, — that it was her natural state of feeling 
 towards all women save herself." 
 
 " Why do you wear amber?" cried Inez, the 
 next moment, as if no more important thought 
 ever crossed her mind, with a disdainful exami- 
 nation of the satin dress. ' ' Do you not know 
 that it is a color for brunettes ? — my color?" 
 
 "It is becoming to brunettes, and not un- 
 becoming to dark-haired blondes, like me. Ar- 
 thur likes it, and that settles the matter." 
 
 " He likes it, does he ?" murmured Inez. 
 
 " Yes. This belongs to my trousseau. I shall 
 not wear it until after the 'important occa- 
 sion !' " 
 
 "That will be—" 
 
 " The twentieth of next month." 
 
 "And this is — " 
 
 "The twentieth of June. Ah me! Time 
 flies too quickly !" 
 
 "Yes it does," assented Inez, "but a great 
 deal can be accomplished in a month, after all." 
 
 If her tone was significant, the two girls did 
 not notice it. Arthur Miller might have re- 
 marked it, had he been present ; for he never 
 felt quite at ease about the Spanish woman, with 
 whose passionate nature he was only too well 
 acquainted. It is true she had made the first 
 advances, since advances can be made by a look 
 as well as a word ; but he knew that she was 
 very young, and a creature of untrained impulses, 
 and that nothing could justify his trifling with 
 her as he had done. 
 
 If any one could have seen into the heart of 
 the young man, he would have discovered that 
 his fancy and his imagination still were held 
 captive by the willful, spirited Cuban ; that it 
 was only the preponderance of Bertha's sub- 
 stantial charms which had outweighed her in 
 the balance ; but, as his love, either way, and at 
 the best, is not worth mentioning as a motivo 
 power, we will let it pass for what it is worth. 
 
 Women will love such men just as devotedly 
 as those of deeper natures, and prize their poor, 
 selfish preferences just as highly ; and Inez felt- 
 as bitterly, as humiliated, as revengeful about 
 the desertion of this insincere and shallow man 
 
80 
 
 THE FIGURE EIGHT. 
 
 as if his heart had been something worth 
 retaining. 
 
 " You have not told me if I am to be one of 
 the bridesmaids, ' ' she said, presently. 
 
 "But you have been married; it would 
 scarcely be en regie.' 1 
 
 " No one will think of that, I am so young 
 yet. Sophie and I will make such a fine con- 
 trast. If you say 1 yes, ' it must be in time for 
 me to order a suitable dress. ' ' 
 
 1 ' Oh, do consent, Bertha ! i" should like it 
 extremely ; and, as Inez says, no one will think, 
 at the time. We must have Lillian, too— she 
 is so lovely ! — and one more. Who shall it 
 be?" 
 
 "I don't care," answered the bride-elect, 
 indifferently; "only, I trust it will not be 
 ominous to have a widow among the brides- 
 maids. ' ' 
 
 Again that light quivering out of Inez' eyes. 
 
 " Inez, supposing we go up in the tower-room. 
 I've not been there since the first week we came 
 out. The view is beautiful. I mean to have a 
 carpet put down, and my painting and embroi- 
 dery carried up there. Then I can sit there the 
 long summer afternoons, and imagine myself 
 the Lady of Shalott, or the betrothed of a 
 troubadour who has gone to the wars. ' ' 
 
 " Better be securing some nice hona-fide beau, J 
 and leave off dreaming of troubadours, ' ' called 
 Bertha, as the two went away, linked arm 
 in arm, in search of the narrow, dusty stair- 
 way leading up to the "tower-room," a small, 
 square chamber, unfurnished, save by an old 
 map of Meredith Place, made by the surveyor 
 of the first purchase, and hung in the tower for 
 safe-keeping and reference — this old map, a 
 wooden settle, where those who climbed here 
 for the view, might rest themselves — and a store 
 of old magazines and papers, which Lillian 
 Meredith had brought here, probably, from 
 <ame to time, to read and muse over. 
 
 "Some one comes here, if we do not," re- 
 marked Sophie, as they held up their delicate 
 dresses from the dusty stairs; "here are the 
 prints of a man's boots, going up and coming 
 down, more than once. Possibly some of our 
 visitors have discovered the beauties of this lo- 
 cation. Oh, how entrancing ! clouds and blue 
 ether above us ! this beautiful country below ! 
 I'm in love with this room ! absolutely in love 
 with it. I mean to live and die here. But 
 first, I must have it cleared out ! Betty shall 
 attend to it this very day. And to-morrow I 
 shall bring my things here, and take up my 
 residence." 
 
 " You don't mean to sleep here?" inquired 
 Inez, with a shudder. " I wouldn't stay here 
 alone for all the world." 
 
 "I'm not as superstitious as you, little dar- 
 ling. Still, I don' t know that I care to sleep 
 here. I oan enjoy enough of my tower by day- 
 light and sunset, I dare say. Ah, how splendid 
 the sunset must be up here! Now, Bertha 
 hasn't a particle of romance in her nature. But 
 I am full of it, trifling as I appear. I could be 
 happy here weeks at a time, without the ex- 
 citement of any society. I do wish papa would 
 buy Meredith Place, and make it our home al- 
 together, in the summer season. I must coax 
 him to do so. What does this yellow old map 
 say ? two hundred and eighty acres, — and here 
 it is, marked out, hill and dale, meadow and 
 upland, forests and cleared fields; this pretty 
 trout-brook where we took the gentleman the 
 other day, you remember, and your cousin 
 caught a trout on a hook made of a pin. I 
 wonder if we can see it from the tower ! Yes, 
 there it is, glimmering a moment out of its 
 shadow in that field by the wood : 
 
 * I wind about, and in and out, 
 With here a blossom sailing, 
 And here and there a lusty trout, 
 And here and there a grayling.' 
 Isn't it perfect, Inez ?" 
 
 "What?" queried her companion, with in- 
 difference, — "the brook? I suppose so. But, 
 I don't care for such things. I wish Meredith 
 j Place was mine — as it should be — as it ought to 
 be" — her voice rising with excitement as she 
 thought of it ; "I would gladly sell it to your 
 father, and see no more of it. I don't like the 
 country, and I don't like this place. We were 
 so unhappy here, " she explained, "Lillian and 
 I. And then to be robbed, as we were. ' ' 
 
 " You have had a great deal of trouble," re- 
 plied Sophie, soothingly. 4 ' It must have been 
 so hard for you two young girls to be left help- 
 less. I can not imagine what I would do with- 
 out papa, and without any money. I suppose 
 I should have to teach school, as Miss Meredith 
 does ; but, oh, dear, I should pity my pupils ! 
 I suppose Miss Miller was a great comfort to 
 you, in your first desolation." 
 " No, not to me. I detest her !" 
 " Why, is it possible ? We all think so much 
 of her." 
 
 "I beg your pardon, Sophie. I forgot that 
 her brother was to marry your sister. Lillian 
 thinks the world of her ; but I never did. She 
 was jealous of me when I first came here ; I 
 could guess that she did not like my marrying 
 the doctor, but you must not mention it, please, 
 Sophie. Her eyes look straight through any 
 one. I never like to meet them. If you really 
 like Meredith Place so much, you must make 
 yourself agreeable to Miguel. He tells me he is 
 negotiating for it, himself. I do believe he iu- 
 tends giving it back to Lillian, whether she 
 
THE FIGURE EIGHT. 
 
 81 
 
 marries Mm or not. He need not "buy it on my 
 account, as I told him, for I would never live 
 here again. 
 
 I wish Miguel would marry you instead of 
 Lily ; then I might be induced to visit her oc- 
 casionally. I suppose, in that case, you would 
 spend your summers here." 
 
 "How ridiculous!" cried her friend, blush- 
 ing, " to he speaking of such things, when he 
 has never thought of me. You speak, too, as 
 if Don Miguel had only to choose in order to be 
 chosen." 
 
 " Well, Sophie, you couldn't help loving him. 
 you know, if he should try to make you ! There 
 are not many men like my cousin. ' ' 
 
 Sophie said nothing ; but there was a shadow 
 on her fair face, as the two turned and went 
 down the staircase. Frivolous as their mode of 
 life naturally made her, she had more real feel- 
 ing than three such girls as Bertha, and it is 
 not impossible that she admired Don Miguel 
 more than was consistent with her happiness. 
 However, she was by no means one of the de- 
 sponding and melancholy kind ; her interest, 
 at present, fixed itself on the tower-chamber, 
 and she gave the household no peace, until 
 Betty had swept down the cobwebs, laid a car- 
 pet on the floor, scoured the stairs, and carried 
 up a little table to hold her water-color paints 
 and work-basket. Then, with the ivy curtain- 
 ing the narrow and lofty windows, and the 
 June breezes wandering up from the beds of 
 roses below, Sophie declared it the region mid- 
 way between heaven and earth where she most 
 delighted to dwell, and made every one come 
 up and acknowledge how charming it was. 
 
 She was not tired of talking of her tower- 
 chamber, when Saturday evening came, and 
 with it Arthur Miller, as usual, to spend Sun- 
 day with his betrothed. There were half a 
 dozen other guests about the tea-table, eating 
 strawberries and cream to their hearts' content, 
 when Sophie, sitting opposite Arthur, suddenly 
 exclaimed in her animated way : 
 
 "I have not told you yet, of my great dis- 
 covery. ' ' 
 
 'What is that?" he asked, with his plea- 
 santest smile. 
 
 " Of the tower-chamber !" 
 His spoon fell crushing into his plate, causing 
 *11 eyes to turn in his direction. His face was 
 pal 3 and his hand trembled, but he laughed, 
 constrainedly, as he said "he believed he had 
 bad something resembling a sunstroke, as he 
 walked down to the cars, and he did not feel 
 ust right yet." Bertha wanted to be anxious 
 ibout him, but he assured her the tea would be 
 the best remedy, and when the attention he had 
 attracted was again diverted, he said to Sophie : 
 
 " "What about the tower — anything new?" 
 "Oh, no, nothing new — only we never dis- 
 covered it before." 
 1 ' Discovered what f ' 
 
 ""Why, how charming it is up there, of 
 course. I shall no lunger give it over to spi- 
 ders and bats. I have had the chamber fur- 
 j bished and furnished, and have taken posses- 
 sion in my own name, by right of discovery. I 
 ! call it ' The Lady's Bower.' " 
 "Is that all?" 
 
 "I should say it was enough. Did you ex- 
 I pect there was another continent to be di- 
 ' vulged ? Since you speak so slightingly of my 
 j bower, your punishment shall be to ascend and 
 : explore it immediately after tea. It is then in 
 all its glory. ' ' 
 
 " Arthur is fatigued. Do let the bower rest 
 until to-morrow." Bertha was a little impa- 
 tient. 
 
 " By no means, ' ' said Arthur, quickly. ' ' I 
 should like nothing better than to explore it 
 this very evening. I have been up once or twice 
 when the doctor" s family was here. The view 
 is very fine, if I remember aright." 
 
 And as soon . as they left the table he re- 
 minded Sophie of her promise, and the two 
 went up to the tower, just then illumined with 
 the roseate reflections of a summer sunset. 
 
 " It is, indeed, charming. I can not too much 
 admire your discrimination, little sister. Oh, 
 dear ! here is the old map of the original es- 
 tate — quite a curiosity ! Don't disturb that, 
 Miss Sophie ; it may be of importance to pur- 
 chasers sometimes. ' ' 
 
 '• Oh, no ! I shall not meddle with the map," 
 said his companion, and after that, although he 
 was warm in praise of her bower, he seemed 
 ready to forsake it for the company of the young 
 lady who awaited him below, and Sophie was 
 left to a twilight reverie in her tower-chamber. 
 
 CHAPTER XYHT. 
 
 A FEW THREADS. 
 
 Miss Miller sat in the little low chamber of 
 Lillian's house which she had occupied since 
 the day of the accident, which had disabled her 
 from returning to the city for such a length of 
 time that she decided to have Lillian write to 
 Mrs. Chateaubriand to procure another govern- 
 ess, her engagement coming to a close in a few 
 weeks, at best. 
 
 It was now the first of July, and a period of 
 rest to be enjoyed; to her, from physical pain, 
 to Lillian, from the cares of her school — this 
 being the first day of the summer vacation. Miss 
 Miller leaned back in her arm-chair, looking 
 idly out of the window and listening to a mur- 
 mur of voices coming up from the parlor he- 
 
82 
 
 THE FIGURE EIGHT. 
 
 neath; she could distinguish nothing that was 
 said, and did not try to ; but she knew who 
 were there, and the probable topic of their con- 
 versation. Her face, paler and thinner than its 
 wont, bore the look of mental trouble. Bodily- 
 suffering might bring pallor and loss of flesh, 
 but it had not here, for the woman's courage 
 was great, and her splendid physique enabled 
 her to bear the pain of a broken arm without 
 flinching; that was not what had changed her 
 and given that settled contraction to the black 
 brows and drawn lines about the firm mouth. 
 The low fever which had kept her a prisoner from 
 April until July was entirely a mental malady. 
 
 There had been no gossip whatever in the 
 village about the accident. When Lillian re- 
 ceived my messages by Gram'me Hooker, she 
 had gone alone to Meredith Place, unlocked 
 the door whose key I had left on the outside, 
 sat down by the bed where her friend lay look- 
 ing up at her with defiant eyes, asked and re- 
 ceived an explanation. 
 
 Whatever that explanation was, it was of a 
 character not to entirely break the existing 
 friendship; when the two had had 44 their talk 
 out," Miss Meredith called gram'me and sent 
 her to the hotel, with a penciled message to 
 Arthur Miller to come, quietly, with a carriage, 
 for his sister had been injured by a fall at the 
 old house, and needed assistance to return to 
 her (Lillian's) home. 
 
 Arthur had responded speedily to the call. 
 He must have been very much alarmed, for he 
 was trembling visibly, and was whiter than his 
 sister when he came into the laboratory. 
 
 1 4 Good heavens, Annie ! What — how — ' ' 
 
 "Never mind the what or how, Arthur. I 
 fell and broke my arm. A physician has al- 
 ready set it. What I want of you is to convey 
 .me home before the neighbors get a hint of 
 what has occurred and come crowding in." 
 
 He gave a sharp glance about the room. Lil- 
 lian, at Miss Miller's request, had previously 
 .gathered up the money in the bag and placed 
 M, in a little basket on her arm, yielding to the 
 former's suggestion to keep matters quiet by 
 concealing from the public what had been dis- 
 covered. 
 
 il You must have been out early," remarked 
 Arthur, when his survey was completed, ' 1 Was 
 Miss Meredith with you? — and how did you 
 contrive to fall in that awkward style ?" 
 
 " I was out early; Lillian was not with me; 
 and you know I am always awkward. I don't 
 feel much like indulging in long explanations." 
 
 Something in her tone brought the blood into 
 ,hkf ace, which was now as red as it had been pale. 
 
 " I am glad you are hurt no worse, Annie," 
 ise said, after an instant's hesitation; and for 
 
 once in his life there did really seem to be 
 touch of genuine feeling in his tones. 44 M 
 state of mind was not enviable when I receive j 
 the message, not knowing how serious the acc 
 dent might have been." 
 
 And, indeed, he still looked haggard. 
 
 4 4 1 have the easiest carriage I could get t 
 the livery. Come, sis, shall I help you up nov : 
 And who set your broken arm? — has old Doct< j 
 Smith been here ?' ' 
 
 44 Never mind about the doctor. It is se 
 and that suffices. Now." 
 
 She walked firmly .enough to the carriag 
 but its motion, as they drove over the coin; 
 try-road, was a pretty severe trial; and whf 
 they helped her out at the cottage, she w; 
 quite ready to go to bed. 
 
 That night she insisted on her brother sta; 
 ing with her, and lying on the couch in h< 
 chamber, saying that she was feverish at 
 should want occasional attention, and that Ll< s 
 should not be broken of her rest; — Sabbal 
 night the same, it would be time enough f»j i 
 Lillian to take her turn when Arthur was r 
 longer there. He had submitted quite meekl; ] 
 and, altogether, was so attentive to his siste' i 
 so obedient to her caprices, so really anxioi, it 
 about her, as to rise considerably in Lillian's e, ' 
 teem, who usually had small respect for him. 1 1 
 
 Inez could hardly feel sorry at Miss Miller i k 
 sufferings— she was thereby given so fine an o;j p 
 portunity for trying the charms with which tl p 
 old woman of the forest had supplied her; an< jii 
 whether the spell worked, or whether it we: I ril 
 simply that the black eyes were present and tl k 
 blue ones absent, Arthur was at her feet as 3 B 
 the days before he met Bertha, begging fcj b 
 Spanish songs, and smiling to see the light glo i 
 in those wonderful, lustrous eyes. 
 
 But the greatest change which the events 
 the last two days had worked was in the mil! r 
 of Lillian Meredith. Any one, knowing b " 
 well, as Miss Miller did, would have said th 
 she had found relief from some pressing ar| k 
 constant care. It could not have been the a) jty 
 quisition of the thousand dollars which hej 
 come so strangely into her possession, whi( i 
 thus lightened her steps and brightened h e 
 eyes. What Miss Miller had told her, on 
 themselves knew. My letter could not hal S 
 had the effect I desired, since her governess st! ■ 
 was her dear friend, and no viper, as I had il I 
 formed her she ought to consider her. Had f. 
 been where I could have observed the effect j i 
 should have told myself that the consumma 
 art of that woman had carried her safely throuj 
 this disaster, and left me lower sunken thii h 
 ever in the opinion of the only person on ear I 
 for whose opinion I cared. 
 
THE FIGURE EIGHT. 
 
 S3 
 
 But I was far away from there at length, con- 
 sidering that my intermeddling had accom- 
 plished all it ever would ; and as Gram' me 
 Hooker's education had never reached to the 
 height of inditing and directing a letter without 
 assistance, and as I had forgotten to arrange 
 with her to address me under an assumed name, 
 I was entirely without means of knowing how 
 the story of life was unfolding, leaf hy leaf, at 
 Meredith Place. 
 
 Unfolding, rosily enough, under the apple- 
 blossoms of May and the flowery bowers of June, 
 is far as any human eye might read. For, as 
 has been written, there was an unusual amount 
 3f gayety; youth, leisure, and wealth, held high 
 holiday, not only at the old mansion, but 
 ill around the pleasant village. It was to be 
 Gaken for granted that the bride elect was kap- 
 3y; Sophie had her beaux and Inez her cava- 
 j iers, while Lillian was followed by Don Miguel 
 is by a shadow. 
 ii And now, as said at the beginning of this 
 : mapter, summer had come, bringing with it 
 : ;he beginning of a holiday for Lillian. 
 1 Miss Miller sat, thmking and listening, 
 t riiile the murmur of voices went on below, 
 a Lt last, her thoughts over-ran her lips : 
 e " I do pray that she will decide in his favor. 
 . f she accepts him, this dark, dark night of 
 i Loubt and sin will begin to break. If she re- 
 el uses him, what is there for any of us but suf- 
 $ ering, suffering, disgrace ! Ah, me ! if I could 
 u [uiet the voice of conscience — as I can, as I 
 ? rill, if she marries the Don. She will be rich, 
 ■jhen, rich and happy ; hers will be a brilliant 
 fijiestiny, and I need mar no other to make 
 f iers." 
 
 lo4 Again she relapsed into reverie, until the 
 ound of a hasty step, of some one going out 
 l{ he little gate, startled her, and she leaned 
 2-prward eagerly — 
 
 \s "He has gone ! She has refused him ! ' ' 
 h "You are the picture of despair," cried Lil- 
 ian, breaking into her room. "What has 
 .^.appened to give you such a desperate ex- 
 pression?" 
 
 ■jj Her own face was flushed and the tear on 
 ^er cheek was not dry. 
 
 ij ' ' It is you who must tell me that, child. You 
 new my heart was set on your accepting 
 'on Miguel, and you have refused him. I 
 in tell it by the manner of his leaving the 
 ,j ouse. And of course he will never speak to 
 ou again. This is the third time." 
 "He should not have persisted." 
 "0, Lily, he loves you so, and is in every 
 4fay a gentleman. I do not know what you 
 it in be thinking of, to throw away such an op- 
 ortunity." 
 
 I ' 1 Opportunity, for what ?" 
 " Getting settled in life." 
 
 "So a husband is only to be viewed as a 
 : means of getting settled for life ! Now, I 
 ! thought you had more enthusiastic views, my 
 ; dear friend. And as for the settlement— are 
 
 not we, you and I, settled for life ? I thought 
 
 you liked it as much as I." 
 j ' ' You dear, heroic darling ! do you suppose 
 
 I I wish to devote you, in your youth and 
 j beauty, to the same shrine upon which I was 
 
 sacrificed? If you can do no better, stay with 
 your old friend. But, here is a vista of splen- 
 dor opens before you ; even your vivid imagi- 
 nation could never have pictured anything 
 better. I need not go over the list of the Don's 
 good qualities; he loves you sincerely, wants 
 
 j you for his wife, and you strangely refuse him. 
 
 j Lillian, what is the matter with you?" 
 
 The pure blue eyes met the stormy, troubled 
 ones of her friend. 
 
 "I do not love him, — that is all. He is a 
 foreigner ; our tastes and habits are not in 
 sympathy. I admire him more than any man 
 I ever met ; but I do not love him — never 
 shall. I do not care for the gay life he leads. 
 My native woods and country walks are dear to 
 me. I love this village, and I love you, Miss 
 Miller, and wish to spend my life with you. 
 I thought we should 'live happily ever after,' 
 as they say in novels, and here you are doing 
 your best to drive me away from you." 
 
 "There's an obstinate grain in your temper, 
 Lillian." 
 
 " Perhaps there is. If so, I ought to be glad 
 of it ; for surely I shall need a mind of my 
 own, since I have my own way to make in the 
 world." 
 
 " But, you need not make your way; another 
 stands ready to care for you, and that is what I 
 desire to see done." 
 
 " Please, say no more about it," pleaded the 
 young girl, kissing the other's cheek; "I'm 
 wearied out with my argument with him. He 
 is not as mild as an angel, I assure you; 
 though he has far, far more self-control than 
 Inez. He went away deeply offended, despite 
 of the tear with which I asked him to forgive 
 me ; but if anger will make his disappointment 
 any easier to bear, I shall not be sorry. I sup- 
 pose he will leave Hampton, taking his cousin 
 with him, as soon as the wedding is over. It 
 is only three weeks until then, and I believe 
 Inez will wish to remain. ' ' 
 
 ' 1 Since you persist in this folly of throwing 
 away all that is joyous and bright in your 
 young life, I must say that the sooner those 
 two go away the better. I would give much to 
 have Inez away from here before the marriage. ' ' 
 
84 
 
 THE FIGUKE EIGHT. 
 
 "Why?" 
 
 "To tell yon the truth, I am afraid of a 
 scene. She imagines yet that she has an inter- 
 est in Arthur." 
 
 "I hope you are mistaken, Miss Miller. She 
 has seemed very happy, lately, — entirely taken 
 up with her engagements to pleasure-parties 
 and in planning her dress for the coming 
 occasion. ' ' 
 
 "Inez is not what you think her, child; I 
 am glad she is going away from you." 
 
 The tears welled into Lillian's eyes. 
 
 "She has "been rather of a trial, in some re- 
 spects, I acknowledge, — hut, after all, she was 
 my father's wife." 
 
 A shudder which she could not repress ran 
 through Miss Miller's frame. 
 
 4 ' She was — she was, Lily — that is the worst 
 of it!" 
 
 4 4 Do you think her so bad, then ?' ' 
 
 " Totally unfit to have been his wife. She 
 is good enough for Arthur, though. I wish he 
 had married her !' ' 
 
 " Why, what is the matter with you, this af- 
 ternoon ? I thought Arthur was the apple of 
 your eye. I shall believe you are a little in- 
 sane, you talk so at random." 
 
 "Don't say that!" with a horrified air; 
 4 4 you may be touching very near the truth. 
 Sometimes I think I am losing my reason. 
 What would you think, Lillian, of a woman 
 thirty-five years of age, of keen intellect and 
 good moral cultivation, who could not tell right 
 from wrong ?" 
 
 " Could not tell right from wrong ?" 
 
 "Yes, if the plainest question of right was 
 put to her, she distorted it, twisted it to suit a 
 glaring wrong, — wouldn't you say that her 
 mind must be diseased ?" 
 
 Lillian looked up into the deep, dark eyes, 
 whose troubled gaze turned away from hers, 
 wondering at the anxious, wrinkled brow, and 
 the sad voice. 
 
 "I don't know what you are talking about, 
 Miss Miller ; but this I know, your mind is 
 sound as a judge's ought to be, and your 
 heart — is only too tender to a clinging orphan, 
 who has no other friend," — and she laid her 
 head on the other's knee, who made a move- 
 ment as if to push it away, but restiained her- 
 self. 
 
 Neither spoke, for some time, then Miss 
 Miller repeated: 
 
 "I wish you would recall Don Miguel." 
 " I 'can not." 
 
 " If I could see you happily married to him, 
 I believe my perplexities would be at an end. ' ' 
 
 "You are as bad as some match-making 
 mammas." 
 
 " Yes, I suppose so. I want you to do wel 
 my child, in a worldly sense, — to see you i 
 possession of at least as much fortune as yc 
 would have had had Dr. Meredith lived. Thi 
 would content me, I think," with a sigh. 
 
 4 ' And / think the sooner we return to a 
 ordinary state of existence the sooner we sha 
 be content. We will regard Don Miguel, her 
 after, as a brilliant meteor flashing across oi 
 Northern sky ; now we must be satisfied wit 
 the 4 cold light of stars. ' ' ' 
 
 "Well, Lillian, I can only say that you ha^ 
 disappointed me, and made great trouble, 
 you only could V ' 
 
 44 But I coidd not, Miss Miller; and I don't lil 
 to feel that I am making trouble, or being o' 
 stinate. Perhaps you do not care to have me 
 live with you. Perhaps you are tired of me. ' 
 
 "Lillian, I love you better than anything < 
 earth; say no more; I have hurt your feeling 
 — let it pass. That is not the worst. You w 
 know, soon enough. Justice shall be done, 
 soon as I have conquered the last weakness 
 my nature. Do you know what has become 
 Inez this afternoon?" 
 
 4 4 She went to walk in the direction 
 Gram'me Hooker's." 
 
 "Alone?" 
 
 44 1 think so. She has taken quite a fancy 
 Gram'me; they have long talks together now- 
 days." 
 
 44 What sort of person is Mrs. Hooker ?" 
 
 4 1 You have seen her often enough to jud 
 for yourself. ' ' 
 
 4 4 1 mean is she a conscientious, reliable vv 
 man; or is she one of those who would do aD 
 thing for money?" 
 
 4 4 Oh, she is a good woman,' — I wish I were 
 good." 
 
 4 4 Then no great harm can come from In< 
 visits. ' ' 
 
 4 ' Of course not. But, I am surprised th\h : 
 Inez is so interested in her, when she used or 
 to ridicule her." 
 
 4 4 Some one else pays long visits, fejf 
 Gram'me must be a very entertaining c 
 lady." 
 
 Lillian blushed. 4 4 Gram'me and I have be 
 friends ever since I was old enough to reme: 
 ber. I go there to talk over old times with If \ 
 and to see to her wants, and — ' ' she paused, j L 
 44 So I suppose," remarked Miss Miller, dry 
 44 1 do believe you are in a fault-finding mo 
 to-day," said Lillian, her voice trembling sligl 
 ly. 4 1 1 do not know how I shall put you ii 
 better humor unless I go and provide somethi 
 very nice for tea," and with that sweetness 
 disposition which made her what she was— 
 lovable to all — she conquered the resentnu 
 
 :. 
 
THE FIGURE EIGHT. 
 
 85 
 
 e - ie felt at her friend's mariner, and went down 
 ■ ; i the little kitchen to suggest something appe- 
 V! zing for the invalid. 
 
 ^ When she had gone, Miss Miller sprang to 
 jr feet and raged about the little room like a 
 1 mess in her den. She was not one to give 
 13 ay easily to outside demonstrations of emo- 
 i on, so that, had Lillian seen her, as she now 
 
 01 jpeared, with clenched hands and teeth set in 
 1 3r under lip, she would have been both sur- 
 
 rised and shocked. 
 J |"It shall be done! If the old house tum- 
 ^es about their ears, it sliall be done ! If I had 
 assessed courage from the first, fewer friends 
 
 2 ould have been involved in the ruin. I have 
 ol sen the golden stream wasting — wasting, and 
 | iy life-blood has wasted with it. I will keep 
 " lence till the twentieth of July, — until after, 
 c -until it is too late — 0, what a miserable com- 
 I romise ! How am I punished ! ' ' 
 
 CHAPTER XIX. 
 
 A MIDSUMMER NIGHl's DRAMA. 
 
 1 You have heard of hearts caught in the re- 
 ound ? Tbis threatened to be the fate of Don 
 [iguel's, and Sophie was the happy maiden 
 •ho had the chance of catching it. Sophie always 
 ad been pretty enough, but so colorless and in- 
 
 1 rt beside her magnificent and spirited sister, as 
 
 S o scarcely receive due appreciation. She was 
 ke a pink rose beside a scarlet geranium, or 
 [adarne Pauline' s blue dress in one of Joseph - 
 
 \ie's green chairs. 
 Now, however, the excitement of hope and 
 
 Expectation, — and, too, we will do her the just- 
 re to confess— the development of all the im- 
 gination, passion, and romance, of which she 
 
 1 ras capable, combined with country air and the 
 Dyous business of preparing for her sister's 
 
 bedding, were acting upon her far more efhca- 
 iously than any cosmetic she had ever tried. 
 
 5 ler lady-mother looked upon her with adrnir- 
 
 3 ag surprise, while Bertha condescended to ap- 
 prove and encourage, now that no danger ex- 
 
 ( sted, of their interests clashing. Sophie's hair 
 5ras flaxen, not golden, like Lily's, and she 
 [rained it into flossy ringlets, very becoming to 
 ier fair, delicate face; she wore roses in her 
 Jfiair, too, after Lillian's fashion, and put on 
 
 ittle shy, graceful airs that were not in her 
 
 isual style. 
 
 To look in at Meredith Place on any of these 
 golden, languorous July days, no one not previ- 
 ously informed could dream of the tragedy 
 vhich had darkened it a little over a year ago, 
 lor that the icy shadow of that tragedy had 
 mly withdrawn itself a little while, and was 
 ireeping, creeping slowly and surely back, with a 
 (ouble darkness in its chill. One soul there 
 
 \ 
 
 knew of the approaching shadow, and felt the 
 premonitory gloom, but all others were basking 
 in the brightest sunshine of their lives. Inez 
 and Lillian were at the house almost constantly, 
 there were so many consultations to hold, and 
 so many pleasant tasks to perform; while Miss 
 Miller could not refuse the urgent solicitations 
 of Mrs. Chateaubriand to stay with them a few 
 weeks and take upon herself a portion of the 
 responsibilities weighing down the matron — 
 cares no heavier than the ordering of refresh- 
 ments, the arrangement of rooms, and the 
 small details of invitations, cards, etc., so 
 that she was now an inmate of the mansion, 
 and would remain there until after the wed- 
 ding. 
 
 A troup of beautiful girls — lighting up the 
 old place with their sunny faces, exciting them- 
 selves delightfully all the long mornings over 
 new dresses, and wreaths, and the bridal vail, 
 allowing themselves to be entertained by am- 
 bitious young gentlemen through the later 
 hours of the afternoon — at evening filling the 
 old hall, the porches and parlors, with sweet 
 laughter, murmuring asides, music and song — 
 cast the witchery of their youth and loveliness 
 over the ruins of the past. 
 
 Mrs. Chateaubriand was busy and satisfied, 
 now that her second daughter promised to do 
 so well, overlooking the mesalliance of the first, 
 and making a great pet of Lillian, who had 
 been such a little goose as to resign Don Miguel 
 in Sophie's favor. Not that any one was by any 
 means certain that the Don would so easily 
 change his affections ; he was less gay than for- 
 merly, and Ms gaze often lingered upon Lillian 
 with more of sadness than anger ; but, pride 
 prompted him to the effort of being attentive 
 to some other lady, and his attentions fell, by 
 chance, upon Sophie. Even this was much to 
 hope from, — only the time was short ; for, di- 
 rectly after the marriage festivities, Don Mig- 
 uel was to take his cousin away on a round of 
 the fashionable summer resorts, — and then, in 
 the autumn, back to Havana. 
 
 Miss Miller was the only one who did not 
 improve under the sunny influences of the time. 
 Pale, wrapped in thought, nervous, easily star- 
 tled, with no appetite and no spirits, her ill- 
 ness had left her in a state which gave serious 
 alarm to Lillian, who hoped the visit at Mrs. 
 Chateaubriand's would do her friend good, but 
 who noticed that she daily grew more absent- 
 minded, walking about like one lost in dreams. 
 In fact, Miss Miller's old habit of sleep-walk- 
 ing had returned upon her, in the present state 
 of her health, and many nights she moved like 
 a ghost amid the garden-walks and along the 
 halls of Meredith Place. Mrs. Chateaubriand 
 
8G 
 
 THE FIGURE EIGHT. 
 
 wished some one to share her room in order to 
 care for her, and break up, if possible, this dan- 
 gerous and inconvenient habit of sleep-walking, 
 but Miss Miller was so averse to having a ser- 
 vant, or even one of the young ladies in her 
 apartment, that the suggestion was dropped. 
 
 Her brother Arthur manifested real uneasi- 
 ness at her new freaks of somnambulism, and 
 was urgent, almost to anger, that she should 
 have some one sleep with her, but she persistent- 
 ly refused. He came up a fortnight before the 
 wedding, and took rooms at the Hampton 
 House. Don Miguel, and the other young 
 men, laughed at his nervousness and his im- 
 patience at the lagging steps of time. The 
 bride-elect may well have felt flattered at this 
 eager count of the lessening days. 
 
 One evening — the tenth of July — the gay 
 party gathered in the parlor were startled by 
 the sudden bursting of a thunder-storm over- 
 head. It was an awful storm, lasting several 
 hours, and when it had subsided somewhat it 
 did not entirely give over raining, so that the 
 visitors were glad to accept the invitation to 
 remain over night. Inez, who staid with Sophie 
 more than half the time, shared the room of 
 the latter, as usual, while Lillian accepted Miss 
 Miller's rather reluctant offer of hers. 
 
 As soon as they reached the chamber Lillian be- 
 gan to undress, being wearied out with the sultry 
 day ; but Miss Miller sat by the open window 
 watching the tremulous play of the distant 
 lightning, and listening to the mournful cry of a 
 whip-poor-will, which pierced the darkness with 
 its melancholy complaint. 
 
 ' ' Are you not coming to bed, Miss Miller? You 
 are so pale, I am sure you must be fatigued." 
 
 " Yes, I am tired, Lily, — very, very tired, 
 with a weariness which sleep will not remove." 
 
 She spoke so languidly, so hopelessly, that 
 the young girl turned and came to her side, 
 noticing more than ever before, the hard, rigid 
 lines which were settling upon the face of her 
 best friend — a face square and powerful for a 
 woman's at its best, and now fixed in a stern, 
 sallow harshness, which would have repelled 
 any one but her companion. 
 
 ' ' Miss Miller, you have some trouble, which 
 you do no^ tell me." 
 
 "Let me alone— let me alone a few days. 
 You will know soon enough." 
 
 " You are not going away?" — that was the 
 worst thing Lily could think of. 
 
 " No, child — not unless you send me." 
 
 ' ' You do not mean— it can not be that you 
 — have learned — know — have discovered any- 
 thing about poor papa !" exclaimed Lily, falling 
 on her knees, and gazing up with a wild look at 
 the stony face before her. 
 
 "Nothing new, darling Lily; why do yoi 
 question me ? If I have anything to toll, yoi 
 shall know it in due time. Go to bed ; — yoi 
 are exciting yourself too much. I will come ii 
 a few moments," and she kissed the younj ^ 
 girl, gently pushing her away, — "not that 
 expect much rest to-night. I shall walk in mj 
 sleep, I dare say. I always do when there is 
 thunder-storm, — and I always feel wearied th( 
 next day, as if 1 had kept watch." 
 
 " I waken so easily ; if you stir I shall heai 
 you, and then I will not let you leave the 
 room," said Lillian, and creeping into bed, she 
 laid with wide-open eyes fixed on the pah 
 face of her governess, relieved against the sta 
 blackness of the open window. She meant tc 
 be very wakeful and to take excellent care ol 
 the somnambulist, but, presently, the drowsy 
 lids drew together, the flush of sleep warmed held i 
 in the delicate cheek, she just turned with a 
 soft breath, when her friend laid down beside 
 her and knew no more for hours. 
 
 When Lillian awoke the hall clock was strik- 
 ing three. She reached out her hand, and find- 
 ing the bed vacant, sprang out upon the floor. 
 A night lamp was burning dimly ; through the 
 casement she could see the stars breaking 
 through flying and ragged clouds ; the door 
 of the chamber was half-way open. Throwing a 
 dressing-gown over her night-robe, and thrust 
 ing her feet into slippers, she went softly but 
 quickly out into the hall, where a light always 
 was kept burning, by order of the mistress of 
 the house. Finding no one in the lower hall 
 she ran lightly down the stairs, and proceeding K 
 towards the back door, she almost ran against I ^ 
 some one crouching down by the laboratory- j 
 door. 
 
 " Is it you, Miss Miller V ' she whispered, not 
 caring to awaken the household by speaking 
 more loudly. 
 
 At first there was no answer, but, upon her 
 pressing more closely, the figure straightened 
 itself and she made out Inez. 
 
 "What do you want?" she whispered de- 
 fiantly. 
 
 ' ' I am looking for Miss Miller ; she has gone 
 out, in one of her trances again. Have you 
 seen her?" 
 
 "No," replied Inez, evidently relieved, and 
 coming forward, "but I heard her pass my 
 door, and slipped out to look for her. I fancied 
 she might have gone in here, but all is dark 
 and still. She may be in the garden. Do not 
 go out in those thin slippers. As for me, I'm go- 
 ing back to bed. If she will walk in her sleep, 
 walk she must, — I shall not run the risk of a 
 cold." 
 
 Darting noiselessly up stairs, Lillian heard 
 
 %- 
 
 pae 
 
 Sibr-r 
 
 eei 
 
 ate ■ 
 
 : 
 
 x 
 
 "Hi 
 
 "j 
 list, 
 
 ha" 
 
 As: 
 
THE FIGURE EIGHT. 
 
 87 
 
 aer close the door of Sophie's room; she tried 
 the outside doors, but, as they all were fastened, 
 lecided that the somnambulist could not have 
 rone out ; so she passed through the parlor and 
 ibrary, and on up to her room, just in time to 
 see the one of whom she was in search glide 
 nto it in advance of herself. Lillian followed 
 md closed the door. 
 
 "Lily, Lily," said the sleeper, walking up to 
 iie bed and speaking in a sharp whisper, 
 ;< Where are you ?" 
 
 " Here I am. I have been looking for you." 
 
 " The figure eight!" continued the somnambu- 
 1st, turning and coming towards her with 
 staring, stony eyes, and one arm extended. "I 
 lave found it, Lily, — look here !" 
 
 As she approached the other saw something 
 rlitter in the out-stretched hand, which, as she 
 leld it up, clutching it tightly, Lillian perceived 
 ;ras a handful of ingots. 
 
 "See, Lily, see, the figure eight!" 
 
 Lillian turned very faint with surprise, ex- 
 citement, and the terrible thrill which ran 
 ;hrough her at sight of the stony face, and the 
 jager hand clutching her father's gold. 
 
 "Where did you get it? Oh, Miss Miller, 
 iwake, awake, and tell me where you have 
 seen and what this means !" 
 
 "I followed Mm" said the governess, still in 
 ;he same hollow whisper. 1 ' Him ! the 
 vicked, the ungrateful. Oh, how he makes my 
 leart ache." 
 
 "Who?" 
 
 ' 1 You know, Lily ! why should we speak his 
 lame?" That is my secret, — that is what is 
 dlling me by inches. But the whole world 
 ivill know now. No, no ! I have found the box 
 low, and all is well. All is well— well ! I 
 leed not betray — need not disgrace. I have 
 ooked so long for that box now, Lillian, that you 
 night have your own, and yet not ruin him. 
 Take them — feel of them, then you will be 
 lure ! ' ' 
 
 Lillian, with a nervous shudder, took the 
 lull, slender, heavy bars in her fingers, looked 
 it them, and laid them on the table. 
 
 " Have you found the box ?' ' she asked, begui- 
 ling to tremble as if with cold. 
 
 "Yes. I followed him. I stood behind him, 
 md he did not see me. When he was gone I 
 hook a few to show you." 
 
 " Where is it?" 
 
 " Come, we will go there, Tight away, before 
 forget. ' ' 
 
 She opened the door and glided out, followed 
 :>y Lillian, pale as the shadow of a phantom 
 bllowing the phantom which led, going along 
 ;he upper hall to the side passage which 
 branched to the east, straight to the door 
 
 which led up to the tower. This she opened, 
 and was about to place her foot on the stairs, 
 when she paused, put her hand to her forehead, 
 and murmured — "No, it was down — was it up ? 
 — no, down." 
 
 Hesitating a moment, she began to ascend, 
 but in climbing the steep and narrow stair she 
 made a misstep and came to her knees, with a 
 shock which wakened her. 
 
 "Where am I?" she exclaimed, looking 
 wildly about, and then finding herself on her 
 knees at the foot of the tower staircase, and 
 poor Lillian bending over her with a distressed 
 expression, she burst out laughing and went off 
 into a hysteric fit. 
 
 Though much frightened, for she had been 
 told that the shock to the system from too 
 sudden awakening was dangerous, Lillian had 
 presence of mind to coax and drag her into the 
 main hall, before she summoned help ; then, 
 calling Mrs. Chateaubriand's maid, who was 
 also quite a nurse, the two conveyed Miss Mil- 
 ler back to her bed, where the maid adminis- 
 tered one of her mistress's favorite nervines, 
 while Lillian hastily concealed the ingots in her 
 bureau. Nearly all the household were awakened 
 by the convulsive laughter of the somnambu- 
 list, but when the matter was explained to them 
 they retired again — all save Arthur, who 
 dressed himself, or was already dressed when 
 the alarm occurred, and who. pale and restless, 
 wished to watch with his sister. 
 
 But, as he could not very well force himself 
 into a young lady's chamber, and as the nurse 
 avowed herself equal to the occasion, he was 
 obliged to leave the patient in other hands. 
 
 In the course of two or three hours Miss 
 Miller grew calm and fell asleep under the ef- 
 fects of the anodynes given ; Lillian then dis- 
 missed the maid, who said to her — 
 
 "Better take an hour's rest yourself, Mad- 
 emoiselle. It's a long time yet till breakfast, 
 though it's broad daylight." 
 
 She did lie down on the lounge, but the 
 scene of the night had been too exciting, and 
 she could only act it over and over in 
 thought, as she lay there, sleepless, watching 
 the wan face on the pillow. 
 
 ' ' How she has changed in a year ! She used to 
 be so handsome — and so strong. She worries 
 far more about that miserable money than I. 
 I wish she would give it up — as I have ! But 
 no, she has found it at last — there is the proof ! 
 Oh, how can I wait for her to waken and ex- 
 plain ? Now I shall send for Cousin Joe. Yes, , 
 if he will not come to me, I will go to him and' 
 tell him the truth. My poor, brave, faithful' 
 governess ! She told me, at the time her arm 
 was broken, that some one was here who knew 
 
83 
 
 THE FIGURE EIGHT. 
 
 where the box was, but who dared not convey 
 it away, but that she had not yet discovered 
 who this person was. Now, doubtless, she had 
 seen and recognized him. This wretched mys- 
 tery will be at an end." 
 
 She waited impatiently, but the patient 
 slept on heavily, and the watcher's thoughts 
 varied, although always centering about the 
 same subject, tears dropping as the image of 
 her father came back vividly, and a blush dry- 
 ing them on her cheeks as another picture arose, 
 embodying some scene in the future. 
 
 When the rising-bell rang she dressed herself, 
 seeing that Miss Miller was not disturbed ; she 
 was one of the first to enter the breakfast room, 
 and had to answer the inquiries of all. Inez 
 gave her a singular look as she came in with 
 her fair double, but asked not a question, nor 
 referred to her little part in the night's perform- 
 ance. Arthur took a seat by Lillian, making 
 several inquiries about his sister. She really 
 pitied him, he was so anxious, and had so little 
 appetite for his breakfast ; and making an ef- 
 fort to show her friendliness, she evidently suc- 
 ceeded in lightening his uneasiness, so that he 
 appeared less restrained as the meal progressed. 
 Inez' eyes continued to flash lightnings across 
 the table ; Lillian noticed something peculiar in 
 her manner ; but, as the Cuban was in the 
 habit of letting her feelings be known without 
 delay, and as she said less than usual, Lillian 
 concluded that she must have misread her ex- 
 pression. 
 
 "When she returned to her room, too eager 
 to find her friend awake to care to linger with 
 the pleasure-seekers below. Miss Miller lay 
 quietly staring at the wall. 
 
 " If you had not disturbed me, last night," 
 she said, listlessly, "I suppose I should have 
 got along well enough. It is the sudden shock 
 which affects the nerves." 
 
 ' ' I did not waken you. It was your stumb- 
 ling which did it. "Will you have anything, 
 dear Miss Miller?" 
 
 " A cup of coffee, as strong as they please to 
 make it." 
 
 Lily rang the bell and made her request ; the 
 coffee came, with a slice of toast ; was drank, 
 and the servant sent away ; then the patient 
 appeared disposed to sleep again. 
 
 Lillian hesitated whether to broach the subject, 
 and, ever considerate of others, finally concluded 
 to keep silence until the other spoke of her own 
 free will. 
 
 ' ' If you feel inclined to rest, I will go down. ' ' 
 " Go, if you wish, child ; I do feel more quiet 
 
 than I have in days. Doubtless rest is what I 
 
 most need." 
 She went out to find all the ladies of the house 
 
 gathered in Bertha's room, in a high state of 
 
 excitement over the arrival, that morning, by 
 express, of the wedding dress and bonnet. The 
 dress was of white moire-antique, rich, heavy 
 and lustrous ; the bonnet as ' ' lovely a thing' ' as 
 the female heart could desire. All were lavish in 
 their praises. Nothing would do but Bertha 
 must try on the robe, which she did, and found 
 the fit as perfect as the material. Drawing her 
 fine figure to its full height, the bride-elect 
 looked at the beautiful image reflected in the 
 glass, with a smile half-proud, half-tender. She 
 could hardly have been otherwise than satisfied, 
 which her expression confessed her to be. 
 
 ""What a charming bride she will make," 
 murmured Lillian, turning to Inez for sympa- 
 thy in her admiration. 
 
 The Cuban was watching Bertha so intently 
 that she did not hear the remark. Lillian was 
 surprised at the expression of Inez' countenance, 
 whose usually rich brunette color had taken on 
 almost a greenish tinge ; her eyes had grown 
 small and dull, — the lids lay across them in a 
 straight line, from under which gleamed a single 
 sparkle of light : — if ever malice and jealousy 
 were written so that " he who runs may read," 
 they were written there. Lily, poor child, could 
 think of nothing but a serpent the moment be- 
 fore it strikes ; she felt terrified, and laid her 
 hand on Inez' arm, who started, turning to her 
 with an unpleasant laugh. 
 
 ' 'I asked you if you did not consider her a beau- 
 tiful bride?" repeated Lily, embarrassed, she 
 knew not why. 
 
 " Yes, certainly — she will make a beautiful 
 bride— if she ever becomes one ! I wish Arthur 
 could see her now!" and she turned away, — 
 and went to the window to avoid the subject of 
 Bertha's perfections. 
 
 "I wish Inez was not so illy-governed," 
 mused Lillian, not for the first time. "She 
 keeps herself unhappy. Why did she say — 
 ' 4 If she ever becomes one ' ' ? 
 
 Once or twice in the course of the morning she 
 stole back to look at Miss Miller, who had fallen 
 asleep the second time, and, although very pale, 
 was enjoying a profound and refreshing slum- 
 ber. Her interest in the finale of the sleep- 
 walking story was so keen as to tempt her to 
 rouse the sleeper, but she restrained herself each 
 time and went away ; however, being too agi- 
 tated by suspense and painful memories, to en- 
 joy any society, she went the second time, down 
 the deserted garden, blooming under the full 
 warmth of high-noon, in search of a shaded 
 nook in the old arbor, where she could be alone. 
 She had been seated but a little while over a 
 book which she held, but did not read, when 
 Arthur Miller came sauntering along, and en- 
 
THE FIGURE EIGHT. 
 
 SO 
 
 tered the arbor. He started when he found it ! she said. It is but a few days now, at all events, 
 occupied, removed the cigar from his hps. asked till the great affair will be over ; then I shall 
 permission to share the bench, and when she had \ try and persuade her to try a change of scene for 
 
 a month. "We shall not open our school until 
 the twentieth of September." 
 
 "A few days, I know, — but supposing she 
 should break her neck in the meantime?" 
 
 Lillian did not like his hard tone, nor ill- 
 concealed impatience, — it looked far more to her 
 as if he did not wish to be annoyed by his sis- 
 ter's exploits, than like any deep interest in 
 her health. So she remained silent, and he 
 sat there moodily, until the lunch-bell sum- 
 moned them to the house, when he immedi- 
 ately resumed the gay manner which had won 
 him his way in society, offered her his arm, 
 and conducted her to the dining-room as airily 
 as if the weather was always paradisical. 
 
 His sister came down to lunch looking better 
 than she had in some days, was congratulated 
 on her recovery, made some brilliant sugges- 
 tions regarding the ornamentation of the rooms 
 for the approaching festivities, and made, as 
 she always did, the power of her talent felt, 
 whatever she said or suggested. 
 
 " I am as jealous as I can be of Lillian Mere- 
 certainly have, in my mind," I dith," said Bertha, " and I give you fair warn- 
 
 given it, throw himself down with a weary sigh. 
 
 "Is it the heat?" asked the young lady, 
 with a smile. 
 
 ' ' I believe it is, in part. Life is very unsatis- 
 factory, taken as a whole. It is too warm, 
 or too cold ; too bright, or too dull ; too wet, 
 or toe dry, and as the weather is, so is every- 
 thing else. Poor human-nature is ennuied to 
 death half the time." 
 
 "I hardly expected such a view of life from 
 ycrar hps, just at present. Mr. Miller." 
 
 "Oh. I'm not without my due share of 
 troubles. I assure you. I am marrying a woman 
 richer than niyself, — and that's not the most 
 charming arrangement for a man of any spunk. ' ' 
 
 1 ' Then why do you do it ?' ' his listener was 
 about to ask, but checked herself, betraying her 
 surprise by her expression. 
 
 "People won't give me credit for any 
 real love in the matter, you see. If Miss 
 Chateaubriand were twice as beautiful and twice 
 as lovable, I should have the credit of marrying 
 her for her money." 
 
 "Which you 
 thought Lillian, sa 
 
 nothing. 
 
 I ing, that when I get to keeping house, I shall 
 And then, there is Annie. She's not the j quarrel with you for the possession of your 
 
 woman sue used to be, Miss Meredith. And 
 these somnambulic tricks of hers worry me more 
 than I am willing to confess to any one. I 
 heartily wish she had not come to Meredith 
 Place before the wedding. It would have been 
 better for her at your quiet cottage. She adds 
 to the excitement inseparable from the 'coming 
 event,' and which reacts upon her in a very 
 unpleasant way. I wish you would persuade 
 her to go home with you this afternoon." 
 
 " She is staying at Mrs. Chateaubriand's par- 
 ticular request, whom it will disappoint if she 
 leaves at this hurried time. Still, if you think ' 
 her health demands it. I will propose it to 
 them." 
 
 " I do wish you would, Miss Meredith. You i 
 can't imagine how she worries me;" then, as 
 Lillian looked up, at the pettish, ill-humored j 
 tone, adding, ' 1 1 am so afraid that she will 
 come to serious harm. She might have 
 killed herself, last night. I am getting so j 
 nervous, at night, I start at every sound, imag- I 
 /niug Annie has stepped out of a second-story j 
 window, or fallen off the roof, ' ' and he forced a 
 laugh. 
 
 Iillian had remarked this very nervousness, 
 a»d sleepless look in him, and now attributed it 
 V> the cause he gave. 
 
 " I will propose to her to go home with me, 
 V she feels as if she should rest better there," 
 
 treasure. I should never have ventured to 
 promise to marry if I had not supposed you 
 could be coaxed to live with us, Miss Miller." 
 
 ' : Perhaps I can, in due time — that is, if you 
 and Arthur do not quarrel. I could never 
 exist under the same roof with a matrimonial 
 couple who brought their differences to me to 
 settle." 
 
 " If he is good, and mild, and always lets me 
 have my own way, I shall not quarrel with 
 him," said Bertha. 
 
 Lillian listened to the badinage without 
 hearing it ; she was waiting for the hour of the 
 afternoon siesta, when she should have her op- 
 portunity of speaking to Miss Miller alone. 
 
 It came at last, when the two again were in 
 their chamber. 
 
 " You were broken of your rest so much last 
 night, Lily, you ought to take a long sleep 
 this afternoon. ' ' 
 
 "I am going back home, you know, before 
 dinner. I shall start as soon as the sun is a 
 little lower. But 0, Miss Miller, how can you 
 think I can sleep until you have told me all ?' ' 
 
 ' ' Told you cdl T ' 
 
 1 ' Yes, — where the box is — where you got the 
 gold." 
 
 " Where I got- the goldf 
 
 1 ' And who it was that was taking it ! Now 
 
90 
 
 THE EIGUKE EIGHT. 
 
 that you know all, surely, this fearful mystery 
 must come to the light. 
 
 "What are you talking about, my child?" 
 
 Each looked at the other in doubt and sur- 
 prise. 
 
 "Miss Miller, when you came back to this 
 room, last night, your hand was full of bars of 
 gold, precisely like those my father once 
 showed me. You called me and told me you 
 knew the meaning of the figure eight ! — that 
 you had found the box, and brought those 
 ingots in proof." 
 
 " Lily, I remember no more of it than as if 
 it had never been. ' ' 
 
 "Then you can not lead me to the box!" 
 cried Lillian, dismayed, overwhelmed with dis- 
 appointment. 
 
 "lean not, I remember nothing. Tell me 
 all I said, please, my darling child, this 
 moment. ' ' 
 
 Lillian recounted what had passed. 
 
 "Did I not mention the name of the person 
 whom I followed V ' eagerly. 
 
 "No, not once." 
 
 "Let me look at the ingots, Lily." 
 
 Lillian went to her bureau, lifted the laces 
 she had hastily thrown over the gold, but the 
 ingots were not where she had hidden them ! 
 
 " Some one has been here, and taken them," 
 she cried, as she hastily examined the drawer, 
 taking out every article. 
 
 Then she went to the next, although positive 
 she had placed them in the upper drawer ; so 
 on, through the bureau, and every nook and 
 corner, possible and impossible, as persons will, 
 when they have lost things, in the vain hope 
 that memory is at fault, and that they will 
 "turn up" somewhere. But the ingots had 
 disappeared utterly, — strangely as they had 
 come, they had vanished still more strangely, 
 and the two women could only look at each 
 other with vague speculation in their faces. 
 
 CHAPTER XX. 
 "checkmate to tour king." 
 
 "Perhaps you dreamed the whole matter," 
 suggested Miss Miller, as she and Lily stood at 
 the window of the tower, looking over the 
 broad landscape despondently. 
 
 They had taken advantage of the quiet pre- 
 siding over the house at the hour of the after- 
 noon siesta, to ascend to the tower-room and 
 search for anything which might prove a clue 
 to what had happened the previous night. A 
 more innocent looking place never was subjected 
 to such close scrutiny. The plain, small, 
 square room had no nook where a thimble 
 could be hidden — at least, none such appeared 
 to the eye. They raised the carpet, which 
 
 Sophie had caused to be spread, looking for 
 some trap-door, or board which had been cut 
 to lift from some cavity between the floors ; 
 but nothing rewarded the examination. There 
 were windows on three sides, — on the fourth 
 hung the map of which we have spoken, 
 against a plain, bare wall of common plaster 
 laid directly upon the squared stones of which 
 the tower was built. 
 
 4 4 You said, just before you awoke, that you 
 were not certain whether it was up or down 
 you ought to go. " 
 
 " In the cellar, I suppose, under the coal," — 
 the governess spoke lightly, to cover her cha- 
 grin. 
 
 " Oh, what if you had come here alone, and 
 fallen from this open window!" said Lillian, 
 with a shudder, looking down at the green grass 
 and graveled paths below. 
 
 " I tell you, solemnly, that if I had, and had 
 been dashed to death in an instant, I could ask 
 for no happier fate. ' ' 
 
 "Why, my dear, dear Miss Miller, don't 
 speak in that manner ! I thought I was very 
 sad, and that I could never be happy again, 
 when my dear father — when, you know, — how 
 terrible it was ! — and I am very wretched still, 
 at times, — and have a great weight on my 
 mind about — about poor cousin Joe. But, I 
 can not say that I covet a death like that, — ah, 
 no ! you make me tremble when you speak and 
 look so." 
 
 "The young can bear anything," said the 
 governess, drearily ; ' ' like the springing grass, 
 they bend to rise again ; but when it is ripe 
 and brittle, once crushed, it rises no more." 
 
 4 4 1 know, dear friend, you loved poor papa, 
 and you will never, never get over his dreadful 
 death. Why should Fate ordain that he should 
 meet that foolish, willful girl, who had not the 
 heart, nor the sense to love him as he deserved ? 
 If he had come home unmarried, all would 
 have been so different ! The other thing might 
 not have happened — and he would have been 
 certain to — to — " 
 
 "The other thing might not have happened — 
 would not have happened, ' ' said the governess, 
 slowly ; you are right, there, Lillian." 
 
 The subject, usually so carefully avoided, 
 was too much for the self-possession of the or- 
 phaned girl, who clung to her friend's waist, 
 and wept softly such tears as do good to those 
 who shed them; but, the single icy drop on the 
 lids of the older woman were of those which, 
 pressed from the heart, leave it dry. 
 
 44 1 must go home," said Lillian, when they 
 had stood some time,—" will you return with 
 me, as Arthur wishes?" 
 
 44 1 think not,— at least, not to-night. I 
 
THE FIGURE EIGHT. 
 
 01 
 
 have promised Mrs. Chateaubriand ; and I may 
 not have another of these attacks in some time. 
 Arthur is too easily fretted about his dear sister. ' ' 
 
 "Was she speaking in sarcasm ? Her compan- 
 ion looked up, but could not tell ; she was half 
 afraid of her governess, at times, such a change 
 had lately come over her. 
 
 "Well, I must call Inez, as I go down. 
 She ought to go home with me. She is here 
 too much, I think, — seeing we are not placed 
 so as to return these hospitalities." 
 
 "Oh, she does not regard herself from that 
 standpoint any longer. She is Don Miguel's 
 cousin, and if Sophie should be successful in 
 her butterfly-hunting, they will be relatives." 
 
 " The Don is not a butterfly, Miss Miller." 
 
 "Truly, I believe he is something a trifle 
 better. I dwelt on his perfections, while 
 there was any hope of your appreciating him. 
 But I hardly think you will take Inez home 
 with you. There she goes across the fields, 
 in the direction of Gram' me Hooker's." 
 
 "Alone, too." 
 
 " She is so benevolent that she is going to do 
 the old woman a service, and her modesty pre- 
 vents her bringing along her left hand to know 
 what her right hand does." 
 
 " I do wonder what errand takes her there so 
 frequently." 
 
 ' ' Are you sure Mrs. Hooker is a conscientious 
 woman ?" 
 
 " Quite ; but why do you ask?" 
 
 "Don't puzzle your poor little tired brain 
 about that, child. Come, we will go down, and 
 I will walk with you a little on your way home. 
 I need the air to get rid of those indolent ano- 
 dynes." 
 
 The two walked along the quiet road, sweet 
 from last night's rain, across which long 
 
 ! shadows were beginning to stretch. As they 
 slowly sauntered towards the village, one of 
 
 j Mr. Chateaubriand's buggies passed them, 
 
 j with Arthur Miller and his carpet-bag m the 
 
 I back seat. 
 
 "I'm going to the five o'clock express," he 
 i said, as the driver paused a moment at his bid- 
 i ding. " Will be back to-morrow at the same 
 
 hour. Better stay with Miss Meredith to-night, 
 
 Annie." 
 
 " I did not know you were to go down again 
 before the twentieth." 
 
 " Oh, yes. I've not selected my wedding- 
 present yet for the bride. That is a very im- 
 portant matter. I shall give to-morrow to its 
 j selection. Shall it be a diamond bracelet, An- 
 Inie ?" 
 
 "Better suit you gifts to your means," she 
 said, coldly. 
 
 1 1 Precisely. I made a thousand dollars by a 
 
 lucky stroke, the week before I came out. 
 Would that be too much to expend on an ar- 
 ticle of so much importance?" 
 
 "I advise you to be prudent," was the re- 
 sponse, and Arthur, laughing and brilliant, 
 drove on, the envied of all who saw him. 
 
 " It feels to me as if there was a storm in the 
 air," remarked Miss Miller, stopping in her 
 walk, a little later, and looking about her with 
 a wandering glance. 
 
 "We had the storm last night. The air, 
 now, is like crystal, and the sky a cloudless 
 blue. ' ' 
 
 " But I feel it, I tell you. Since my health 
 is in this peculiar state I am a perfect barometer. 
 My spirits have fallen a good many degrees in 
 so many minutes. Something is going to hap- 
 pen. Perhaps there will be an accident on the 
 railroad to-night. ' ' 
 
 " Oh, I often feel that way, — and nothing 
 ever comes of it. Don't go any farther with 
 me, or you'll lose your dinner." 
 
 The friends parted. Miss Miller returned to 
 Meredith Place, ate her dinner in the most 
 hum-drum fashion ; spent the evening in giving 
 countenance to folly, as usual ; retired to her 
 room, and slept a dreamless sleep, from which 
 she did not arise to midnight excursions, 
 The next day her brother returned from the 
 city, and was welcomed with delight by the af- 
 fectionate and anxious darlings who knew what 
 his errand had been. No storm had broken 
 the serenity of the summer sky, and no rail 
 had broken on the road to startle the world 
 with an accident. Something had happened, 
 nevertheless, during that brief trip, of great im- 
 port to the most of that joyous company. 
 They did not perceive it now, however, — least 
 of all was it suspected by him whom it most 
 concerned. 
 
 That evening, when the bride-elect came to 
 dinner she found a parcel under her napkin ; 
 she untied the little box, and brought to light 
 a bracelet of diamonds and emeralds fit for a 
 princess' acceptance. 
 
 "Allow me," said Arthur, clasping it about 
 the snowy wrist, and, as the lady pursued her 
 dinner, the light of the jewels flashed little 
 rainbows about her plate. 
 
 ' ' I declare, Inez, your eyes are as green as 
 these emeralds," exclaimed Bertha, as, tri- 
 fling with her dessert, she chanced to look up 
 at Mrs. Meredith, sitting opposite. 
 
 "I supposed they were, black," answered 
 Inez, dropping them. "You are blinded by 
 what you have been looking at. No one, I dare 
 say, would give as much for my eyes as for your 
 emeralds." 
 
 "A mistake, I assure you, Mrs. Meredith," 
 
THE FIGURE EIGHT. 
 
 simpered a youth, who, being selected to attend 
 the third bridesmaid, had nothing to do in the 
 meantime but to pay her compliments. ' 1 Tif- 
 fany has nothing at all to be compared with 
 those starry orbs — " 
 
 ''Hear, hear," cried Don Miguel; "starry 
 orbs ! fine ! Where did you find that rare and 
 original comparison ? ' ' 
 
 " In my head," responded the youth, putting 
 a spoonful of ice-cream in his mouth. 
 
 " What a pity we are not all engaged," re- 
 marked Sophie, pouting at Arthur, but not 
 without a swift glance at Don Miguel. 
 
 " I suppose it is the bridal presents and the 
 new dresses that induce half of you to place 
 yourselves in that enviable position," said the 
 Don. 
 
 "Of course. The little god would kneel in 
 vain, if he did not come with his hands full of 
 jewels and ' promises to pay.' If he could not 
 order a bouquet, select an ornament, and had no 
 ear for opera music, he ought to be banished to 
 the days of Phillis and Corydon. ' ' 
 
 ' ' It is better to have a cousin than to be en- 
 gaged," said Inez, and, letting the white muslin 
 of her flowing sleeve fal| back from her brown, 
 but smooth and exquisitely shaped arm, 
 she betrayed a bracelet much finer than Ber- 
 tha's — a costly gift — which Don Miguel had 
 brought with him, when he made his last declar- 
 ation to Lillian, as a betrothal bond, if she 
 should accept him. He was thinking, now, 
 that one woman, at least, had withstood the 
 temptations of wealth and ease, and her image 
 arose before him all the more attractively, in 
 contrast with these gay creatures who were telling 
 the truth about themselves, with the prettiest 
 air of being only in sport. 
 
 "Oh, Inez," cried Sophie, "you never 
 showed us that before ! You little darling, how 
 becoming it is to your arm ! I always told you 
 your hand and arm were perfect." 
 
 The Don had been watching her to mark the 
 impression made by the ornament ; if she had 
 shown envy or malice, he would have turned 
 lightly from Sophie, as he had from so many 
 other young ladies, but, her evident freedom 
 from covetousness, her good nature in admir- 
 ing Inez, and pleasure in the latter' s possession of 
 the jewel, raised her many degrees in his re- 
 spect. She was not Lillian ; she was not his ideal ; 
 but, she was an amiable as well as a pretty girl, 
 and he gave her a glance that had a thought in 
 it, as he said : 
 
 " Inez must not claim the bracelet forever. I 
 told her it was only lent to her. I intend to 
 imitate Mr. Miller in my final use of it." 
 
 ' ' I may wear it until I get tired of it, before 
 
 you claim it," responded his cousin, while 
 Sophie felt a glow in her heart and a blush on 
 her cheek, she hardly knew why. 
 
 Miss Miller leaned back in her chair and 
 looked at Inez. She was thinking of the time 
 when a certain handsome, ambitious, passionate 
 woman, with an intellect kindled by commu- 
 nion with that of a man of genius, and a heart 
 alive with the best love which such a 
 man can draw forth, decked herself in vel- 
 vet and jewels to welcome him home, — it 
 hardly seemed to her as if that eager 
 woman, with the flushed cheek and spark- 
 ling eye, was this self which sat here now, sal- 
 low, stony, and indifferent. She recalled the 
 moment when the slender, dark-eyed Cuban 
 girl had emerged from the stage and she heard 
 Doctor Meredith introduce her as his wife. Oh, 
 but she had reason to hate even more than she 
 despised ! Yet, as she sat and watched her, at 
 the table, darting those looks at the bride-elect, 
 which Bertha had declared were "green," a cold 
 fear of her crept through her contempt. It grew 
 upon her that Inez held some secret power to 
 injure, over which she exulted. 
 
 Lillian had not, in describing the events of 
 the night when she stayed with her, mentioned 
 having found Inez in the lower hall, for the in- 
 cident had been of so little importance to her 
 as to pass out of her mind. Had she mentioned 
 it to Miss Miller, the latter would have had 
 some clue to the power held by the woman with 
 whom her brother had trifled. 
 
 " She is plotting mischief , " thought the gov- 
 erness. 4 ' Can it be possible that she knows 
 what I know ? There is not reticence enough 
 in her to keep it one hour, should she have dis- 
 covered it. It is more probable that she will 
 stab him with the little poignard which I saw 
 her raise on him once, than attempt a more 
 complicated revenge. I can not stay here. I 
 shall suffocate in the midst of these trifiers. I 
 believe I will go and see Mother Hooker." 
 
 Stealing from the dining-room without at- 
 tracting particular attention, she threw a 
 vail over her head and wandered off, in the 
 growing twilight, through the garden, on into 
 the field path which led through the woods to 
 gram' me' s. Her head was hot ; the cool air 
 felt grateful to her burning face ; she walked 
 rapidly on into the dim woods, where she could 
 hardly track her way through the murmurous 
 shadows. The secret she carried, which pressed 
 ever heavier into her heart, was almost unbear- 
 able this evening. Those gay and thoughtless 
 friends whom she had left behind were to her 
 like children playing on the brink of a preci- 
 pice ; and, as the awful danger arose vividly 
 before her imagination, she shrieked aloud. A 
 
THE FIGURE EIGHT. 
 
 03 
 
 thousand piercing echoes answered her, and she 
 screamed again, shrilly and long. 
 
 "It is a relief, — I am afraid of insanity, some 
 days," she muttered. " Who would think me 
 deficient in courage ? They call me strong- 
 minded, a natural leader, — yet, here I shrink 
 like the veriest coward. If I had confronted 
 the danger at first, seized it by the throat, 
 choked, silenced it, I should not now be over- 
 mastered. Every day I concede and concede, 
 while the wrong grows. Oh, Arthur ! oh, Lil- 
 lian ! I am afraid now that a hand less kind 
 and more just than mine has taken the rein and 
 is driving me on to ruin ! ' ' 
 
 She sat a little while on a log beside the path, 
 listening to the last twittering notes of sleepy 
 birds, the mournful cry of the whippoorwill 
 which had answered her wild scream, and the 
 rustle of the tall trees moving lightly in the 
 western wind; then resumed her walk, urged 
 by the fear that gram'me would be in bedif she 
 delayed her call any later. 
 
 Gram'me was studying out her evening chap- 
 ter of the Xew Testament by the light of a tal- 
 low dip, when Miss Miller surprised her by ap- 
 pearing in the open door. 
 
 '' 1 Is it too late for callers ? It was so warm 
 in the house I wanted to get out of it; and as I 
 strolled this way I made up my mind I would 
 come and ask you a question which I have 
 wanted answered for some time.'' 
 
 "Take a chair, Miss Miller. I'm glad to 
 see you, but I reckon you'd better be keerful 
 about trampin' about alone arter dark. I'm 
 nigh about sartin I heerd a painter screech in 
 them woods just a leetle while ago, — though 
 they do say there's been none seen in these 
 parts for twenty year." 
 
 "Thank you; I'll sit on the door-step, 
 gram'me. I dare say it was a screech-owl 
 which disturbed you. There are no panthers 
 in Meredith wood— unless they be human pan- 
 thers," sotto voce. 
 
 "Them screech-owls do make a drefiul noise; 
 they sound awful lonesome in the woods at 
 night. It may be. It may be. But you ain't 
 so timid as most women-folks, Miss Miller. 
 'Pears to me you don't look well lately ; better 
 let me fix you up some herb-tea or bitters, 
 hadn't ye?" 
 
 "You can't medicine to a mind diseased, 
 gram'me," replied the lady, sadly. 
 
 " Xay, that's so. What is it you want me to 
 tell you that you don't know better' n I, Miss 
 Miller?" 
 
 ' 4 The object of Mrs. Meredith's visits to you. ' ' 
 "Oho ! Well, sartain, they're skasely wuth 
 inquirin' into," and gram'me laughed. 
 
 "It's nothing very bad, if you laugh about it. ' ' 
 
 "That's so, child; you're right. She'll never 
 do any harm, that little simpleton won't — she's 
 too foolish. I don't know as I ought to tell on 
 her, though, as she's come to me in confidence." 
 
 1 ' If you think it will do no harm, and that 
 you are justified in keeping it, I shall ask no 
 more." 
 
 "0 land ! I reckon it makes no difference, 
 one way or t'other. She jest comes to git me 
 to make love-powders for your brother, and I 
 humor her, to keep her from going to the 'poth- 
 ecary's, or somewhere, where she'll make her- 
 self ridiculous." 
 
 "I surmised as much, gram'me, and I'm 
 obliged to you for being so discreet with her. 
 She has her foreign ways, and we must humor 
 them, I suppose. Her cousin will soon take 
 her off with him, which will be a relief to us. 
 Did she ever ask you for anything really dan- 
 gerous ?" 
 
 Mother Hooker hesitated; her eyes fell before 
 the keen glance fixed upon her, but she raised 
 them again as she said: 
 
 "If she had, you might know she wouldn't 
 git it here, — nor I wouldn't tell of her, neither, 
 but jest lectur' her on her sin an' danger. She's 
 most like the heathen, that poor child is, and 
 I tell you I've preached to her poicerful." 
 
 Miss Miller was just as well satisfied with this 
 answer as if it had been more explicit. After a 
 little more chat on the old woman's wants and 
 ailments, she bade her good-night, and returned 
 upon her lonesome route. The faint glimmer 
 of a moon in its first quarter straggled through 
 the wood, making weird shadows across the 
 path, but marking it so that she had small dif- 
 ficulty in finding her way back. She was no 
 coward, as far as being out alone was concerned, 
 and crossed the field as carelessly as if it had 
 been broad daylight. Entering by that back gate, 
 | through which so many of my adventures had 
 been made the previous summer, she strolled 
 on to the arbor, and still feeling dislike to the 
 prospect of company, she turned aside and en- 
 tered. As she did so she was startled, almost 
 into an exclamation; but her long habit of self- 
 control stood her in good stead, and she said 
 nothing. The low beams of the sinking moon 
 shone almost horizontally into the arbor against 
 the face of a man sitting there as if waiting for 
 somebody. The lady could see him with suffi- 
 cient clearness to know that he was a stranger. 
 Before she could decide whether to turn away 
 or to accost him, he arose, saying — 
 
 "I guess it's all right, ma'am. We're on 
 the right track now, certainly. I followed him 
 all day yesterday, as you advised, and I found 
 out what you said I would." 
 
 " Found out what?" Miss Miller's lips trem- 
 
94 
 
 THE FIGURE EIGHT. 
 
 bled, but she steadied her voice and tried to 
 disguise it; the other, however, immediately 
 detected his mistake. 
 
 " Beg your pardon, ma'am," said he; "I mis- 
 ook you for the housekeeper. There's a fellow 
 been stealing the berries and vegetables, and 
 she set me on to watching him." 
 
 With that he passed by her, and went whis- 
 tling on over the lawn, to the front gate, and 
 out upon the road. Miss Miller would have ta- 
 ken his story for granted, but as she went up 
 the rear steps to the porch, she met Inez com- 
 ing down, and knowing how superstitious and 
 timid she was, wondered at her going out 
 alone. 
 
 " Would you like company ?" asked the gov- 
 erness. 
 
 "Oh no, thank you. I'm only going for a 
 rose-bud for my hair. Mr. Beckwith has stolen 
 the one I was wearing," and she hurried on to- 
 wards the rose-bushes beyond which stood the 
 arbor. 
 
 Miss Miller then decided to go to the house- 
 keeper with an account of the stranger in the 
 garden. 
 
 "He's a thief himself, you may be sure," 
 said that personage, when she had told her story. 
 ' ' I never authorized nobody to watch for thieves. 
 It's like he's after the fruit himself ; or worse — 
 mebbe he's a burglar, a studyin' of the sitiwa- 
 tion. I' m goin' to send Mick out to hunt him 
 off the place, or I shan't close an eye this night. 
 Like as not he's from the city, or he's come as 
 a body-guard over that silver which mistress 
 was so foolish as to send for. I told her it 
 wouldn't be safe in this country place, where 
 there isn't a p'liceman to save your life." 
 
 "Don't worry too much; he will not be apt 
 to come back to-night, especially if he sees 
 Mick hunting him out with a lantern. He will 
 naturally suppose that we are on our guard. I 
 think, if I were in your place, I would not dis- 
 turb the family with it; there is probably not 
 much in it, and if Mick goes out and looks 
 about the place, and you fasten up carefully, it 
 will be all that is necessary." 
 
 "All right," assented the housekeeper, but 
 with the lady who gave the advice it was not 
 all right. 
 
 When she entered the parlors Inez was there 
 flirting with Mr. Beckwith, who was to be one 
 of the groomsmen; Arthur and Bertha were at 
 the piano, Sophie and Don Miguel walking up 
 and down, the room, arm-in-arm, Mr. and Mrs. 
 Chateaubriand playing chess;— the terrors which 
 beset her, and which gave her the haunted, 
 nervous, expectant look, becoming habitual to 
 her, did not come with her in full force into 
 this cheerful company. Yet she knew they 
 
 were there, like wolves at the door, ready to 
 spring upon her the moment she went forth, 
 and she was almost surprised that every one 
 was not as aware of their ugly existence as she 
 was. She gazed at the festal groups about her 
 as one does at a fairy spectacle which he knows 
 will soon dissolve. 
 
 " Oh you are here, are you ?" said the master 
 of the house, looking up as she sighed. "I've 
 been wanting you to play a game with me. You 
 understand chess much better than Mrs. Cha- 
 teaubriand. ' ' 
 
 1 ' Yes, please do take my place, Miss Miller. 
 The idea of playing chess with the thermome- 
 ter at ninety !" — the lady arose from the table, 
 and dropped languidly into an arm-chair. 
 
 "One game, then, Mr. Chateaubriand," said 
 Miss Miller, "and let it decide my fate !" 
 
 "In what way, madame? Has any one 
 been proposing for, or disposing of, you? If 
 so, you must play cautiously. It won't do lo 
 be reckless in these matters." 
 
 " No, it will not. I shall play my best." She 
 did not smile ; on the contrary, she seemed very 
 much in earnest, and the host, who was distin- 
 guished for his skill, and a great lover of the 
 game, set to work to arrange the men, with a 
 keen enjoyment in the consciousness that he 
 was to have an opponent worthy of his steel. 
 
 The delicate lady of the mansion grew tired 
 of watching the board, fell asleep, woke up, 
 and excused herself from the parlors, with a 
 warning to her daughters to be in their beds 
 by eleven o'clock. 
 
 Eleven o'clock came, and the gentlemen went 
 away, the young ladies retired, laughing at 
 papa and Miss Miller, still bent over their first 
 game — one wary, watchful, designing — the 
 other obstinate, fighting long on the edge of 
 every lost field. 
 
 The house had been long silent when the old 
 clock struck twelve, and the gentleman, rising 
 from his seat, cried with a smile — 
 
 "Checkmate to your king, Miss Miller !" 
 CHAPTER XXI. 
 A woman's eevenge. 
 
 The day preceding that appointed for the 
 wedding was an extremely busy one at Mere- 
 dith Place. No matter how much time has 
 been taken to prepare, or how perfect the ar- 
 rangements may be supposed to have been 
 made, at the last hour an hundred unexpected 
 things are to be done. The bride-elect alone 
 remained throned in royal indolence, while all 
 her subjects were doing something in her honor. 
 She did not intend to fatigue herself or discom- 
 pose herself ; all the pretty trifles of the toilet 
 had been tried, pronounced upon, and disposed 
 of ; the wedding dress and vail had been donned 
 
THE FIGURE EIGHT. 
 
 93 
 
 for a private rehearsal and doffed until the ar- 
 rival of the auspicious hour ; her trunks had 
 been packed by her maid, under the direction of 
 Miss Miller ; now, all she had to do, was to sit 
 and observe, while a troop of gay girls deco- 
 rated the long parlor, the hall and library, and 
 the dining-room, with such an aggregation of 
 flowers that one would have supposed a county, 
 at least, had been rifled of its bloom to adorn 
 this one old mansion. Only one apartment 
 escaped the general garlanding ; the laboratory 
 remained, as usual, closed, gloomy, and silent. 
 The abundance of room in the house was 
 such as to have prevented any necessity for 
 putting the laboratory to use, and it had 
 been allowed to remain as it had stood since 
 Dr. Meredith's death. The longer it was 
 avoided and abandoned, the more it took upon 
 itself a weird and repelling air, that is, to 
 strangers ; while, to Lillian, it was so eloquent of 
 the very life and spirit of her murdered father, 
 that she never yet had felt like bearing the 
 pain and shock of a visit to it. It had been a 
 great comfort to her that the present tenants 
 had allowed it to remain as he had left it ; she 
 knew that, when permanent occupants bought 
 or took the place, that room would be the first 
 to call for renovation and repair, and she 
 shrank from the desecration, far away though 
 it might be, as she would have shrunk from 
 the idea of disturbance to his grave. Only 
 Miss Miller occasionally spent an hour there 
 alone, coming away from these visits with the 
 compressed lips, the weary, jaded air of one 
 who grieves without a right, and expects no 
 sympathy. In the midst of the joyous clamor 
 of this busy day, she turned the key which 
 stood always in the lock, and passed out of the 
 light and perfume and sounds of merry voices, 
 into the chill of this dim, deserted region. 
 Throwing herself into the leather-covered arm- 
 chair which had been the Doctor's favorite 
 seat, she leaned her forehead on her hand, sit- 
 ting so motionless and silent, that she was like 
 a part of the neglected furniture. She was 
 thinking of many things, but at the end of all 
 her thoughts chimed in the refrain — " one day 
 more, and the worst will be over !" 
 
 As she sat there, muttering this to herself, 
 the door very softly unclosed — it made no more 
 noise in opening than as if its hinges were 
 always kept carefully oiled — and Mrs. Mere- 
 dith entered. At first she did not see the occu- 
 pant of the arm-chair, but stole softly forward 
 towards the shelf containing the more danger- 
 ous drugs and chemicals which it had been the 
 Doctor's habit to keep in one quarter under the 
 general head of "Poisons," which appeared in 
 a printed label over the shelf. Her observer 
 
 would have given a year of her own life to have 
 been invisible for the next five minutes ; and 
 she waited in breathless suspense while Inez 
 passed on down the other side of the darkened 
 room. The intruder looked pale in the shadowy 
 atmosphere, and her lids were drawn together, 
 so that her glittering eyes emitted only a single, 
 line of light ; her movements were cat-like, 
 velvety ; she reached the shelf, unaware of the 
 observation she was under, and reaching up, 
 took down and examined one after another of 
 the glass-stoppered bottles which held various 
 degrees of danger and death. 
 
 " If I could read in some book just how they 
 acted, I should run less risk, ' ' she murmured, 
 in her own language, which she always used 
 when much excited ; her watcher was familiar 
 with it, however, and comprehended what was 
 said. 
 
 Turning, with a perplexed air, as if to look 
 for a treatise on the subject before her, Mrs. 
 Meredith met the soul-piercing gaze which was 
 fixed upon her, and the bottle in her hand fell, 
 with a crash, to the floor. 
 
 " I did not see you, — how you frighten me." 
 
 "Do I ? What are you looking for, Mrs. 
 Meredith ? — perhaps I can assist you." 
 
 "Oh, no ! I don't think you can. I was not 
 looking for anything in particular, — something 
 — I don't know what ! Sophie told me that 
 arsenic would improve my complexion, and I 
 was wondering if there might be any amongst 
 this trash. Not that I really thought of taking 
 any, but just out of curiosity, you know. She 
 says she knows a beautiful woman who takes it 
 regularly. ' ' Inez had recovered her self-posses- 
 sion, nearly, and was talking smoothly, though 
 pale, and with fingers which trembled a little 
 as she stooped to pick up the broken glass. 
 
 " Don't 1" cried Miss Miller, springing to her 
 side — "don't touch the glass, it may be inju- 
 rious. What is it you have broken ?" 
 
 "I don't know. It's eating holes in my 
 dress. My pretty grenadine is ruined ! I'm so 
 sorry ! What do you think it is ?" 
 
 " Nothing worse than elixir vitriol, this time, 
 I believe." 
 
 " What a pity, to spoil my dress ! But you 
 frightened me so ! I did not expect to see any- 
 body in this dusty old place." 
 
 "Nor I." 
 
 Inez looked about, as if to discover the other's 
 errand. 
 
 " / did not come here for beauty-lotions," 
 said Miss Miller, with a cold smile. "I came 
 here because I was tired of so much confusion, 
 and desired to be alone." 
 
 " Oh ! I thought perhaps you came for medi- 
 cine. I knew you were not well. I oame here 
 
90 
 
 THE FIGURE EIGHT. 
 
 once for laudanum, when my tooth ached. I 
 happened to remember where the Doctor kept 
 it." 
 
 "The Doctor !" repeated the governess, me- 
 chanically. She did not know why the words 
 came from her lips, but they were forced out, 
 even as her deep-set, steady eyes were fastened 
 upon those of the widow, who shuddered at the 
 solemn voice, and tried to look away and could 
 not. 
 
 "Yes, yes!" said Inez, pettishly, when the 
 momentary spell had dissolved, "he was in 
 here so much, you know. It was tiresome." 
 
 "Was it ?" 
 
 " To have one's husband always about some- 
 thing one could not understand — yes ! That 
 was . my misfortune. I should not have mar- 
 ried as I did" — half crying, — "if it had not 
 been for papa's death, and such unpleasant cir- 
 cumstances. I ought not to have married such 
 a learned, middle-aged man, — if I had had a 
 chance to make a suitable choice ; but I could 
 do nothing else. You must own that I could 
 do nothing else, under the circumstances?" — 
 her words running on unwittingly, drawn out 
 by the power of the steady eyes which she fear- 
 ed and dreaded, but could not rid herself of. 
 " I should have chosen a younger man, fash- 
 ionable, you know, fond of society, who would 
 have taken me out." 
 
 " The Doctor would have done that ; he would 
 have dressed you superbly, petted you as no 
 younger man would have done. You were in 
 too great haste ; too impatient. You should 
 have waited." 
 
 ' ' Waited ? He died, did he not, Miss Miller ? 
 I am not to blame for that. I wish I had been 
 more fond of him — that I — that he had not 
 gone so soon. Doubtless I should have grown 
 attached to him, and, as you say, he would have 
 petted me, let me do as I pleased. Now, no 
 one loves me ! Miguel is good to me, but he is 
 only my cousin. Oh, I wish the Doctor were 
 alive !" 
 
 She dropped into a chair and began to sob. 
 The other regarded her, as she sat there with 
 her face covered, with a scorn too great for ex- 
 pression. She could not pity Inez, knowing 
 that she loved, with all the passion of her selfish 
 nature, her brother, who was about to marry a 
 woman as beautiful, and also rich. 
 
 She did not believe that grief for the dead 
 moved those easy- flowing tears, but jealousy of 
 the living. She might have compassionated 
 even the errors of one so young and untrained, 
 but when she would have pitied, horror froze 
 all softer emotion. The indifference, the heart- 
 less apathy which the widow felt in a death 
 which became to her only as a door which re- 
 
 leased her to the liberty of seeking better things, 
 curdled the blood of this other woman who had 
 made herself the soul-mate of the murdered 
 man. 
 
 " What shall I do with the broken glass ?" 
 asked Inez, presently ceasing to sob, and look- 
 ing for help even in this trivial difficulty. " I 
 would rather it should not be known that I was 
 in here." 
 
 ' ' I will sweep up the fragments ; leave them ; 
 it is not safe for you to meddle with such things. ' ' 
 
 "But how long do you intend remaining in 
 this gloomy place ?" asked Inez, uneasily. " I 
 don't see what you can possibly have to do here ; 
 and I heard them asking for you before I came 
 in." 
 
 ' ' The world will go on, if I absent myself a 
 little while." 
 
 " No, but about Lillian's dress. She insists 
 on the lily-of-the-valley wreaths, because she is 
 in mourning, and wishes to wear nothing but 
 pure white. We want her to wear blue ; else 
 she will look too bride-like. Bertha will be 
 white enough for all." 
 
 " I will see to it, in time." 
 
 " Do, Miss Miller. It would be a great pity 
 if anything were neglected. The event of to- 
 morrow ought to be a perfect success. Arthur 
 and Bertha are quite sure it will be ; so that 
 any humble prophecies of mine would be im- 
 pertinent." 
 
 "Why should you prophesy anything ill? 
 Stop a moment," cried Miss Miller, as the other 
 was going away. She, herself, had felt ill at 
 ease, anxious almost to wi]dness — she had brood- 
 ed over coming danger — she had calculated 
 chances — but what did Inez know of these 
 things? Was it the consciousness of her own 
 unhappy secret which gave to the other's tone 
 a meaning which it did not possess ? 
 
 Inez came back playing with the bracelet on 
 her arm. 
 
 " All is going on smoothly, the weather prom- 
 ises beautifully, — do you know of any reason 
 why to-morrow should not be all that we ex- 
 pect of it ?" 
 
 Inez laughed, moving away again. There, 
 was malice, and more, in the light laugh ; Miss 
 Miller arose, her dark face flushing redly — 
 
 " Stay a moment, Mrs. Meredith. I want tcj 
 advise you against the use of cosmetics, — espe-f 
 daily such dangerous ones. It was fortunate 
 that I was here, to-day, to prevent your doing 
 anything so rash. Let me warn you not to at 
 tempt it." 
 
 " I did not think of it. You are mistaken i 
 you suppose I need such uncertain aids. I dan 
 say to-morrow will be a beautiful day. I, fo:i 
 
THE FIGURE EIGHT. 
 
 one, expect to enjoy myself," and humming 
 " Gentle Zitella," she slipped away. 
 
 " An enemy," said the governess, " who will 
 attack by surprise. But I must not sit here, 
 fearing and trembling. Work, work, is the 
 best medicine for feverish spirits." 
 
 A breath of sweetness was wafted towards her 
 as she came out of the dark room whose damp 
 air was like that of a charnel-house in compar- 
 ison with the warmth and redolence of perfume. 
 
 I The wide old hall was like a fairy bower. The 
 ancient clock stood, with smiling face, the cen- 
 ter of a pyramid of flowers. She glanced up 
 at it, — " three o'clock. Will all be as fair and 
 promising at this hour one day hence ?" 
 
 Lillian came out of the parlor and laughingly 
 drew her in, to criticise or admire the effect, 
 according to the voice of her conscience. Sun- 
 light, flowers, gayety everywhere ! Even Lily 
 was more like her girlish, radiant self, than she 
 had been for fourteen months, — so absorbed in 
 the hopes and pleasures of others as to forget, 
 or lay aside, her habitually pensive air. She, 
 with the rest of the bridal party, were to re- 
 main at Meredith Place over night, so as to be 
 ready for the duties of the morning. Several 
 guests were to arrive by the evening train. 
 
 It was arranged for the wedding to take place 
 at eleven o'clock, in the village church ; then a 
 breakfast at noon ; the newly married pair to 
 
 , take the afternoon train to the city, from whence 
 they would proceed, at their leisure, upon the 
 
 I wedding tour. 
 
 j "Everything is faultless," pronounced the 
 | judge; "now, young ladies, away to your 
 Jroomsfor an hour's rest, then dress, for tea and 
 ^company. Lily, Sophie, Inez, you must come 
 ^ with me, — your rooms have been appropriated 
 to guests," and she martialed her graceful 
 forces as gayly as if no heavier care pressed on 
 n her mind. 
 
 The evening was a festival one— fit prelude to 
 a ' the happier expected day. A large number of 
 011 quests sat down to the sumptuous supper ; there 
 | was music and dancing, afterwards, in the par- 
 lor, while Bertha walked back and forth on the 
 | taoonlit porch, listening to the whispers of the 
 - nan whose wife she was so soon to be, and Inez, 
 n the pauses of the waltz, stood in the rose- 
 ;to i3raped window, watching them with a dull 
 spurning glow at her heart that lighted her eyes 
 4 irith an unpleasant brightness. 
 )i| "Bertha, you are magnificent, standing thus, 
 f iooded by showers of moonlight. If you look 
 lalf as beautiful to-morrow, I shall behave like 
 : i wild man." 
 
 lie " The hot sun will not be as becoming to me 
 foi is this silvery light, I dare say. We ought to 
 lave been married at this hour, on this porch, 
 
 97 
 
 by the light of the moon. It would have been 
 so romantic ! " 
 
 " Why not ? It is not too late. Shall we ?" 
 
 ' ' Where is the minister ? We shall certainly 
 be compelled to wait for him, and he will not be 
 here until ten to-morrow. ' ' 
 
 1 1 How provoking ! ' ' 
 
 "And then the disappointed Hamptonites, and 
 the superfluous elegance of the dress, and the 
 wedding breakfast, and all that ! I'm not 
 romantic enough to waste so much display and 
 expense." 
 
 " I rather like a grand wedding myself," said 
 Arthur; " they'll describe it in the papers, you 
 see. But really, Bertha, you are looking your 
 handsomest. There will not be such a woman 
 at the Springs, I'll wager." 
 
 1 ' Thank you ! ' ' 
 
 "Mrs. Meredith is beautiful ; but you quite 
 excel her. She's too petite." 
 
 " In fortune as well as in figure," exclaimed 
 Inez, laughing, as she stepped through the win- 
 dow. 1 'Alas ! what a hard fate is mine. But 
 your mother says we must all retire to rest in 
 due season. It is now approaching midnight, 
 and she has spoken the word." 
 
 "Yes, we must, indeed, be prudent," said 
 Arthur. " Is it so late ? I have two or three 
 letters to write yet, to-night, and some articles 
 to pack. Dear Bertha, I must say good-bye 
 until to-morrow. ' ' 
 
 He kissed her, bowed to Inez, to the friends 
 in the parlor, and ran lightly up to his room. 
 This was the signal for retiring. All were weary, 
 and glad to seek their apartments. In less than 
 an hour profound silence reigned where mirth 
 and music so lately ruled. 
 
 "Come to bed," called Miss Miller, as the 
 three girls who shared her room continued to 
 chatter and laugh, as girls will, about the 
 waning light of their bed-room candle. 
 
 "Yes, yes, I'm in bed now," answered 
 Sophie, creeping on to the sofa, which was to be 
 her improvised couch. 
 
 Inez had a cot-bed put up on the other side 
 of the large chamber. 
 
 "Are you through with We light, Lily ?" 
 
 " Yes, — will you put it out ? " 
 
 " Certainly." 
 
 The next instant the room was in darkness ; 
 Inez pulled the shade to keep out the too bright 
 light of the moon, opened while seeming to 
 close the door which led into the corridor, slipt 
 into bed, and apparently sank to sleep, for she 
 was quiet at once. 
 
 However, when the others had really fallen 
 into slumber, she crept out, put on her dress 
 and shoes, went noiselessly down stairs, to the 
 laboratory door, listened there some time, and 
 
 i 
 
93 
 
 THE FIGURE EIGHT. 
 
 then, proceeding to the hack door, admitted 
 three men, officers of the law. 
 
 "It is all right," she whispered. ' 'Station 
 yourselves at the door of this room, and please 
 make no noise, until I summon Mr. Chateau- 
 briand. Is there a guard at the window I 
 mentioned ? ' ' 
 
 ' ' Yes' m. Two men there, armed with guns. ' ' 
 
 " I do not want him to escape ; that is why 
 I have arranged this matter so cautiously. You 
 get the proof of the crime and the criminal at 
 once, don't you see ? " 
 
 "Mighty clever, for a woman," chuckled 
 one of the constables. 
 
 44 Hush ! I will not be five minutes in bring- 
 ing the master of the house. ' ' 
 
 The lady, as she went, lighted the hall-lamp 
 and the bracket-lights on the stair-case, making 
 everything as bright as possible ; the men 
 stooped, listening at the darkened key-hole, and 
 hearing, with that fine tingling which goes to 
 the fingers' -ends when detecting the nature of 
 the sound, the soft roar of the blow-pipe, and 
 the stirring of a person in the laboratory. 
 
 " For heaven' s sake, my dear madam, what do 
 you Avant of me ? ' ' queried Mr. Chateaubriand, 
 coming out into the upper hall, dressed, but in 
 a state of dazed astonishment, shortly after 
 Mrs. Meredith had called him. She had sent 
 the maid to the doors of several of the gentle- 
 men, and also to Miss Miller's, with word to dress 
 and come out, as there was danger impending. 
 
 Most of the guests thought some part of the 
 house might be on fire, and obeyed the summons 
 with alacrity. All pressed together down the 
 staircase, in confusion, but not making any great 
 outcry. 
 
 "What is it?" again queried Mr. Chateau- 
 :briand, — "robbers in the house V ' — as he caught 
 ; sight of the three men surrounding the door of 
 tthe laboratory. 
 
 1 ' I wish to introduce you to your son-in-law 
 \tn a new character," and Inez, stepping in front 
 sfitf the sheriff and his aids, threw open the door. 
 ■Ml pushed forward into the room, not know- 
 ing what to expect^— all, save the trio on guard 
 aat the door, who^nerely closed up together, 
 forming a dark barrier. 
 
 Jit the moment in which the interior was dis- 
 posed by the action of Inez, a man was bend- 
 ing in front of the furnace, looking within at a 
 erucaMe whose contents he was testing ; the 
 glow, fiameless, but intense, to which the fire 
 had been urged by the assistance of a blow-pipe, 
 reveaiLed the outline of his figure with even 
 more ■distinctness than daylight could have done; 
 so absorbed was he in his occupation that noth- 
 ing had arrested his attention, of all the whis- 
 perings jand footsteps, until the noiseless hinges 
 
 moved and the company pressed into the room. 
 Even then he did not perceive them, until he 
 turned to go to the table where a small lamp 
 was burning, beside which lay some articles 
 whose meaning was not at once fully comprehend- 
 ed by those who observed them. Then, and not 
 till then, the busy worker became aware of the 
 fatal position in which he was placed — saw the 
 crowd which filled the lower end of the room, 
 the many eyes of those who had been his friends 
 fixed upon him with varying expressions of 
 grief, anger, and amazement. It was the bride- 
 groom of the morrow who thus confronted 
 them, dumb, and after the first startled move- 
 ment, quite still. 
 
 "Arthur!" cried Bertha, pushing through 
 the little crowd at the door, and making her 
 appearance, with a dressing-gown thrown ovei 
 her night attire, her unbound hair flying, — she 
 had heard the alarm, and thought, like others, 
 that Meredith Place was on fire. When she 
 saw her affianced standing by the furnace, like 
 one at bay, she stopped, with that one cry, and 
 hung back. 
 
 " What is the meaning of all this?" agam 
 demanded the master of the house. " I can not 
 say that I understand it. If Mr. Miller wishes 
 to pursue his chemical experiments at this un- 
 seasonable hour, why should any trouble them- 
 selves to interfere with him. Arthur, for G-od'i 
 sake, what are you about?" 
 
 There were two, among the surprised group i 
 besides Mrs. Meredith, who needed no explana 
 tion, after the first glance— Lillian and Misi 
 Miller. The latter leaned against the wall ® 
 her face, pale with shame and despair, droppecj * 
 into her hands, while Lillian clung to her, be ^ 
 ginning to cry. But as soon as a soft, mocking , 
 voice began to speak, silvery-clear and exulting 12 
 the governess raised her head and fixed he: , 
 eyes on the speaker : 
 
 "I will tell you, Mr. Chateaubriand. He 
 is coining the gold which was stolen at th ^ 
 time of my husband's death — coining it int* | 
 money, by midnight toil, to spend it at othej 
 times, in keeping up those appearances whicl 
 deceived you and your daughter into believin; 
 him a young man rising into wealth. H 
 has made money, indeed ! literally made it, fror 
 the gold of the orphan and widow, and on th ^ 
 strength of this robbery, has ingratiated hia 
 self into the affections of your family. I ha\> J . 
 suspected him for some months, and been pos 
 tive of his guilt for some weeks. I discovere 
 the dies and who it was that used them, son . 
 time ago ; but I have failed to trace him to tlr 
 fountain from which he obtains his supplies- 
 the box which disappeared at the time of tl 
 murder. 
 
THE FIGURE EIGHT. 
 
 90 
 
 "Two of these officers have followed him 
 continually the last month, ascertaining that 
 the money he spends is always gold, of the 
 coinage of 1817, as you will find on these dies. 
 He gave a thousand dollars, the other day, for 
 a bauble for his bride — a munificence she will ap- 
 preciate when she knows that it was Lillian' s 
 gold and mine, which paid for it." 
 
 The stinging clearness of the voice, with its 
 soft foreign accent, made every word more 
 impressive, and as she ceased for a moment, 
 her triumphant glance swept the circle, falling 
 away from the fixed gaze of the unhappy sis- 
 ter to rest on the sinking lids of the brother. 
 
 1 ; If you knew this, why did you not mention 
 it before, Mrs. Meredith?'' 
 
 " "Well, sir, I should be very foolish to make 
 a charge before I could substantiate it. I de- 
 sired my proofs to be absolute. I will not deny 
 that I had also some personal feeling in the mat- 
 ter. Air. Miller sought my hand before he did your 
 daughter's ; but finding that he could enjoy 
 my wealth without the burden of its owner, 
 he concluded to make it available in securing 
 him the prestige of an alliance with your family, 
 as well as a second fortune. My Spanish blood 
 rebelled at this treatment, and I acknowledge 
 that I enjoyed the prospect of his humiliation. 
 
 "But my malice does not reach to your fam- 
 ily, sir. I was willing and anxious to save 
 Miss Chateaubriand the mortification of becom- 
 ing the wife of a robber and — no ! I will not 
 say the other word ! I have no positive proof 
 that that crime is to be charged to him. I only 
 say that these circumstances warrant us in en- 
 tertaining a suspicion. Who, but the man 
 who knows where that box is secreted, and who 
 has constantly used its contents, since they came 
 into his possession — who else can be the 
 
 "Don't speak that word, Mrs. Meredith," 
 interrupted the governess, harshly, while Lil- 
 lian cried out as if struck. 
 
 ' ' Aye ! ' ' continued Inez, turning towards Miss 
 Miller, and growing more excited, " she knew of 
 his guilt She also should be arrested as an 
 accessory. ' ' 
 
 "Did you?" asked Lillian's mute eyes, as 
 well as the cold voice of Mr. Chateaubriand. 
 
 " Yes," said the governess, standing erect and 
 speaking with the courage of which nothing 
 had ever deprived her, except her fear and love 
 for another, — "I have known it for sometime. 
 God knows I have not been an accomplice. It 
 has broken my heart. Friends, you have seen 
 me wasting before yonr eyes, in the struggle 
 between duty, and love for this erring brother, 
 who is like a child to me. I have been very 
 ambitious for him, — the desire to see him do 
 well has been the dearest wish of my heart. 
 
 When I found that he was sinning — robbing 
 my poor child here," turning to Lily, " of her 
 patrimony, I could not bring myself to expose 
 him, for fear he would be accused of a still 
 more terrible crime, of which I know he is innocent. 
 I have said to myself, I will wait, — wait until he is 
 married, — then I will compel him to return, 
 by degrees, as he can, all the money of others 
 which he has spent. By that time he will be 
 so well established in business that he can do 
 it without injury to himself or others. 0, I 
 know I have been weak — a coward — done wrong. 
 But I could not make up my mind to ruin my 
 brother." 
 
 Dear Miss Miller," spoke Lily, caressingly, 
 "if others could excuse you as I do. I don't 
 care for the miserable gold. Oh, Inez, how 
 could you be so cruel to all of us?" 
 
 "Why not keep this a secret?" pleaded 
 Bertha, looking pitifully at one and another. 
 " If he can restore the money, there will be no 
 harm done. It will be so mortifying, to me, to 
 you, papa ! Let him leave the country, if he 
 wishes. I will give up the foolish trinkets he 
 wasted on me, and make good to Mrs. Meredith 
 her losses. Anything to save this disgrace I" 
 
 For the first time, Arthur raised his eyes, 
 looking at the beautiful girl who was to have 
 been his bride, and from her to her father, to 
 note the effect of this appeal. 
 
 "0, do let it be so," cried Lillian, " for my 
 friend's sake." 
 
 " Xever \" said Inez. "You have had your 
 triumph, Bertha, and I will have mine. And 
 then — a murderer ! How dare you ?' ' 
 
 "It is our duty to arrest him," interposed 
 the sheriff, and stepping within, leaving his 
 two men to guard the door, he advanced to lay 
 his hand on the shoulder of his prisoner. 
 
 With a bound like that of a panther Arthur 
 sprang to the window, which it chanced his sis- 
 ter had raised to free the room from the odor 
 of the acid which Inez had spilled. The sash 
 was up, but the shutters were closed, as usual, 
 — with one blow of his fist he sent them flying, 
 and leaped through the opening to the ground 
 beneath. So quickly was the feat accomplished 
 that the two men on guard beneath had no time 
 for thought or action, before the flying man 
 was on his feet again, and away, down the gar- 
 den with the speed of a deer. 
 
 "Fire!" shouted the sheriff, leaning from 
 the window, perceiving that the fugitive was 
 otherwise certain of present escape. 
 
 One of the men raised his musket and aimed it 
 at the dark figure flitting from bush to tree, un- 
 der the tell-tale light of the calm moon, a sharp 
 report rang upon the perfumed silence of the 
 
100 
 
 THE FIGURE EIGHT. 
 
 summer night, the flying figure leaped, stum- 
 bled, and fell. 
 
 " He's hit," muttered the officer, looking 
 back upon the pale faces of the now hushed 
 group; "it's bad, but couldn't be helped! 
 "When a fellow runs, he must take the chances." 
 
 He and his aids went out, followed by Mr. 
 Chateaubriand and two or three gentlemen. In 
 five minutes the master of the house returned 
 and whispered to his wife: "Take Bertha up 
 stairs with you. She must not see this !" 
 
 They carried the bride-elect up stairs, shriek- 
 ing hysterically, not so much from the agony of 
 her bereavement as the terrible shock to and 
 sudden revulsion of feeling. No one thought 
 particularly of the sister, except Lillian, who 
 still clung to her hand, and tried to persuade 
 her to go up stairs. 
 
 Then the heavy shambling feet of the men 
 were heard outside, at the door, in the hall, and 
 there in that bower which had been decked for 
 his bridal, in the midst of all those arches and 
 pyramids of bloom, they laid their burden 
 down. The old clock, though half smothered 
 in flowers, ticked as loudly, as gayly as ever — 
 but the heart of the young man beat no more. 
 
 "He is quite dead," said the constable. 
 
 Then the woman who had accused and be- 
 trayed him, realizing that her revenge had been 
 too complete, threw herself beside the body with 
 a wail which told her love even more loudly 
 than her remorse. 
 
 Impulsive, unreasoning, and unprincipled, she 
 had triumphed over those of whom she was 
 jealous, only to feel that she had wounded her- 
 self. Her moans and screams were such as to 
 melt the stern hearts of men who already felt 
 appalled at the too sudden punishment which 
 had overtaken the erring young man. 
 
 The guard who fired the fatal shot was walk- 
 ing back and forth out-of-doors, endeavoring in 
 vain to quiet his aching conscience by the whis- 
 per of duty. The scene in the hall became un- 
 endurable, and servants were ordered to carry 
 Mrs. Meredith to her room, and forcibly detain 
 her there. 
 
 In the meantime, .Miss Miller, who had faint- 
 ed at the first cry that her brother was hurt, lay 
 on the floor of the laboratory, her head pillow- 
 ed in Lillian's lap, looking almost as ghastly as 
 the dead. Sophie's maid was chafing her tem- 
 ples and hands, while Lillian, frightened to see 
 her so long remain insensible, dreaded the mo- 
 ment when she should arouse to a full conscious- 
 ness of what had happened. 
 
 Thus the brief summer night brightened into 
 dawn, and the sun arose upon the bridal day 
 which but yesterday Arthur had gayly apostro- 
 phised in the words of Tennyson — 
 
 " Move eastward, happy earth, and leavo 
 
 Yon orange sunset waning slow; 
 From fringes of the faded eve, 
 
 Oh, happy planet, eastward go I 
 Ah, bear me with thee, smoothly born, 
 
 Dip forward, under starry light, 
 And move me to my marriage morn, 
 
 And 'round again, to happy night." 
 
 The marriage morning had dawned, and his j„ 
 
 sun had set forever, in a darkness and a cold- | ( 
 
 ness far away from the "happy night" he had ^ 
 
 anticipated. His was the crime and error of a ^ 
 
 weak and pleasure-loving nature. Others, be- ^ 
 side his wretched sister, made many excuses for 
 
 him, as he lay there, dead, in the midst of the m 
 
 garlands which had been wreathed for his wed- ^ 
 ding. 
 
 CHAPTER XXII. I 
 
 CONSCIENCE MAKES COWARDS OF US ALL. pi 
 
 The excitement following upon the frightful 
 drama of the night set Hampton township wild. ^ 
 Alas ! when one's griefs or misfortunes are of a tt 
 character which gives the public a right to 111 
 make free with them ! Trouble, under such ^ 
 circumstances, is far more unendurable than 1 
 when it can be kept sacredly in the privacy of 
 our own homes. Such was the tragedy which F 
 once before had filled Meredith Place with cu- i ^ 
 rious and whispering throngs, and which now m 
 again crowded it with inquisitive strangers. I 
 
 Mr. Chateaubriand soon gave orders to have 
 the gates closed against all except those who I & 
 had business there. A coroner's jury was em- j 
 paneled, and a verdict rendered of justifiable 
 homicide by the hand of an officer in the exe- *> 
 cution of the law ; then the doors were closed 
 against all but friends, the signet of mourning : «l 
 placed upon them, and rumor left outside to ! ft 
 go insane over her own conjectures. 
 
 It was very natural that people should be- at 
 lieve that the robber was also the murderer. ' ra 
 It was at once decided that Arthur Miller had in* 
 taken advantage of his sister's position in the *i 
 family, to rob Dr. Meredith, and make way t« 
 with him. 
 
 It must be borne in mind that Inez' declara- j of 
 tion that the doctor had himself secreted the I 
 treasure the night before his death, was known rc 
 only to her friends ; and even if the public had ot 
 known it, it would be easy to surmise that to 
 Arthur, lingering about the place, had chanced h 
 to observe the doctor in the act, and had then ft 
 and there resolved to murder him in order to 
 enjoy the money with whose place of deposit 
 he only would be acquainted. 
 
 From this predicate, the world went on to J 
 assert that Miss Miller, if not equally guilty fa 
 with her brother, of the murder, was an acces- | 
 sory to the robbery, and to loudly demand her <- 
 arrest. At first, she heard nothing of this, : 
 
THE FIGURE EIGHT. 
 
 101 
 
 from that dark chamber of the old house, where 
 she lay in a stupor more painful to combat than 
 the unreasoning and querulous ravings of Inez, 
 or the silent tears of the bride. The Chateau- 
 briands knew that a warrant was out for her 
 arrest ; and that the delay in serving it was 
 owing to the compassion felt for one of her sex 
 in her ill and helpless condition. As long as 
 her friends would pledge themselves to guard 
 her from escape, she should remain unmolested 
 until sufficiently recovered to bear the change 
 without detriment to her health. 
 
 The haughty Chateaubriands, chafing at the 
 unpleasant notoriety in which they had been 
 involved, still conducted themselves with a 
 propriety which came very near being Christian. 
 They insisted that the funeral should take 
 place from their house, and paid every possible 
 honor to the departed, as if he had been, indeed, 
 their son. If they felt that they had been de- 
 eived in and wronged by Miss Miller, they 
 made no exposition of their feelings while she 
 lay beneath their roof, stunned by the calamity 
 which had crushed her. 
 
 They resolved, as soon after the funeral as 
 possible, to take Bertha away from scenes which 
 hereafter could only be distressing to her ; they 
 would spend the remainder of the season in 
 traveling with her. ' They would have liked 
 much to invite Don Miguel to make one of 
 their party ; but if they did so, they must also 
 invite Inez, and they had a distaste to her so- 
 ciety, since her talent for melodrama had been 
 so unpleasantly displayed. 
 
 Bertha could not endure the sight of her ; 
 and, altogether, her position was not enviable. 
 However, she did not seem to realize it ; sensi- 
 tiveness, of a delicate kind, was not one of her 
 attributes ; she clung to every one near her, 
 complained, bewailed, and was hysterical, as 
 inclination moved. The Don was very patient 
 with her, though he could not conceal the con- 
 tempt which mingled with his affection. His 
 acquaintance with a woman of Lillian's dignity 
 of character had opened .his eyes to the fact 
 that all of her sex were not like his wayward 
 cousin. He was anxious to remove Inez at 
 once from the neighborhood ; but his courtesy 
 to the family prompted him to remain to the 
 funeral, the preparations for which went for- 
 ward speedily. 
 
 Lillian spent her time beside Miss Miller's 
 bed. She had not a thought or word of com- 
 plaint of one whom she loved and honored. 
 She understood, now, all that had been mys- 
 terious about the scene at the laboratory door 
 on the occasion of the broken arm ; the gov- 
 erness had told her that she, too, as well as 
 mvself, was suspicious of a person, and had fol- 
 
 lowed him to the place, not dreaming that I, 
 also, was on the watch. It was her breath I 
 had heard, her approach I had detected in the 
 darkness, and which had sent thrills over me, 
 as if a disembodied spirit had approached. 
 She had waited, as I was waiting, and when 
 the door unclosed, instead of striking down the 
 transgressor, I had smitten her, and given him 
 opportunity for escape. She would not explain 
 I this to me, because she would not criminate her 
 brother. She had explained it to Lily, with 
 the reservation of the guilty man's name ; and 
 Lily had been so blind as never once to suspect 
 Arthur. 
 
 Looking back upon it now, Lillian could see 
 how the sad secret had worn out the health and 
 spirits of her friend. She did not doubt that 
 Miss Miller intended the fullest restitution, as 
 soon as she could bring it about without ruin- 
 ing her brother,— and she loved her all the 
 more tenderly that her love for him had be- 
 trayed her into a weakness which she would 
 not allow was a crime. 
 
 Beyond this she hardly dared allow her 
 thoughts to go. The great probability that 
 Arthur had been the one who tore her father 
 from his hold on life, continually forced itself 
 upon her, and was as constantly resisted. Be- 
 cause Arthur was her friend's brother, she did 
 not like to admit the possibility, — yet some 
 one had done the deed, and who else — who 
 else could it be ? All the first horror was brought 
 back by the second tragedy which had grown 
 out of it ; — she was shaken, soul and body, and 
 felt, if possible, a desolation greater than when 
 her father was first taken away. Then she had 
 Miss Miller, and her cousin Joe, — now, one 
 had fled, unjustly accused, — the other lay pros- 
 trate, a burden, who had been so strong to 
 bear. 
 
 In the meantime, Hampton, too, had re- 
 called memories of the poor cousin who had 
 been driven ignominiously from its midst. A 
 reaction set in, in my favor, and if one reflects 
 upon the natural course of such a reaction, 
 heightened by remorse at the consciousness of 
 false accusations, he may estimate how high 
 the tide of popular feeling now ran in my 
 favor. 
 
 Had I made my appearance at that crisis, 
 doubtless I should have been overwhelmed 
 with hand-shakings and love-feasts. The good 
 Hamptonians felt very uneasy as they wondered 
 into what possible despairs and dissipations 
 they had driven a young man, whose worst 
 fault, after all, was in having had a bad father, 
 and who was, come to think of it, a most stu- 
 dious, retiring, harmless young fellow, who 
 would not hurt a fly except in the way of surgi* 
 
102 
 
 THE FIGURE EIGHT. 
 
 cal experiments. Some young ladies even re- 
 called that I had given promise of being good- 
 looking when my mustache had acquired body, 
 and I got able to dress a little more fashionably. 
 
 There was much regret, too, for the sake of 
 Lillian Meredith, that the hiding-place of her 
 fortune still remained a mystery. Whatever 
 inroads Miller might have made upon it, with 
 his reckless expenditures, doubtless a consider- 
 able portion remained. It did seem like a 
 strange fatality, that, amid all the discoveries 
 made — by Miss Miller, in her somnambulic state, 
 by Mrs. Meredith, in ferreting out the habit of 
 the young man of visiting the laboratory at 
 midnight hours, the actual hiding-place of the 
 box remained unrevealed. Lillian thought less 
 about it, perhaps, than any one else ; she had 
 found that she could support herself ; and steady 
 employment seemed almost desirable, as forcing 
 her to put aside the vail of morbid melancholy 
 in which she was tempted to wrap herself. 
 
 Mr. Chateaubriand considered it his duty to 
 look more closely after her interests. With the 
 consent and cooperation of Don Miguel, acting 
 as Mrs. Meredith's counsel, he at once institu- 
 ted the most thorough investigation of the 
 premises, in hopes of unearthing the treasure. 
 Out-buildings and gardens, cellar and attic, un- 
 derwent a probing which would have done credit 
 to the French police. The result remained as 
 unsatisfactory as ever. The people of Hampton 
 resolved that Doctor Meredith's bullion had be- 
 come a myth, to be sought after, vainly and 
 with infatuation, as several generations had 
 sought after the buried riches of Captain Kidd. 
 
 On the third day after the death the funeral 
 took place. The flowers had not yet completely 
 withered, which were gathered for the bridal ; 
 reversing the order of which Hamlet com- 
 plained, the wedding banquet furnished forth 
 the funeral baked meats; an immense concourse 
 followed the body to the grave; the ceremonies 
 were performed by the clergyman who was to 
 have united the young couple ; the groomsmen 
 were the pall-bearers; the man who was sent to 
 death — 
 
 " With all his imperfections on his head," 
 
 was not denied the poor tribute of outward 
 respect. 
 
 None of the ladies of the family went to the 
 cemetery. Inez plead and wept to be allowed to 
 go ; but Don Miguel had no idea of permitting 
 her to get up a scene at the grave, for the edifi- 
 cation of curious hundreds; his commands were 
 imperative, and she reluctantly obeyed them. 
 The chief mourner, the sister of the dead, still 
 continued in that stupor which was so like 
 unconsciousness, that Lillian, watching beside 
 
 her, doubted if she knew that the day and hour 
 of the burial had come and gone. 
 
 On account of the intense heat of the day, 
 the last rites were postponed until the sunset 
 hour. When all was over, the pall-bearers, 
 including Don Miguel and other friends who 
 had remained to the funeral, gathered once 
 more in the dim parlor of the old mansion. On 
 the morrow, the most of them returned to 1 
 New York, including the Don and Inez, who 
 were to go to Canada to while away the time 
 until it would be safe to re-visit Havana. 
 Within a few days it was the purpose of the 
 master of the house to leave Hampton. 
 
 Although none of the company could be said 
 to feel any violent sorrow for the death of Ar- 
 thur Miller, and would doubtless be glad, in 
 the morning, to shake off the gloom under 
 which they had sat for the last three days, still 
 there was a shadow on every face, and the most 
 careless felt awed by the solemn events which I 
 had occurred in place of the festivities which 
 they had anticipated. The day deepened into 
 twilight, and the lights were lit in the long 
 dining-room, when the party was summoned to 
 supper. Sophie had insisted upon Lillian's 
 coming down and joining the family at this ! 
 meal ; and as her charge appeared to be sleep- 
 ing, she consented. Inez also was present; she 
 could rave, but not in solitude — solitude was the 
 worst trial a nature like hers could bear, and 
 she had gladly stolen down at the first 
 summons, and placed herself by Don Miguel's 
 side. 
 
 When the meal was about half through with, 
 an apparition appeared at the door leading from 
 the hall into the room. Inez sat near the head 
 of the table, at the opposite side, so that her 
 face was towards the door, and she was one 
 of the first to perceive the intruder, who 
 advanced slowly up the room. It was Miss 
 Miller, in her night-dress, which was loosely 
 trailing about her tall, commanding figure. 
 Don Miguel, looking up, murmured involun- 
 tarily : 
 
 " Lo, you, here she comes ! This is her very 
 guise ; and upon my life, fast asleep. Observe 
 her; stand close." 
 
 Indeed, none who beheld her had power to 
 do otherwise ; no one could have moved, nor 
 made an attempt to prevent her, as she walked 
 feebly up the room, her eyes, in which there 
 was no speculation, wide open, her brow pale 
 and beaded with drops of sweat, to which the 
 dark tresses of her hair clung damply. Lillian 
 saw at a glance that she had risen from her bed 
 and sallied forth on one of her somnambulistic 
 excursions ; but she, like the others, sat pow- 
 erless, fascinated by the expression of that 
 
THE FIGURE EIGHT. 
 
 103 
 
 dead-alive face. Miss Miller did not carry a 
 ; taper, like Lady Macbeth, but she bore a small 
 salver, on which was a wine-glass filled with 
 wine. Unerringly, but very slowly, she glided 
 up the long apartment, around the head of the 
 | table, and down again, until she came to where 
 i Inez sat, when she placed the salver on the 
 table before her, and, lifting the glass, present- 
 ed it, with a sweet smile breaking most 
 strangely over the marble countenance, and 
 j said, softly, in almost a whisper, but so that all 
 ! present heard — ■ 
 
 " You look pale, mio caro sposa, you do, indeed. 
 Don't you think a glass of wine will do you good?" 
 
 Inez, pushing back her chair, arose, recoiling 
 from the proffered glass. 
 
 " I did not say that ! I did not say that !" 
 she stammered. 
 
 ' ' Our Spanish doctors always order port for your 
 complaint; but I suppose you think yourself wiser, eh, 
 my darling old doctor!" continued the sleep- 
 walker, still proffering the wine. 
 
 " I tell you I did not say that ! go away ! go 
 away !" screamed Inez 
 
 " Well, well! I will set it here, and you can drink 
 it when you like," went on the other, setting the 
 glass on the salver. 
 
 " What does this mean ?" asked Don Miguel, 
 sternly, grasping his cousin's arm. 
 
 Inez looked up at him piteously, and back at 
 the white-robed phantom whose deep set eyes 
 met hers. 
 
 "Because I brought him wine," she ex- 
 claimed, frantically, "is that any reason for 
 suspecting that I put poison in it ?" 
 Her loud voice had the effect to somewhat 
 
 i disturb the somnambulist, who rubbed her hand 
 across her forehead with a perplexed air, — the 
 observers waited breathlessly, believing her 
 about to awaken, but her countenance took on 
 again that half- vacant, half-spiritual pallor and 
 radiance, as she fixed her gaze on Don Miguel, 
 and murmured : 
 
 ' s I heard the words, Arthur, as I was under the 
 
 j library window, pulling some roses. I never told of 
 
 ! them, for, you know, she was such a baby. I could 
 not believe my own ears, — besides, she might have 
 brought him the wine and others might have poisoned 
 it — don't you see ? and I would not be unjust — even 
 to her ! But now they say you are the murderer, 
 
 j brother, — leant bear that ! I shall tell all — all! 
 
 \ I shall accuse her ! I shall point to her and say, — 
 you did it ! you did it!" and stretching out her 
 arm, the speaker pointed with fixed finger, and 
 an awful intense gaze at the shrinking and 
 quivering girl, who cowered before the finger 
 and the eyes, and fell on her knees, sobbing. 
 "Don't look at me so, Miss Miller, don't! 
 
 Indeed, I did not mean to kill him ! I never 
 dreamed that one drop — one little drop — would 
 hurt him. Who could suppose it would ? I only 
 gave it to him for a charm — just to see — to try 
 because — oh, what am I saying? You must 
 remember how I screamed when I came in and 
 found him dead, — you must acknowledge that 
 I was surprised — horrified. I only meant to 
 give him a drop a day, to see how it worked. 
 Oh, what a'm I saying again ? Miguel, cousin, 
 you are not going to desert me ? I don't want 
 to go to prison — to die ! when I did not mean 
 it, — when I only dropped one drop, or two, per- 
 haps, for my hand trembled." 
 
 She looked about upon the company. Don 
 Miguel had drawn away, and was gazing at 
 her, with folded arms, and a look of horror, — 
 the faces of all the others were as the faces of 
 ghosts. Lillian had risen to her feet and stood 
 with clasped hands. 
 
 " Her fondness for you was not in your honor, 
 Arthur, ' ' continued the somnambulist, ' ' you ought 
 not to have been flattered by it. I have excused much 
 in her, but any human being, not an idiot or insane, 
 would not be justified in indulging such fancies, — and 
 she a married woman, married to such a man!" 
 
 " I loved him the first time I saw him," went 
 on Inez ; distractedly, ' ' he was so much more 
 suitable in years and tastes. But I did not 
 mean to let him see it, — and I never meant to 
 harm my husband, who was so good to me ;" 
 and here she began to shed alligator's tears. 
 
 "Wicked ! incredible !" murmured the Don, 
 stepping back, as she turned, on her knees, to 
 him. 
 
 "I'm not wicked, cousin ! Indeed, I didn't 
 mean the worst. Oh ! you won't let the offi- 
 cers take me, will you? I wish to go way 
 from here, back to Havana, with you, and be a 
 better woman. I am too young and delicate to 
 die — to have a rope put about my neck ! ' ' and she 
 put up her little jeweled hand and felt of her 
 slender throat, with a movement which would 
 have been sufficiently pathetic could the spec- 
 tators have rid themselves of the knowledge 
 that they were gazing upon as heartless and 
 selfish a woman as ever breathed. 
 
 Even as it was, the influence of youth and 
 beauty was powerful. She looked so childish, 
 with her face upraised, and so graceful, and so 
 lovely, in the abandonment of fear, it seemed im- 
 possible to credit her with her own confessions. 
 Mr. Chateaubriand was the first to speak. 
 
 " She is, indeed, too frail to be handed over 
 to the law. I believe that she never meant to 
 kill Dr. Meredith. It resulted from her lawless 
 fancies and her ignorance. I do not know if I 
 do right, but I am agreed, if the rest of you 
 are, to allow Don Miguel to take her from the 
 
104 
 
 THE FIGURE EIGHT. 
 
 country, before this thing becomes known out- 
 side the walls." 
 
 For a moment no one responded. 
 
 "If it were not for the disgrace," said the 
 Don, bitterly, "I would leave her to her fate. 
 I hardly feel as if I wanted anything more to do 
 with her, — certainly not to assume the respon- 
 sibility of her future conduct." 
 
 ' ' Take me to a convent, ' ' pleaded Inez, ' 1 1 
 believe I would rather live with the nuns, than 
 to be hung, or to live in prison," with a shud- 
 der. 
 
 " So be it, then, if no resistance is made to 
 your going. In a few hours there will be a 
 train passing, — go, gather your effects. I shall 
 be ready." 
 
 Inez rose and went out alone ; none of the 
 ladies offered to assist her. 
 
 " Arthur," continued the sleeper, "since you 
 are buried, and since he sleeps there also, I believe 
 I will make my bed to-night, in the grave-yard." 
 
 So saying, she resumed her slow walk, passing 
 outof the room, followed by Lillian and Mrs. Cha- 
 teaubriand ; she would have gone out of doors, 
 in her bare feet, had they not gently barred her 
 way and led her back to her chamber. 
 
 Scarcely had they seen her safely in bed when 
 Don Miguel knocked at the door to bid them a 
 gloomy adieu ; he held Lily's hand a moment 
 with a nervous pressure, dropped it and turned 
 away, with his emotions, whatever they were, 
 unuttered. 
 
 "Don't trouble yourself to go to the cottage 
 to-night, ' ' he said, ' ' I will see that she has what 
 she needs," and thus, without look or word, Lil- 
 lian and Inez parted, and their ways thereafter 
 led in widely-differing directions. 
 
 When the night-express thundered in and 
 out of Hampton, it bore her away whose com- 
 ing had wrought such changes at Meredith 
 Place ; whose inmates shuddered and sighed as 
 the echoes died away, at the thought of what 
 she had been and done, and that they should 
 probably never know more of one whose future 
 promised so illy. 
 
 ' ' I am afraid I did. wrong to allow her to es- 
 cape from the grasp of the law," said Mr. Cha- 
 teaubriand , walking uneasily about the chamber, 
 unable to sleep. 
 
 " We did, I know ; but who could have the 
 heart to punish her?" responded his wife, shiv- 
 ering. "She seems to me, even yet, like an 
 infant who lights a match and throws it down, 
 innocent of the consequences. Nature seems 
 to have denied her a consicence, while giving 
 her that sweet face and childish manner. I 
 can not realize it ! I seem to have been dream- 
 ing a hideous dream." 
 
 " It is a night-mare from which I wish there 
 
 was an awakening. Poor Don Miguel is cruelly 
 punished in having such a relative thrust upon 
 him. He seemed very much dejected when he 
 went away, — and yet he was not harsh with 
 her. I suppose he will bury her in some Span- 
 ish nunnery, and we shall never hear of her 
 again. I propose that we keep silence until 
 the warrant is served against Miss Miller, when 
 we shall be obliged to declare what we know, 
 in order to protect her. I shall not be sorry 
 to get away from all this !" 
 
 " Poor Lillian ! that child's courage is sur- 
 prising, — I wish we could take her with us. I 
 can not think contentedly of going away, leav- 
 ing her so solitary. I would like to adopt her. ' ' 
 
 " My good little madame, so would I. She 
 is a gem. But she will never consent. She 
 has the pride of all the Merediths under her 
 demure modesty. Good heaven ! how she must 
 feel this night! I can't sleep, for thinking of 
 it. I should think it would kill her. That 
 scene would have shaken the nerves of the 
 stoutest stranger. How awful the majesty of 
 that accusing specter ! Inez could not escape 
 her. All the guilt which was written in her 
 heart appeared upon her fair face under the 
 flame of those penetrating eyes, as concealed 
 writing comes out when exposed to the heat. ' ' 
 
 " I shall never forget it, to my dying day !" 
 
 ' 1 None of us will, I think. Probably not 
 twice for us will the curtain rise upon such a 
 tragedy." 
 
 Nor for any others who witnessed that strange 
 supper-table scene. None who were present 
 but acted it over in dreams through many a 
 haunted night thereafter,— shrinking as if them- 
 selves were doomed, when the slow finger of 
 the sleep-walker pointed at the shrinking girl 
 who trembled at her feet. 
 
 CHAPTER XXni. 
 
 come home! come home! 
 
 I sat in my little out-west office, looking out 
 the open door, at the bright-colored leaves 
 which dropped and loosened and dropped 
 dreamily through the haze of the soft September 
 day. I could see, also, the great river which 
 rolled in front of the the straggling village in 
 which I had settled ; there was a rude dock op- 
 posite my log shanty ; a store and warehouse 
 beside it, a few barrels and hogsheads on the 
 dock, men fishing from the edge, a flat-boat in 
 the distance, —all that men had done, primitive, 
 rough ; all that nature had done, beautiful, 
 boundless. My prospects were good. All I 
 had to do was to cook my own pork and corn- 
 meal, and invest the sum and substance of my 
 fees as a physician, beyond what was necessary 
 to purchase these necessary articles, in real 
 
THE FIGURE EIGHT. 
 
 105 
 
 estate — the land which lay about the landing — 
 I the town-lots which ran, in a state of nature, 
 
 I' boldly along the bank of the stream ; all I had 
 to do was to lay hold, by hook or crook, of a 
 goodly number of these, and in due time, say 
 ten, fifteen, or twenty years, my fortune would 
 have made itself. I should be a millionaire. 
 
 II sat thinking of it. The more I thought of 
 it, the more brilliant appeared my future, the 
 more gloomy I became. There was one thing 
 ! which was making life intolerable to me. The 
 i name, chalked in red chalk upon the shingle 
 l beside my door, was not my own. A tragic 
 ; destiny had driven me from home and friends, 
 ! and, worst of all, from my own name. In a 
 i moment of weakness, of blinded judgment, I 
 I had resolved to throw away what had only been 
 a curse to me, and to begin my new life under 
 I a new cognomen. I would shake off every as- 
 | sociation which belonged to Meredith Place, 
 i So I had come among these people under a false 
 title. What of that? Had I not the right? 
 "Who was wronged by my doing so ? I would 
 be a man and a worker ; I would fight with 
 fate and conquer ; would become rich and re- 
 ; spected; would make the wilderness blossom 
 i like the rose ; would build a fine home in place 
 j of this hut of logs ; would bring a sweet wife 
 to it, and rear fair children. Aye, and some 
 jday, perhaps on my wedding-day, or when 
 i those children were old enough to wonder at it, 
 ! some hated man or woman of that old home 
 and old life would happen along, would recog- 
 jnize me, and cry out — "Why, this man is a 
 pretender and a liar ! I know him. This is 
 I not Joseph Pillmaker, M. D., but Joe Mere- 
 :dith, of Hampton, who murdered his uncle and 
 ran away with his gold !" 
 
 I might deny the murder and the robbery ; 
 but the fact of the false name would be fatal to 
 I me. Already the cloud grew and darkened, 
 casting a gloom and chill over my new sunshine. 
 Already I started, looking up nervously when 
 | strangers suddenly hailed me. And this thing 
 would grow and grow, becoming more and 
 jmore unendurable ; and I would acquire the 
 . hang-dog look of a guilty man, or the bleached 
 i complexion of a plant that lives ever in the 
 shadow. There would be no relief, — time would 
 i Ibut make the disease more incurable — every 
 i (dollar earned, every honor gained, would but 
 i ;make the fall heavier. 0, what a fatal mistake! 
 i 0, what a wretched prospect ! Better ' ' pull up 
 , Istakes" again, as the rough settlers about me 
 I |said when they changed their local habitation 
 • — better pull up stakes and tramp still farther 
 : West, and when I found a stopping-place, re- 
 | sume my own name. Less danger in that than 
 I the other. An enemy might come along and 
 
 say, ' 1 This man is a murderer, who fled from his 
 native place;" but I could make my honest 
 defense, or, if arrested, stand my trial and fight 
 for my rights. I should breathe easier if this 
 were done. 
 
 I felt, too, that I no longer run any great 
 danger of arrest. From the facts which I 
 placed in Lillian's hands at the time of my last 
 visit, she must exonerate me from all partici- 
 pation in the crimes which had wrecked her 
 prosperity. Ah, Lillian ! What sense in im- 
 agining a sweet wife and fair children, when I 
 knew, and felt more truly every day, that the 
 only woman I loved or ever could love, 
 was this dear cousin, from whom circumstances 
 had torn me ? A mad longing took possession 
 of me to see her, hear her speak, know what 
 was happening to her. Was she married to 
 her noble and admirable lover, Don Miguel ? 
 Was she happy ? Was she working beyond her 
 strength ? I had to fight against such longings 
 often and faithfully. 
 
 While I sat, thinking and dreaming, the lit- 
 tle steamer, whose tri- weekly visits were the 
 event of the season, puffed up to her dock, 
 and the storekeeper went out for the mail-bag, 
 and the idlers and business men gathered 
 about to attend to the discharge of cargo, hear 
 the news, and take part in the small excitements 
 of the hour. 
 
 I did not stir. Why should I go down to 
 the boat? Some passing traveler might recog- 
 nize me, should I do so. I was already growing 
 morbid, you see. I sat there gazing gloomily 
 at the cheerful scene in which other men were 
 taking an active part. After a time the shoe- 
 makercameup from the store, and, as he passed, 
 looked in with a neighborly nod, and threw me 
 my paper. 
 
 "Thought I'd bring it along, seem' yon 
 didn't come down for't." 
 
 "Thank you, — much obliged," and he con- 
 tinued on his way, while I eagerly seized upon 
 the only reading matter which I could com- 
 mand in that far region, — the weekly New York 
 paper to which I was a subscriber. 
 
 I read it to the last item, and then turned to 
 the advertisements for amusement and instruc- 
 tion. A constant reading of advertisements 
 tends to the general improvement of the read- 
 er. I passed down several columns until I 
 came to "To whom it may concern." It con- 
 cerned me, as I discovered, with flushing cheek 
 and a pulse which rose like that of a fever-pa- 
 tient, as the letters danced and glimmered be- 
 fore my vision : 
 
 "If this meets the eye of Joseph M., who left 
 Hampton village in March last, he is begged to come 
 home immediately, by his cousin, L. M. Circumstances 
 have occurred which make it important for him to 
 
108 
 
 THE FIGURE EIGHT. 
 
 do so, and lie is assured that Ms return will be to his 
 own best interests. Lillian." 
 
 There was that sweetest name, so sacred, so 
 dear to me. Doubtless she had signed it, in- 
 stead of an initial, not only as a peace-offering, 
 but as being more likely to arrest my attention. 
 
 "Circumstances had occurred." In vain to 
 question myself, and to grow dizzy with con- 
 jecture. I could only know by answering the 
 advertisement in person, — and that would take 
 ten, twelve days — and I must wait until the 
 return of that fussy little steamer from the 
 ports above at noon to-morrow, before I could 
 make a beginning. And then, there was my 
 business to settle up ! This consisted of col- 
 lecting my fees for some twenty or thirty visits, 
 paying up the two months rent due on my office, 
 selling out my stock-in-trade to ' ' the other doc- 
 tor," who would jump at the chance of getting 
 my office-chair, saddle-bags, and medicine-chest. 
 
 In all, I hoped to realize about forty dollars, 
 which would pay my way to Hampton, and 
 
 then ? a blank. What would be filled in 
 
 that dreary blank I dared not imagine, — I, 
 who was naturally so hopeful ; but who felt 
 that disappointment, now, would be so unbear- 
 able. 
 
 I had tough work compelling the settlers to 
 pay cash for doctor's bills, — they expected 
 ftime, and to pay in grain, lumber, and town- 
 lots, but I was imperative. I had been sent for 
 to go home, and a man could not, travel on 
 town-lots. By dint of argument like this, I 
 had worked my way through the settlement, 
 and back to the little wharf, by the time the 
 steamer arrived on her return trip, and with a 
 little of the hard-earned contents of my wallet, 
 I bought my ticket, waved my hat good-bye to 
 the storekeeper, the shoemaker, and " the oth- 
 er doctor," as well as to the storekeeper's pret- 
 ty daughter, who had come down to the win- 
 dow of the warehouse which overlooked the 
 water, with very red eyes, to say farewell. My 
 conscience was clear as to never having given 
 reason for those tears, which were probably due 
 to the fact that I was the only marriageable 
 young man in Podunk. 
 
 I had a wearisome time upon that ten days 
 journey, my heart flying forward in advance of 
 the crawling boat and train, onlv to come back 
 wearied with the vain effort to satisfy itself be- 
 fore the day and hour appointed. 
 
 In the crisp and frosty twilight of an autumn 
 day I stepped out of the cars at Hampton sta- 
 tion. I was glad that the growing darkness 
 hid my identity from the prying eyes of the 
 loungers about the place. I would not even 
 question the station-master as to the residence 
 of Miss Meredith, preferring to seek it for my- 
 
 self. Two thoughts were throbbing in my heart 
 as I strode along the quiet streets, — like the 
 ticking of a pendulum in my ears they swung — ■ 
 "my cousin Lillian! the figure eight!" "my 
 cousin Lillian ! the figure eight !" 
 
 "Was the mystery unvailed ? — how fared she 
 whom I loved ? But why pause for such ques- 
 tioning, when here, at last, was the little gate, 
 the modest walk, leading up to the white cot- 
 tage, and I had but to knock, enter, and learn 
 all? 
 
 You all know what it is to hesitate on the 
 brink of certainty. The shade had not been 
 dropped over the front window of the small 
 parlor. I shall be pardoned when I confess 
 that once more I acted the part of spy, so far as 
 to glance within before venturing so much. 
 There was no light in the room, except the glow 
 of an open fire, which the chill of the autumn 
 evening made particularly pleasant. She was 
 there — no one else. She sat in her little rocker 
 beside the hearth, her eyes watching the castles 
 rising and falling in the coals, her cheek flushed 
 with the heat and rosy light of the fire, her 
 hair glittering in waves of gold and brown, — 
 the somber black dress making her fairness and 
 youth all the more apparent. She could not be 
 married to Don Miguel, or she would not be 
 here alone, and dressed in mourning ! 
 
 Silently I opened the entry-door, softly I 
 stepped forward into the rosily dim room : 
 
 " You called me, cousin Lillian, and here I 
 am." 
 
 She turned, with a little cry, and when she 
 saw me standing there, did not stir or speak for 
 a long minute. 
 
 " You sent for me, Lily ?" 
 
 " Yes, I did. Oh Joe, I am so glad you have 
 come." 
 
 " You don't appear very glad." 
 
 She arose, holding out her hand. 
 
 "You astonished me so much," she said, and 
 then I saw that she was quite pale, but as I 
 pressed her hand the color came back to her 
 face — neither of us knew just what to say. 
 
 " Oh cousin," began Lily a second time, but 
 broke down and began to sob. 
 
 " What is it ?" I asked, gently; I wished to 
 draw the fair head to my shoulder, to kiss away 
 the tears, but I had no right, — I should not 
 have done it with a cousin's love, and slu 
 looked upon me only with that affection. 
 
 "It is all discovered," she exclaimed — "I 
 have so much to tell you. ' ' 
 
 " The figure eight ?" 
 
 "Oh no, not that. I expect I must teach 
 school forever, Joe. But that is nothing. Did 
 you know that Arthur Miller was dead ?" 
 
THE FIGURE EIGHT. 
 
 107 
 
 "I know nothing of what has happened 
 since I wrote that letter." 
 
 11 Sit down, Joe; I will tell you all." 
 
 She drew a chair beside her own. She did 
 not think to ask if I were hungry or thirsty, or 
 to light the lamps. What was in her heart 
 found Toice, and I, in listening, was uncon- 
 scious of anything but the strange, surprising 
 story. My cry of horror when she came to the 
 supper-table scene caused her to ask — 
 
 "Did you, then, never suspect her during all 
 your watchfulness ?" 
 
 ' ' I did and did not. I could not help it, and 
 still I fought against the evidence of my own 
 senses." And then I told her how I had seen 
 Inez meet Arthur at the gate that stormy sum- 
 mer night, and the shock I had experienced to 
 realize that she 
 
 * f or ere these shoes were old, 
 With which she followed my poor (uncle's) body," 
 
 was carrying on a flirtation with this gay young 
 man. I told her of the love-philters, of my 
 own suspicions of Miss Miller from the first day. 
 
 " Poor Annie," sighed Lillian; "you were as 
 unjust to her as others were to you. Her worst 
 fault was to love my father — to expect to be- 
 come his wife. She is arrogant, I know; ambi- 
 tious, I know; suspicious of others, because her 
 life of self-dependence has made her so ; she 
 did no: like you, cousin Joe. She did wish her 
 brother to marry me, and after she had discov- 
 ered his guilt, she could not at once denounce 
 him. But I love her — she is my best friend — 
 my second mother, — and oh, Joe, she has suf- 
 fered so much and changed so much you would 
 hardly recognize her." 
 
 "I am sure she has my full forgiveness for 
 any ill-will she has cherished towards me." 
 
 "She regrets it now," said Lily, softly. 
 
 I told her. too, about the handkerchief and 
 key. She informed me that Miss Miller had 
 picked up the key from the floor of the upper 
 hall where some one had dropped it, and 
 thought it best to say nothing about it, while 
 making every effort to discover the box or the 
 loser of the key. As to the handkerchief, she 
 had gone, almost as quickly as the nature of 
 Dr. Meredith's death was revealed, to the la- 
 boratory to examine for herself the shelf with 
 which she was nearly as familiar as the doctor 
 had been. There was a drop of acid on the out- 
 side of the bottle, which she had wiped off with 
 her handkerchief, which she afterwards dropped; 
 but, being unable to recover it, said but little 
 about it, knowing how liable all were to suspi- 
 cion upon the smallest evidence, under the cir- 
 cumstances. Her reason for never betraying 
 her knowledge that Inez had carried the wine 
 to the doctor, was her reluctance to involve the 
 
 I young wife in danger, unless she was actually 
 j guilty of his death, and upon this point her 
 j convictions changed and wavered. In the first 
 ! place, she esteemed it incredible that Inez 
 ] could execute so daring a deed, even if capable 
 j otherwise of the crime; and as, by watching 
 I and observation of the strictest kind, she satis- 
 ! fied herself that Mrs. Meredith kuew nothing of 
 the missing box, she persuaded herself either 
 that the doctor, learning something perhaps 
 very bad with regard to his wife, had commit- 
 ted suicide, or that I, or some other enemy, for 
 some unknown purpose, had contrived his death 
 for plunder or revenge. 
 
 When she found that Inez was going to Gram'- 
 me Hooker's for love- powders, and that she 
 was foolishly infatuated with Arthur, a com- 
 prehension began to dawn on her, of the mingled 
 folly, ignorance, and superstition to which 
 the husband had fallen a victim. Still, she 
 would not denounce her, without further 
 proof, especially at the critical time when Ar- 
 thur had become involved in the robbery; but 
 after his cruelly sudden death, she would have 
 made known all she suspected or had over- 
 heard, in order to clear his memory from the 
 stain of murder. Illness prevented this being 
 done on the instant ; meantime, it worked on 
 her sick fancy, until it came about that she did, 
 in her somnambulic condition, what she had 
 intended, with more effectiveness than she 
 could have done it waking. Inez' guilty con- 
 science could not withstand the soul-glance of 
 the sleeper, and she fell. 
 
 "Since then," Lillian concluded, "Annie 
 has been slowly recovering from the exhausting 
 effects of all this excitement. The people show 
 her every attention ; feeling that her brother's 
 death was too great a punishment for his sin, 
 they try atone to her as far as possible by 
 lavishing kindness upon her. She stays with 
 me ; and has been almost well to-day. She 
 just retired to her room before you came. And 
 now," with a smile, "I believe the good vil- 
 lagers are only anxious to atone to you for their 
 persecutions. I've no doubt they will make 
 Hampton a very agreeable place to you." 
 
 "It may be," I said ; " but it will take more 
 resolution than I possess to enable me to stay 
 here." 
 
 "Why," she queried, innocently; — I 
 thought, too, she looked disappointed. 
 
 "Are you teaching?" I asked, answering 
 her question with another. 
 
 1 ' Oh, yes. We are doing very nicely, too. 
 When Miss Miller gets able to take her share 
 of the responsibility, all will be well ; I would 
 not be idle for anything," — sadly. 
 
 "Did the shocking discovery of Inez' guilt 
 
108 
 
 THE FIGURE EIGHT. 
 
 break off the match between you and Don Mig- 
 uel?" I asked, presently, trying very hard to 
 make my voice natural and careless, but jerking 
 out the words with a ridiculous hoarseness. 
 
 She looked into mine with those blue, beau- 
 tiful eyes — 
 
 " We were never engaged. He is a good 
 man, though ; and I hope he will come back to 
 New York and marry Sophie. She loves him, 
 and I could not." 
 
 "Why?" I asked bluntly; "he had every 
 quality to render you happy. You will never 
 have another such a chance, Lily." 
 
 " Well, I am in no haste to marry." 
 
 She ^aid this with great dignity, lifting the 
 proud little head, and darting a glance of fire 
 at me ; but the next moment her lip trembled, 
 and she turned towards the hearth to hide her 
 face from me. 
 
 I never knew whether it was the flash of 
 pride, or the tremble of her lips, which be- 
 trayed her secret to me. I only asseverate that 
 I never before had suspected it, — no, not once. 
 
 Now, I saw it plainly, all of a sweet, blinding 
 sudden. The blood rushed hotly to my cheeks, 
 warm tears rose and dimmed my eyes ; I took 
 no thought of what I did or said, but leaned 
 forward, crying — " Lily ! Lily !" 
 
 She turned to me, reading all the meaning: 
 in my voice, and not daring to look up, said 
 archly : 
 
 " Cousin Joe, there are none so blind as those 
 who will not see." 
 
 "Darling Lily," I answered, leaping from 
 my chair, and dragging her up too, for I had 
 seized her hand, ' ' if you really mean that, put 
 your arms about me this moment, look me in 
 the eyes, and say it again." Of course the shy 
 child wouldn't put her arms about such a bear 
 as I had grown, but she looked in my eyes, 
 after a time, and I saw into her soul, as into a 
 well, and myself at the bottom of it. 
 
 And how long we might have stood there in 
 a heavenly rapture such as is only allowed us 
 once on earth, I know not. Moments fled into 
 a sweet, swift hour, — and then the old house- 
 keeper came in with, a lamp, and I dropped 
 Lily's nestling hand, trying to look like a 
 stranger and a traveler, instead of an angel 
 just out of Paradise. 
 
 "My sakes, so your cousin's come, has he? 
 I'm right glad on't, for you've nigh about 
 looked your eyes out. Why didn't you tell 
 me, Miss Lily, so's I might be makin' a cup o' 
 tea. Railway travelers is mostly beat out at 
 the end o' their journey. 
 
 "Time enough yet," I answered, gayly, — 
 and Biddy made the tea, and Lillian went with 
 me to the dining-room and poured it out for 
 
 me, and I sipped I knew not what of ambrosia, 
 the drink of the gods, while her eyes lighted the 
 table, and her sweet face beamed on me as I 
 felt that it was evermore to beam : — blessed be 
 His name who made my Lily to bloom, and me 
 to gather its sweetness. 
 
 CHAPTER XXIV. 
 
 THE FIGURE EIGHT. 
 
 It was on one of the sweetest and last of May 
 days that I walked with Lillian, arm-in-arm, 
 towards Meredith Place — Lillian Meredith still, 
 but Lillian, my wife ! Aye, that morning we 
 had gone to the village church and been made 
 one in the presence of the whole township, all 
 wishing us joy as heartily as ever bride and 
 groom were wished it, and with a sort of affec- 
 tionate enthusiasm, too ; for that reaction of 
 which I have spoken had set in, in my favor, 
 from the moment it was known that I had re- 
 turned to Hampton. Everybody had sought 
 to atone for the bad things he or she had said 
 about me ; and it being found, on trial, that I 
 was really a thoroughly-bred physician, no soon- 
 er did I choose my office and put my name on the 
 door, than old ladies began to consult me about 
 their neuralgias, and young mothers about 
 their teeth-cutting babies, and I grew, in an 
 incredibly short space of time, (owing to alack 
 of competition and the grand law of compensa- 
 tions), into that envied and enviable being, the 
 popular young doctor. 
 
 Then Hampton took a start to grow about 
 that time, the influx of strangers the previous 
 summer proving greatly to its advantage, as 
 calling attention to the fact that it was one of 
 the most charming spots outside of New York. 
 
 All the new comers, having first heard the 
 interesting history of the young doctor, were 
 drawn by curiosity and the example of others, 
 to patronize him ; and thus it came about that 
 before the first winter was over I found myself 
 in a position not only to take care of myself, 
 but to support a wife. Happy and envied fellow, 
 I may well say. 
 
 Lily's school had also flourished like a green 
 bay tree, and the only regret felt by the villag- 
 ers at the announcement of our intended mar- 
 riage, was that she would relinquish it. When 
 assured that Miss Miller had purchased her in- 
 terest, and would carry the school forward in 
 its plans of advancement, they were well satis- 
 tied. This was Miss Miller's own doing. We 
 had pleaded and argued with her to induce her 
 to come to our home, and share our cares and 
 pleasures through life, but she thought she saw 
 her future marked out for her in the school, 
 and told us lovingly, but with that firmness of 
 hers which sometimes looked like hardness, that 
 
THE FIGURE EIGHT. 
 
 109 
 
 we should see enough, of her if our homes were 
 half a mile apart. 
 
 I have boasted my own popularity, as it seem- 
 ed needless to mention that Lily, — who had 
 always, from a child, when she first rode out in 
 the carriage with her mother, been an object of 
 admiration and delight to Hampton, and whose 
 strange, sad experiences for the last two years, 
 had touched and won all hearts — it seemed 
 needless to mention that she had the tearful 
 congratulations of all. 
 
 Because she was my bride, need I hesitate in 
 saying that she was the fairest, and the purest, 
 and the best who ever stood in that old church 
 to receive the marriage benediction ? 
 
 0, what a day that had been ! the crown of 
 life ! — and now we were walking arm-in-arm, as 
 simply as two children, towards our home, which 
 our good old housekeeper had all in order for 
 us, and where the simple feast of the evening 
 was spread, awaiting our arrival. For we had 
 repurchased Meredith Place, and it was to be 
 ours, should success still wait on our efforts. 
 "With the thousand dollars which I had sent her 
 that night from the laboratory when I laid in 
 wait for the coiner, and by the sale of the brace- 
 let and other trinkets which Bertha Chateau- 
 briand had returned to her as the true owner, 
 Lily had been able to make a payment down of 
 (two thousand dollars, and the owner was will- 
 ; ing to receive the rest in two and three years, 
 : knowing that my profession was lucrative, and 
 there was no risk in mortgages. 
 
 Thus the dear old place promised to be kept 
 in the family, to future generations I hoped, 
 though I had not said so as yet to the happy 
 girl who clung to my arm, looking with eager 
 glance forward on the flowery road. For once 
 again, as on that lovely day when the apple- 
 blossoms showered down on the old stage-coach 
 which held her father and his bride, the last of 
 the apple-blossoms dropped about our feet, and 
 the first of the roses swung their offerings of 
 perfume before the bride, turning sweet faces of 
 pink and white, which were not more fresh nor 
 fair than her own. 
 
 Boldly, out of the trees and verdure of Mere- 
 dith Place, arose the square gray tower, warm- 
 ed with the rich, dark green of its glistening 
 ivy. As we approached it, it happened that we 
 saw first that side of the tower which fronted 
 on the roof of the house, and looked towards 
 the north. Certainly I know not how I chan ced 
 to observe it, and to think of it, now, for the 
 first time out of all the thousands in which I 
 had looked on it, but it flashed into my mind, 
 and I spoke out to Lillian : 
 
 ' ' There are two windows on the north side 
 of the tower." 
 
 * 1 Certainly, Joe ; is that new to you V ' 
 
 "I never thought of it before." 
 
 " There are no real windows there, of course ; 
 for, if you remember, in the tower room there 
 are but six, two on the east, south, and west. 
 These must be imitated for symmetry." 
 
 1 ' Of course. How would the wall look, un- 
 relieved by any break?" I said, carelessly; but 
 still a thought had entered my mind, which 
 caused the blood to rush to my face, and gave 
 me, I fear, for a few minutes, an air of pre- 
 occupation not flattering to the new-made wife. 
 
 These double windows were long and nar- 
 row, softened by shutters painted only a shade 
 lighter than the gray-stone ; and over the shut- 
 ters on the north side, which, being made to 
 cover false windows, were, of course, never open- 
 ed, the ivy had clambered until they were 
 nearly concealed. As I say, I never could ac- 
 count for their having so particularly drawn 
 my attention at that time, of all others, when 
 one would have supposed the fair woman by 
 my side would have engrossed soul and sense. 
 
 "How lovely the world is, Lillian," I said, 
 presently ; ' ' this day was made for lovers to 
 wed in. How beautiful Meredith Place looks. 
 I never saw it so perfect in all its aspects. The 
 lawn is like velvet, the distant woods are man- 
 tled in the delicate green of half-expanded 
 leaves. It will not be the tea-hour yet for 
 some time. After we have looked through the 
 lower rooms and complimented Biddy on their 
 appointments, why not ascend to the tower and 
 spend a half-hour? I suppose it is just as 
 Mademoiselle Sophie left it." 
 
 "I should like it, of all things," responded 
 Lily ; and so we wandered on. 
 
 Once safely inside the gates, we went hand-in- 
 hand instead of arm-in-arm, stopping to pull a 
 rose here and a violet there, on to the pleasant, 
 spacious portico, where the vines were weaving 
 light shadows, through the open, breezy hall, the 
 parlors, newly garnished, and with windows open 
 and curtains looped with flowers, up the wide 
 staircase, through the perfumed chambers, on, 
 to the narrow passage and stairs leading up to 
 the tower. We climbed the steep steps bravely, 
 for we knew the reward which awaited us. 
 
 0, Beautiful ! When I threw wide the 
 closed shutters and pushed back the sash, 
 what a world of loveliness lay beneath us ! 
 The glimmering, winding brook, the level 
 pastures, the glorious woods, the pleasant 
 gardens and lawns, the distant hills ! And 
 here we were, alone, together, wedded, stand- 
 ing, as it were, between heaven and earth, 
 the blue ether around us, the holy heaven 
 above, the fair landscape beneath. 
 
 "Lily, are we in heaven or on earth?" 
 
110 
 
 THE FIGURE EIGHT. 
 
 I pressed her close to my side ; her bright 
 head lay on my shoulder, and in that hour of 
 fruition I felt that all I had suffered since the 
 hour of my birth was compensated for. 
 
 Presently we sat down on the chintz-covered 
 lounge which Sophie had placed in the little 
 room for her comfort. The thought which 
 had occurred to me on the road returned with a 
 power which held my heart still a moment, 
 only to send it bounding wildly when it re- 
 gained its freedom. I looked around upon the 
 windows, — the carpenters, in fitting them, not 
 supposing any particular finish would be required 
 in this tower-room, had left their chalk figures 
 boldly on the unpainted walnut wood. The case- 
 ments were numbered, one, two, etc., up to 
 six. I looked at the Wank wall at the north; 
 — there hung the map of the first survey of 
 Meredith Place. A sort of phrensy or inspira- 
 tion seized me. I sprang and tore it from its 
 place, flinging it to the floor. Lily gave a cry; — 
 no wonder. Two little recesses or cupboards, 
 with doors, and numbered seven and eight, ap- 
 peared in what it had been taken for granted 
 was solid wall. I pulled open the door num- 
 bered eight. 
 
 There stood the curious, iron-bound box, 
 with the steel rivets ! The unnatural tension to 
 which, even in my happiest moments, my 
 mind had been strained for almost two years, 
 gave way, and I staggered and sank back upon 
 the lounge. I was far more disturbed than 
 Lillian, — perhaps because I had made the un- 
 raveling of the mystery of the figure eight the 
 object of my life. 
 
 I lay there so cold and stupefied that Lily 
 was alarmed, and was about to descend and 
 call the housekeeper. I motioned her back. 
 She sat and held my hand, waiting for me 
 to recover my composure. Suddenly a burst of 
 glory from the setting sun filled the tower- 
 room with a piercing radiance. 
 
 "Be comforted, be calm, dear Joe; there is 
 the good omen of our future." 
 
 In truth, I had no cause for anything but re- 
 joicing ! — only, the sudden revelation over- 
 powered me. 
 
 When my strength returned I lifted down 
 the box, which, now that it was partially emp- 
 ty, I could just manage to do. The doctor, in 
 placing it there, must have made more than 
 one journey up and down those steep stairs. 
 
 " There is treasure enough here, still," I said, 
 
 to last us a lifetime." 
 
 "Oh, my poor father!" cried Lily, as she 
 saw the gold. 
 
 We both recalled that happy night when he 
 had shown us the result of his hard work in 
 California. I did not chide my darling for 
 
 weeping long and sadly ; I only felt happy to 
 know that I was permitted to soothe and cherish 
 her. After a time, she started up and wiped 
 away her tears. 
 
 "I must look in those little cupboards," she 
 said; "I remember them, now. Look, Joe, at 
 this and this, — these were made by my father 
 when he was a boy. He used to keep his pen- 
 cils and drawings here, and his tools. This 
 was his workshop. He often told me, when I 
 was a little girl, about the happy hours he 
 spent in the tower ; but I never saw these 
 shelves, for the map was hung here, for safe 
 keeping, before I could remember. Dear papa! 
 here's the very broken jack-knife and the little 
 saw and the file — and this toy-table I dare say 
 he whittled out with this knife," and she wept 
 afresh, but now softly. 
 
 It did seem most marvelous that neither 
 Sophie, in her renovations, nor Lillian or Miss 
 Miller, in their investigations, had chanced to 
 push aside that yellow old map. But thus it 
 had been. It hung there, apparently, on the 
 blank wall, and, further than a dusting at the 
 hands of Sophie's servant, had never been dis- 
 turbed. 
 
 We heard the old housekeeper calling us 
 down to the little feast she had prepared, and 
 which we were to enjoy, alone, together. Lillian's 
 afflictions had been such that no one expected 
 a merry-making at her wedding, and after the 
 ceremony at the church, and cake and wine | 
 at the cottage, we had been left to take pos- 
 session of our home in quiet. 
 
 We locked the door leading up to the tower, ! 
 locking up with it, as far as possible, all excit- 
 ing memories of our discovery. We wished to 
 think only of each other during this, our first 
 home-feast, to which not even our honored and j 
 loved friend, Miss Miller, would consent to be ; 
 present. 
 
 The next day we sent for her, and together t 
 we went up, and counted the contents of the jts 
 precious box, ascertaining that not over a f 
 third of the gold had been abstracted. It was i 
 a terrible duty to the sister of the dead robber, k 
 but she went through with it bravely. 
 
 I thought much, for some time thereafter, t 
 upon the probable manner in which Arthur had 
 discovered the box. It was hardly credible 
 that he could have been in the house at the 
 time, and followed the Doctor to the tower ; it 
 must have been, that, walking along the road, 
 his attention was attracted by the glimmering 
 of a light in the tower, which would naturally 
 excite his curiosity ; also, one or more of the 
 windows may have been open, enabling him to 
 make out some of the movements of the master 
 of the house, perhaps to see the map removed 
 
THE FIGURE EIGHT. 
 
 Ill 
 
 and replaced. He may have thought nothing ' 
 of it until after the mysterious death of Doc- 
 tor Meredith, and the excitement over the miss- 
 ing gold. Then, he had at once the key to the 
 hiding-place. Yielding to temptation, instead 
 of making his knowledge public, he kept it for 
 his own benefit — doubtless, (for ''hell is paved 
 ■with good intentions") excusing himself with 
 the resolution to marry one or the other of the 
 rightful owners, and thus, in a manner, flatter 
 himself that he was not really a robber. Lillian 
 refused him. Saying nothing about his hav- 
 ing offered himself to her, he. then turned his 
 attentions to Inez, who was only too eager 
 to accept them. For a time he fully intended 
 to marry her ; but the temptation of Bertha's 
 family and fortune were too powerful for one of 
 his weak principles to resist. 
 
 The investigations of the authorities were so 
 searching that he had never ventured to convey 
 away the box, nor the bullion in the bars in 
 which he found it. If it should become known 
 that he sold ingots, or was seen with them in 
 his possession, suspicion would at once settle 
 upon him. He had the caution which would 
 have made a very successful scoundrel. With 
 much difficulty he succeeded in obtaining the 
 dies, and thereafter took advantage of the ex- 
 istence of the laboratory to coin money as he 
 had opportunity, and of carrying it away with 
 him in small quantities. 
 
 Miss Miller, whose determination to sift the 
 matter had been as fixed as mine, learned 
 enough to suspect her own brother, and was 
 upon his track, though still not positive of his 
 guilt, the night in which I broke her arm. How 
 Inez also detected him, we never knew, but sup- 
 posed that her burning jealousy had prompted 
 her to an observation of his movements, which 
 led to a discovery which she herself did not ex- 
 pect. Whether she or he had been cognizant 
 of the somnambulist's visit, at the time she 
 , carried the ingots to her room, and had after- 
 wards entered and taken them from the bureau, 
 was never definitely ascertained, but his sister 
 inclined to the belief that it was Arthur. 
 
 The reader will easily infer that the posses- 
 sion of the box made still more sure our worldly 
 
 prosperity ; the claims were swept from Mere- 
 dith Place, the world smiled, and we, being 
 happy in our own hearts, had not a cloud in 
 our heaven, save the memory of our dear fath- 
 er's untimely death. 
 
 The following winter we received cards for 
 the wedding of Sophie and Don Miguel. Lil- 
 lian could not think of attending; the dark tra- 
 gedies of the past were yet too recent to be thus 
 vividly recalled ; but I took the opportunity to 
 see the Don, not only to show him that we 
 bore him no ill-will on account of his in- 
 famous cousin, but to acquaint him with the fact 
 that such portion of the recovered property as 
 belonged to her by law, he could claim in her 
 name if he saw fit. 
 
 He bade us keep what was ours, by every 
 right, merely saying that Inez had escaped from 
 her convent and married an unfortunate sugar- 
 planter, whose safety he, Don Miguel, had in- 
 sured by a quiet threat to the wife to be pru- 
 dent if she did not wish to draw down the ven- 
 geance of her relatives upon her head. How 
 far that beautiful and unprincipled woman may 
 have been a murderer at heart, her Maker only 
 knows. We, who suffered most by her, always 
 believed that she had no intention of killing 
 her husband — at least not so suddenly — but was 
 trying these same arts upon him which she af- 
 terwards tried upon Arthur Miller — not, how- 
 ever, to enchant, but to disenchant him. "We 
 never sought or heard tidings of her, after my 
 interview with her cousin at the time of his 
 marriage. 
 
 Don Miguel appeared so happy, and so well- 
 mated with his pretty and stylish wife, that if 
 my dear Lily had a shadow on her conscience 
 with regard to him, she might thereafter dis- 
 perse it. 
 
 1 told her so, on my return, and she smiled 
 and said she had drawn such an inference long 
 ago, from a general observation of mankind. 
 But, whether other women have more than one 
 true love, or other men can choose and choose 
 again, it is a grave and certain truth that Lil- 
 lian and I have never even fancied she but one 
 man, I but one woman. 
 
 THE END, 
 
SYBIL CAMPBELL; 
 
 OB, 
 
 THE QUEEN OF THE ISLE. 
 
 CHAPTER I. 
 
 Campbell's isle. 
 
 " The island lies nine leagues away 
 Along its solitary shore 
 Of craggy rock and sandy bay 
 No sound but ocean's roar, 
 8ave where the bold, wild sea-bird makes her home, 
 Her shrill cry coming through the sparkling foam." 
 
 — R. H. Dana. 
 
 About six miles from the mainland of 
 
 M , with its rock-bound coast washed by 
 
 thft waters of the broad Atlantic, was an islet, 
 known in the days of which I write as Camp- 
 bell's Isle. 
 
 The island was small — about two miles in 
 length and the same in breath, but fertile and 
 luxurious. The dense primeval forest, which 
 as yet the destroying axe had soarcely touch- 
 ed, reared itself high and dark in the north- 
 ern part of the island. A doep, unbroken 
 silence ever reigned here, save when some 
 gay party from the opposite coast visited the 
 island to fish or shoot partridges. Some- 
 times, during the summer, pleasure-parties 
 were held here, but in the winter, all was 
 silent and dreary on the lonely, isolated little 
 spot. 
 
 This island had been, from time immemo- 
 rial, in the possession of a family named 
 Campbell, handed down from father to son. 
 the people of the surrounding country had 
 learned to look upon them as the rightful 
 lords of the soil, " to the manor born." The 
 means by which it had first como into their 
 possession were seldom thought of, or if 
 thought of, only added to their reputation as 
 a bold and daring race. The legend ran, 
 that long before Calvert came over, a certain 
 Sir Guy Campbell, a celebrated freebooter 
 and scion of the noble Scottish clan of that 
 name, who for some reckless crime had been 
 outlawed and banished, and in revenge had 
 
 hoisted the black flag and become a rover on 
 the high seas, had, in his wanderings, discov- 
 ered this solitary island, which he made the 
 place of his rendezvous. Here, with hia 
 band of dare-devils — all outlaws like himself 
 — he held many a jolly carousal that made 
 the old woods ring. In one of his adventures 
 he had taken captive a young Spanish girl, 
 whose wondrous beauty at once conquered a 
 heart all unused to the tender passion. He 
 bore off his prize in triumph, and without 
 asking her consent, made her his wife at the 
 first port he touched. Soon, however, tiring 
 of her company on shipboard, he brought her 
 to his island home, and there left her to oc- 
 cupy his castle, while he sailed merrily away. 
 One year afterward, Sir Guy the Fearless, 
 as he was oalled, was conquered by an Eng- 
 lish sloop-of-war ; and true to his daring char- 
 acter, he blew up his vessel, and, together 
 with his crew and captors, perished in the 
 explosion. 
 
 His son and successor, Gasper, born on the 
 isle, grew up tall, bold, and handsome, with 
 all his father's daring and undaunted courage, 
 and his mother's beauty, and torrid, passion- 
 ate nature. He, in the course of time, took 
 to himself a wife of the daughters of tho 
 mainland ; and, after a short, stormy life, 
 passed away in his turn, to render an account 
 of his works, leaving to his eldest son, Hugh, 
 the bold spirit of his forefathers, the posses- 
 sion of Campbell's Isle, and the family man- 
 sion known as Campbell's Lodge. 
 
 And so, from one generation to another, 
 the Campbells ruled as lords of the isle, and 
 became, in after years, aB noted for their pov- 
 erty as their pride. A reckless, improvi- 
 dent race they were, caring only for to-day, 
 and letting to-morrow care for itself; quick 
 and fierce to resent injury or insult, and im- 
 placable as death or doom in their hate. 
 
114 
 
 SYBIL CAMPBELL ; OR, THE QUEEN OF THE ISLE. 
 
 Woe to the man who would dare point in 
 scorn at one of their name ! Like a sleuth- 
 hound they would dog his steps night and 
 day, and rest not until their vengeance was 
 Bated. Fierce alike in love and hatred, the 
 Campbells of the Isle were known and dread- 
 ed for miles around. From sire to son the 
 fiery blood of Sir Guy the Fearless passed 
 unadulterated, and throbbed in the veins of 
 Mark Campbell, the late master of the lodge, 
 in a darker, fiercer stream than in any that 
 had gone before. A heavy-browed, stern- 
 hearted man he was, of whoso dark deeds 
 wild rumors went whispering about, for no 
 one dared breathe them aloud, lest they 
 should reach his vindictive ears, and rouse 
 the slumbering tiger in his breast. At his 
 death, which took place some two or three 
 years previous to the opening of our story, 
 his son Guy, a true descendant of his illustri- 
 ous namesake, became the lord and master of 
 the isle, and the last of the Campbells. 
 Young Guy showed no disposition to pass 
 his days in the spot where he was born. Af- 
 ter the death of his father, Guy resolved to 
 visit foreign lands, and leave Campbell's 
 Lodge to the care of an old black servant, 
 Aunt Moll, and her son Lem, both of whom 
 had passed their lives in the service of the 
 family, a*jd considered that in some sort the 
 honor of the house lay in their hands. Vague 
 rumors were current that the old house was 
 haunted. Fishermen out, casting their nets, 
 .avowed, that at midnight, blue, unearthly 
 Jights flashed from the upper chambers — 
 -<where it was known Aunt Moll never went — ■ 
 ; ..&nd wild, piercing shrieks, that chilled the 
 -Wood with horror, echoed on the still nightr 
 -.air. The superstitious whisperod that Black 
 -3Iark had been sent back by his master, the 
 lEvil One, to atone for his wicked deeds done 
 dnrthe flesh, and that his restless spirit would 
 «ver haunt the old lodge, the scene, it was 
 <bdliec*ed, of many an appalling crime. Be 
 rthat <&s it may, the old house was desertod, 
 »save >fey Aunt Moll and her hopeful son ; 
 <md yeung Guy, taking with him his only 
 sister, f€pont his time in cruising about in a 
 ^schooner he owned, and — it was said, among 
 .the rest ef the rumors — in cheating the revenue. 
 
 Besides the lodge, or Campbell's Castle, as 
 it was-gometimes called, the island contained 
 hut one <«fcher habitation, occupied by a wi- 
 -dow, a distant connection of the Campbells, 
 who, after the death of her husband, had 
 .come ;hopetto reside. The cottage was situ- 
 ated on the tsummit of a gentle elevation that 
 -commanded .an extensive view of the island ; 
 for Mrs. To-B&linson — or Mrs. Tom, as she was 
 j&lways <j^lle<3: — liked a wide prospect at least, 
 if jnathin g.-ell&e could be obtained on the lone- 
 ly island. 
 
 Xhe JELeat inugal, the most industrious of 
 
 housewives was Mrs. Tom. No crime in her 
 eyes equaled that of thriftlessness, and all 
 sins could be pardoned but that of lazi- 
 ness. Unfortunately for her peace of mind, 
 she was afflicted with an orphan nephew, the 
 laziest of mortals, whose shortcomings kept 
 the bustling old lady in a fever from morn- 
 ing till night. A wild young sister of Mrs. 
 Tom's had run away with a Dutch fiddler, 
 and dying a few years after, was soon followed 
 to the grave by her husband, who drank more 
 than was good for him one night, and was 
 found dead in the morning. Master Carl 
 Henley was accordingly adopted by his only 
 living relative, and, as that good lady de- 
 clared, had been " the death of her" every 
 day since. 
 
 A young girl of sixteen, known only as 
 " Christie," was the only other member ol 
 Mrs. Tom's family. Who this girl was, where 
 6he had come from, and what was her family 
 name, was a mystery ; and Mrs. Tom, when 
 questioned on the subject, only shut her lips 
 and shook her head mysteriously, and spoke 
 never a word. Although 6he called the old 
 lady aunt, it was generally believed that she 
 was no relation ; but as Christie was a favor- 
 ite with all who visited the island, the mys- 
 tery concerning her, though it piqued the cu- 
 riosity of the curious, made them like her 
 none t he less. A big Newfoundland dog and 
 a disagreeable chattering parrot completed 
 the widow's household. 
 
 Mrs. Tom's business was flourishing. She 
 made a regular visit each weelt to the main- 
 land, where she disposed of fish, nuts, and 
 berries, in which the island abounded, and in 
 return brought back groceries and such other 
 things as she needed. Besides that, she kept 
 a sort of tavern and place of refreshment for 
 the sailors and fishermen, who sometimes 
 stopped for a day or two in the island ; and 
 for many a mile, both by land and sea, was 
 known the fame of Mrs. Tom. 
 
 Such was Campbell's Isle, and such were 
 its owners and occupants. For many years 
 now it had been quiet and stagnant enough, 
 until the development of sundry startling 
 events that for long afterward were remem- 
 bered in the country around, and electrified 
 for a time the whole community. 
 
 CHAPTER n. 
 
 THE MAGIC MIRROR. 
 
 " I turned my eyes, and as I turned surveyed 
 An awful vision." 
 
 The sun was sinking in the far west as the 
 little schooner Evening Star went dancing 
 over the bright waves toward Campbell's 
 Isle. Captain Guy Campbell stood leaning 
 negligently over the taffrail, solacing himself 
 with a cigar, and conversing at intervals with 
 
SYBIL CAMPBELL ; OR, THE QUEEN OF THE ISLE. 
 
 115 
 
 a slight, somewhat haughty-looking young 
 man, who stood beside him, watching the 
 waves flashing, as they sped along. No two 
 could be more opposite, as far as looks went, 
 than those two, yet both were handsome and 
 about the same age. 
 
 Like all of his race, young Campbell was 
 very tall, and dark as a Spaniard. His short, 
 black, curling hair shadowed a forehead high, 
 bold, and commanding. Dark, keen, proud 
 eyes flashed from beneath jetty eyebrows, and 
 the firm, resolute mouth gave to*his dark face 
 a look almost fierce. His figure was exqui- 
 sitely proportioned, and there was a certain 
 bold frankness, mingled with a reckless devil- 
 may-care expression in his fine face, that 
 atoned for his swarthy complexion and stern 
 brows. 
 
 His companion was a tall, elegant young 
 man, with an air of proud superiority about 
 him, as though he were "somebody." and 
 knew it. His complexion was fair as a lady's, 
 and would have been effeminate but for the 
 dark, bold eyes, and his dashing air, gen- 
 erally. There was something particularly 
 winning in his handsome face, especially 
 when he smiled, that lit up his whole 
 I countenance with new beauty. Yet, with all, 
 | there was a certain faithless expression about 
 ! the finely -formed mouth, that would have led 
 a close observer to hesitate before trusting 
 him too far. This, reader, was Mr. Willard 
 ! Drummond, a young half-American half- 
 ! Parisian, and heir to one of the finest estates 
 in the Old Dominion. The last five years he 
 i had passed in Paris, and when he was think- 
 ' ing of returning home, he had encountered 
 j Captain Campbell and his sister. Fond of 
 ! luxury and ease as the young patrician was, 
 [ he gave up, all after that, for the attraction 
 I he discovered on board the schooner Even- 
 j ing Star. And Captain Campbell, pleased 
 with his new friend, invited him to cross the 
 ! oc,ean with him, and spend a few weeks with 
 him in his ancestral home, whither he was 
 i obliged to stop whilst some repairs were be- 
 « ing made in his vessel — which invitation, Wil- 
 J lard Drummond, nothing loth, accepted. 
 
 " Well, Campbell, how is that patient of 
 \ yours, this evening ?" inquired Drummond, 
 after a pause. 
 
 " Don't know !" replied Captain Campbell, 
 1 carelessly ; " I haven't seen him since morn- 
 ing. Sybil is with him now." 
 
 " By the way, where did you pick him 
 up ? He was not one of your crew, I under- 
 stand." 
 
 " No ; I met him in Liverpool. He came 
 to me one day, and asked me to take him 
 home. I replied that I had no accommoda- 
 tions, and would much rather not be troubled 
 with passengers. However, he pleaded so 
 hard for me to accommodate him, and looked 
 
 I bo like something from the other world all 
 I the time, that I had not the heart to refuse 
 : the poor fellow. Before we had been three 
 I days out at sea he was taken ill, and has been 
 ! raving and shrieking ever since, as you 
 I know I" 
 
 " What do you suppose is the matter with 
 him ?" 
 
 I " Well, I haven't much experience as nurse 
 \ myself, but I think it's brain fever or som-e- 
 | thing of that kind ; Sybil, however, thinks that 
 bitter remorse for something he has done is 
 | preying on his mind , and girls always know 
 best in these cases." 
 
 " He is, if I may judge by his looks, of 
 humble station, rather !" said Mr. Drummond, 
 in an indifferent tone. 
 
 " Yes ; there can be no doubt of that, 
 though he appears to have plenty of mo- 
 ney !" 
 
 " Has he given his name?" 
 
 " Yes ; Richard Grove." 
 
 " Hum ! Well, it would be unpleasant to 
 have him die on board, of course !" said 
 Drummond. 
 
 "Oh, I think he'll live to reach our des- 
 tination ; he does not appear to be sinking 
 very fast." 
 
 " We must now be quite near this island- 
 home of yours, Captain Campbell ; I grow 
 impatient" to see it!" 
 
 " We shall reach it about moonrke to- 
 night, if the wind holds as it is now." 
 
 "And what, may I ask, do you intend do- 
 ing with this — this Richard Grove, when you 
 get there ? Will you take him into your Ro- 
 binson Crusoe Castle, and nurse him until he 
 get6 well, as that enterprising canoe-builder 
 did Friday's father ?" 
 
 " No, I "think not. There is an old lady on 
 the island, who is never so happy as when 
 she has some one to nurse. I think we'll con- 
 sign him to her." 
 
 "Then there is another habitation on the 
 island beside yours ?" said Drummond. look- 
 ing up with more interest than he had yet 
 manifested. 
 
 " Yes, old Mrs. Tom, a distant connection 
 of our family, I believe. And, by the way, 
 Drummond, there is a pretty little girl in the 
 case. I suppose that will interest you more 
 than the old woman !" 
 
 " Pretty girls are an old story by this 
 time !" said Drummond, with a yawn. 
 
 " Yes, with such a renowned lady-killer as 
 you, no doubt." 
 
 "I never did see but one girl in the world 
 worth the trouble of loving!" said Drum- 
 mond, looking thoughtfully in the water. 
 
 "Ah! what a paragon she must have been. 
 May I ask what quarter of the globe has the 
 honor of containing so peerless a beauty?" 
 
 " I never said she was a beautv, men ami. 
 
116 
 
 SYBIL CAMPBELL; OR, THE QUEEN OF THE ISLE. 
 
 But never mind that. "When do you expeet 
 to be ready for sea again ?" 
 
 " As soon as possible — in a few weeks, per- 
 haps—for I fear that we'll all soon get tired 
 of the loneliness of the place." 
 
 " You ought to be pretty well accustomed 
 to its loneliness by this time." 
 
 " Not I, faith ! It's now three years since 
 I have been there !" 
 
 " Is it possible ? I thought you Campbells 
 were too much attached to your ancestral 
 home to desert it so long as that." 
 
 " Well, it's a dreary place, and I have such 
 an attachment for a wild, exciting life, that I 
 positively could not endure it. I should die 
 of stagnation. As for Sybil, my wild, impul- 
 sive sister, she would now as soon think of 
 entering a convent as passing her life there." 
 
 " Yet you said it was partly by her re- 
 quest you were going there now ?" 
 
 " Yes, she expressed a wish to show you 
 the place." A slight flush of pleasure colored 
 the clear face of Drummond. " I don't know 
 what's got into Sybil lately !" continued her 
 brother. " I never saw a girl so changed. 
 She used to be the craziest leap-over-the- 
 moon mad-cap that ever existed ; now she is 
 growing as tame as — as little Christie." 
 
 Drmnmond's fine eyes were fixed keenly 
 on the frank open face of Captain Campbell ; 
 but nothing was to be read there more than 
 his words contained. With a peculiar smile 
 he turned away, and said, carelessly : 
 
 " And who is this little Christie, to whom 
 you refer ?" 
 
 " She's the protege of the old lady on the 
 island — fair as the dream of an opium-eater, 
 enchanting as a houri, and with the voice of 
 an angel !" 
 
 " Whew ! the bold Captain Campbell, the 
 daring descendant of old Guy the Fearless, 
 has lost his heart at last !" laughed Willard 
 Drummond. 
 
 "Not I!" answered Guy, carelessly. "I 
 never yet saw the woman who could touch 
 my heart, and, please Heaven, never will!" 
 
 "Well, here's a wonder — a young man of 
 three-and-twenty, and never in love ! Do 
 you expect me to believe such a fable, my 
 good friend ?" 
 
 " Believe or not, as you will, it is neverthe- 
 less true !" 
 
 " Whnt ! do you mean to say you have 
 never felt a touch of the grande passion — the 
 slightest symptom of that infectious disor- 
 der ?" 
 
 " Pooh ! boyish fancies go for nothing. I 
 have now and then felt a queer sensation 
 about the region of my heart at sight of sun- 
 dry faces at different times ; but as for being 
 fatally and incorrigibly in love — never, on my 
 honor !" 
 
 " Weil, before you reach the age of thirty, 
 
 you'll have a different story to tell, or I'm 
 mistaken I" 
 
 " No ; there is no danger, I fancy, unless, 
 indeed," he added, fixing his eyes quizzically 
 on Drummond's handsome face, " I should 
 happen to meet this little enchantress you 
 spoke of a while ago." 
 
 A cloud passed over the brow of his com- 
 panion ; but it cleared away in a moment, as 
 a quick, light footstep was heard approach- 
 ing, and the next instant Sybil Campbell, the 
 haughty daughter of a haughty race, stood 
 bright, dazzling, and smiling before them. 
 
 No one ever looked once in the face of Sy- 
 bil Campbell without turning to gaze again, 
 Peerlessly beautiful as she was, it was not 
 her beauty that would startle you, but the 
 look of wild power, of intense daring, of fierce 
 passions, of unyielding energy, of a will pow- 
 erful for love or hate, of a nature loving, pas- 
 sionate, fiery, impulsive, and daring, yet gen- 
 tle, winning, and soft. 
 
 She might have been seventeen years of 
 age — certainly not more. In stature she was 
 tall, and with a form regally beautiful, splen- 
 didly developed, with a haughty grace pecu- 
 liarly her own. Her face was perfectly oval, 
 her complexion, naturally olive, had been 
 tanned by sun and wind to a rich, clear, gip- 
 syish darkness. Her hair, that hung in a pro- 
 fusion of long curls, was of jetty blackness, 
 save where the sun fell on it, bringing out red 
 rings of fire. Her large Syrian eyes, full of 
 passion and power, were of the most intense 
 blackness, now flashing with sparks of light, 
 and anon swimming in liquid tenderness. 
 Her high, bold brow might have become a 
 crown — certainly it was regal in its pride and 
 scorn. Her mouth, which was the only vo- 
 luptuous feature in her face, was small, with 
 full, ripe, red lips, rivaling in bloom the 
 deep crimson of her dark cheeks. 
 
 Her dress was like herself — odd and pictur- 
 esque, consisting of a short skirt of black silk, 
 a bodice of crimson velvet, with gilt buttons. 
 She held in one hand a black velvet hat, with 
 a long, sweeping plume, swinging it gayly by 
 the strings, as she came toward them. She 
 was a strange, wild-looking creature, altogeth- 
 er ; yet what would first strike an observer 
 was her queenly air of pride, her lofty hauteur, 
 her almost unendurable arrogance. For her 
 unbending pride, as well as her surprising 
 beauty, the haughty little lady had obtained 
 even in childhood the title of " Queen of the 
 Isle." And queenly she looked, with her no- 
 ble brow, her flashing, glorious eyes, her 
 dainty, curving lips, her graceful, statuesque 
 form — in every sense of the word, "a queen 
 of noble Nature's crowning." 
 
 And Willard Drummond, passionate admir- 
 er of beauty as he was, what thought he of 
 this dazzling creature ? He leant negligent- 
 
SYBIL CAMPBELL"; OR, THE QUEEN OF THE ISLE. 
 
 117 
 
 ly still against the taffrail, with his eyes fixed 
 on her sparkling, snnb right face, noting every 
 look and gesture as one might gaze on some 
 strange, beautiful mind, half in fear, half in 
 love, but wholly in admiration. Yes, he lov- 
 ed her, or thought he did ; and gazing with 
 him on the moonlit waves, when the solemn 
 stars shone serenely above him, he had told 
 her so, and she had believed him. And she, 
 
 Sybil stopped short ; even in jest sne could 
 not pronounce the word. 
 
 " Murdered by ?" said "Willard, quietly fin- 
 ishing the sentence for her. " No, he told 
 me nothing. I saw it all." 
 
 " Saw it ! How? I do not understand." 
 " Oh, the story is hardly worth relating, 
 and ought not to be told in the presence of 
 such a skeptic as Captain Guy Campbell," 
 
 wild, untutored child of Nature, who can tell said Drummond, running his fingers lightly 
 the deep devotion, the intense passion, the J through his dark, glossy locks. 
 
 fiery, all-absorbing love for him that filled 
 her impulsive, young heart ? 
 
 " Love was to her impassioned eoal 
 Not a3 with others a mere part 
 Of her existence ; but the whole — 
 The very life-breath of her heart." 
 
 As she advanced, Willard Drummond start- 
 ed up, saying, gayly : 
 
 " Welcome back, Miss Sybil. I thought 
 the sunlight had deserted us altogether ; but 
 you have brought it back in your eyes." 
 
 M How's your patient, Sybil ?" said Captain 
 Campbell — who, not being in love, found Mr. 
 Drummond's high-flown compliments very 
 tiresome sometimes. 
 
 " Much worse, I am afraid, " she answered, 
 in a peculiarly musical voice. " I do not 
 think he will live to see the morrow's sun. 
 His ravings are frightful to hear — some terri- 
 ble crime seems to be weighing him down as 
 much as disease." 
 
 "After all, the human soul is an awful pos- 
 session for a guilty man." said Captain Camp- 
 bell, thoughtfully. " Things can be smooth- 
 ed over during life, but when one comes to 
 die—" 
 
 u They feel what retributive justice is, I 
 
 Heaven forbid I should wait to be inflict- 
 ed by it!" said Captain Campbell, starting 
 up. " I will relieve you of my presence, and 
 allow you to entertain my superstitious sister 
 here with your awful destiny, of which she 
 will doubtless believe every word." 
 
 " I should be sorry to believe anything bo 
 dreadful," said Sybil, gravely; "but I do 
 think there are some gifted ones to whom the 
 future ha3 been revealed. I wish I could 
 meet them, and find out what it has in store 
 for me." 
 
 " Let me bo your prophet," said Drum- 
 mond, softly. " Beautiful Sybil, there can bo 
 nothing but bliss for an angel like you." 
 
 Her radiant face flushed with pride, love, 
 and triumph at his words. 
 
 "Do you believe in omens?" she said, 
 laughingly. " See how brightly and beauti- 
 fully yonder moon is rising ! Now, if it 
 reaches the arch of heaven unclouded, I shall 
 believe your prediction." 
 
 Even as she spoke, a dense cloud pasped 
 athwart the sky, and the moon was obscured in 
 darkness. 
 
 The dark, bright face of Sybil paled at the 
 dread omen. Involuntarily her eves sought 
 
 suppose," said Drummond, in his customary | Drummond's, who also had been gazing at the 
 careless tone ; " and apropos of that, somebody sky. 
 
 will suffer terrible remorse after I die. I am 
 to be murdered, if there is any truth in for- 
 tone-telling." 
 
 He spoke lightly, with a half smile ; but 
 Sybil's face paled involuntarily, as she ex- 
 claimed : 
 
 " Murdered, did you say ? Who could have 
 predicted anything so dreadful ?" 
 
 " An old astrologer, or enchanter, or wizard 
 of some kind in Germany when I was there. 
 The affair seems so improbable, so utterly ab- 
 surd, in short, that I never like to allude to 
 it." 
 
 " You are not fool enough to believe such 
 nonsense, I hope," said Captain Campbell. 
 
 " I don't know as it is nonsense. 1 There 
 are more things in heaven and earth than are 
 dreamed of in philosophy,' you know." 
 
 " Yes, I was sure you would quote that — 
 every one does when they advance some ab- 
 surd" doctrine ; but it's all the greatest stuff, 
 nevertheless." 
 
 " But did he tell you who you were to be — " 
 
 Heaven avert the omen !" she cried, with 
 a shudder. " O Willard ! the unclouded moon 
 grew dark even while I spoke." 
 
 "And now the cloud is past, and it 6ails on 
 brighter than ever," he said, with a smile. 
 " See, fairest Sybil, all is calm and peaceful 
 once more. My prediction will be verified, 
 after all." 
 
 She drew a deep breath, and looked so in- 
 tensely relieved that he laughed. Sybil blush- 
 ed vividly, as she said : 
 
 " I know you must think me weak and child- 
 ish ; but I am superstitious by nature. 
 Dreams, inspirations, and presentiments, that 
 no one else thinks of, are all vivid realities to 
 me. But you promised to tell me the German 
 wizard's prediction concerning your future : 
 so, pray, go on." 
 
 " Well, let me see," said Willard Drum 
 mond, leaning his head on his hand. " It is 
 now three years ago that a celebrated Egyp- 
 tian fortune-teller visited the town in Ger- 
 many where I resided. His fame soon spread 
 
118 
 
 SYBIL CAMPBELL , OR, THE QUEEN OF THE ISLE. 
 
 far and wide, and crowds of the credulous 
 came from every part to visit him. He could 
 not speak a word of any language but his own ; 
 but he had an interpreter who did all the talk- 
 ing necessary, which was A 7 ery little. 
 
 " 1 was then at a celebrated University ; and 
 with two or three of my fellow-students, re- 
 Bolved, one day, to visit the wizard. Arrived 
 at his house, we were shown into a large room, 
 and called up one by one into the presence of 
 the Egyptian. 
 
 " Our object in going was more for sport 
 than anything else ; but when we saw the first 
 who was called — a wild, reckless, young fel- t 
 low, who feared nothing earthly — return pale 
 and serious, our mirth was at an end. One 
 by one the others were called, and all came 
 back grave and thoughtful. By some chance, 
 I was the last. 
 
 "I am not like yon, bright Sybil, naturally 
 superstitious ; but I confess, when the inter- 
 preter ushered me into the presence of this 
 wizard, I felt a sort of chilly awe creeping over 
 me. He was the most singular-looking being 
 I ever beheld. His face was exactly like that 
 of one who has been for some days dead — a 
 sort of dark-greenish white, with pale-blue 
 lips, and sharp Asiatic features. His eyes, 
 black and piercingly sharp, loooked forth from 
 two deep caverns of sockets, and seemed the 
 only living feature in his ghastly face. There 
 were caldrons, and lizards, and cross-bones, 
 and tame serpents, and curious devices carv- 
 ed on the walls, ceiling, and floor, like all oth- 
 er such places, and the white, grinning skulls 
 that were scattered about formed a hideously- 
 revolting sight in that darkened room. 
 
 " The Egyptian stood * before a smoking 
 caldron ; and, drawn up to his full height, his 
 6ize appeared almost colossal. His dress was 
 a long, black robe, all woven over with scor- 
 pions, and snakes, and other equally-pleasing 
 objects, that seemed starting out dazzlingly 
 white from this dark background. Altogeth- 
 er, the room looked so like a charnel-house, 
 and the wizard so like a supernatural being, 
 that I am not ashamed to own I felt myself 
 growing nervous as I looked around. 
 
 " The interpreter, who stood behind, open- 
 ed the scene by asking me my name, age, 
 birthplace, and divers other questions of a 
 like nature, which he wrote down in some sort 
 of hieroglyphics, and handed to the Egyptian. 
 Then bidding me advance and keep my eyes 
 fixed on the caldron, and not speak a word, 
 the interpreter' left the room. 
 
 "My heart beat faster than was its wont as 
 I approached this strange being, and found 
 myself completely alone with him in this 
 ghostly, weird place. He took a handful of 
 what I imagined to be incense of some kind, 
 and threw it on the red, living coals, mutter- 
 ing some strange sounds in an unknown tongue 
 
 as he did so. Presently a cloud of smoke 
 arose, dense, black, and suffocating, filling 
 the whole room with the gloom of Tartarus. 
 Slowly, as if endowed with instinct, it lifted 
 itself up and spread out before me. And 
 looking up, I beheld — " 
 
 Willard Drummond paused, as if irresolute 
 whether to reveal the rest or not ; but Sybil 
 grasped his arm, and in a voice that was fairly 
 hoarse with intense excitement, said : 
 
 " Go on." 
 
 " I saw," he continued, looking beyond her, 
 as if describing something then passing be- 
 fore him, " the interior of a church thronged 
 with people. Flowers were 6trewn along the 
 aisles, and I seemed to hear faintly the grand 
 cadences of a triumphal hymn. A clergy- 
 man, book in hand, stood before a bridal pair 
 performing the marriage ceremony. The 
 features of the man of God are indelibly im- 
 pressed on my memory, but the two who 
 stood before him had their backs toward me. 
 For about five seconds they remained thus sta- 
 tionary, then it began to grow more and more 
 indistinct : the forms grew shadowy and un- 
 defined, and began to disappear. Just be- 
 fore they vanished altogether, the faces of 
 the wedded pair turned for an instant toward 
 me ; and in the bridegroom, Sybil, I beheld 
 myself. The vapor lifted and lifted, until all 
 was cone, and nothing was to be seen but tho 
 black walls of the room, and the glowing, fiery 
 coals in the caldron. 
 
 " Again the Egyptian threw the incense on 
 the fire, and again mumbled his unintelligible 
 jargon. Again the thick black smoke arose, 
 filling the room ; and again became station- 
 ary, forming a shadowy panorama before me. 
 Tiiis time I saw a prison cell — dark, dismal, 
 and noisome. A rough straw-pallet stood on 
 one side ; and on the other, a pitcher of wa- 
 ter and a loaf — orthodox prison-fare from time 
 immemorial. On the ground, chained as it 
 were to the wall, groveled a woman, in shin- 
 ing bridal robes, her long midnight tresses 
 trailing on the foul floor. No words can de- 
 scribe to you the utter despair and mortal I 
 anguish depicted in her crouching attitude. 
 I stood spell-hound to the spot, unable tojj 
 move, in breathless interest. Then the scene j 
 began to fade away ; the prostrate figure 
 lifted' its head, and I beheld the face of herj 
 whom, a moment before, seemed to stand] 
 beside me at the altar. But no words of mine! 
 can describe to you the mortal woe, the un-J 
 utterable despair in that haggard but bcauti ( 
 ful face. Sybil ! Sybil ! it will haunt me t< ' 
 my dying day. I put out my hand, as if fcj 
 retain her, but in that instant all disappeared.]! 
 
 Once more William Drummond paused! 
 this time he was deadly pale, and his eyq 
 were wild and excited. Sybil stood near hin 1 
 her great black, mystic eyes dilated, evwf'i 
 
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