thought. At any rate, after he drank it he became very talkative and silly, and wanted to tell me all his secrets. He not only told me all about himself and the maid, but also gave me the history of his mistress." "Do you know, then, who that lady is ?" "Oh yes, as well as if I had known her ten years. She was a sister in a convent somewhere, and she fell in love with a man and eloped with him from the convent. The man was a French physician. She lived with him for three years, and then he left her." Mr. Marcoy says that he was almost stupefied with amazement at hearing this state ment. "I'll tell you how it all happened," continued Miguel, "according to what the major-domo told me." So Miguel went on to repeat the story, which was to this effect. He gave the original baptismal name of the lady, and also her convent name, which was Sister Maria. While she was in the convent, he said, her health began to fail, and she seemed to be sinking into a decline. They sent for a physician to prescribe for her. He came to visit her regularly for some time, and she began gradually to improve in health. At length, one night, when the body of one of the nuns, who had died the day before from the effects of a malignant disease in one of her feet, was lying in the chapel ready for the funeral, which was to take place the next day, the convent took fire. The fire was extinguished, but not till after it had burned a considerable part of the convent, including a whole range of cells, in which that of Sister Maria was situated. All the other nuns that occupied the range of cells, it seems, made their escape, but when they came the next morning to that of Sister Maria they found a charred and halfconsumed body lying in it, from which they at once inferred that Sister Maria herself had been hemmed in by the smoke and the flames, and had perished. They took up the blackened remains and conveyed them to the chapel, intending to inter both bodies together, but they found to their astonishment that the body which had been left in the chapel had disappeared. In the course of the investigations which were at once made to discover the meaning of this mystery they found that the half-burned body was not that of Sister Maria at all, but of the nun that had died. They identified it by the foot, which, notwithstanding the effects of the fire, still retained traces of the original disease. It was finally ascertained that Sister Maria, in connection with the physician, who had become her lover, had planned an escape from the convent, and in order to conceal the fact of her flight, and thus to pre clude all ideas of pursuit, she had contrived to remove the dead body to her own cell, in hopes that, being found there in a state too much disfigured to be recognized, it would be supposed that it was she herself that had perished. Having secretly made this arrangement she had then set the convent on fire, and fled with her lover. "At first," said Miguel, when he came to the end of his story, "I did not believe a word of what the major-domo had been telling me. I thought it was all the nonsense of a tipsy man. But he showed me a card which he said he found in a drawer, and which he said had upon it the name of the physician. I did not care about the card, for I could not read it, but I thought that perhaps you might like to see it, and so I noticed where he put it, and, as he and I slept in the same chamber, I watched my chance in the night and slipped the card into my pocket; and here it is." So saying, he handed to Mr. Marcoy an old card containing the name of a physician of Lima, and the street and number where he lived. Mr. Marcoy remembered that he had heard, some years before, the story, when in Lima, of the abduction of a nun from a convent by a young physician under circumstances precisely similar in its details to those which the major-domo had given; and he was convinced that the mysterious person to whose lonely retreat the chances of travel had brought him was no other than this unhappy nun, who had been enticed from her duty by the intoxication of love, and who was now doomed, after a brief interval of feverish and guilty pleasure, to a life which must consist of days of bitter remorse and anguish and unceasing apprehension, and nights of sorrow and tears. He pitied her most sincerely, for he regarded the impulse which is the cause of the ruin in many cases, as in this, as, after all, more of the nature of madness than crime. Indeed, he was not very far wrong in this idea. The wise man of ancient days who said that anger was a brief insanity might well have said the same of love. Our traveler reflected sadly upon the unhappy fate of his new acquaintance, as he went on his way. But what he had learned of her guilt did not destroy his interest in her welfare, nor lessen his sympathy and pity for her in her sorrows. When he reached his home he took the little sprig-emblematical of the stricken heart-which he had carefully protected from injury during the journey, and mounting it with delicate care, he inclosed it in a case made of white satin, with edges trimmed with lace, to be preserved as a perpetual memorial of this strange adventure in the valleys of the Andes. T ANNE FURNESS. BY THE AUTHOR OF "MABEL'S PROGRESS," "AUNT MARGARET'S TROUBLE," CHAPTER LVI. been found in Diggleton Wood, robbed and badly hurt, and been carried into the Royal I grew overcast and began to rain. I could Oak inn, which was the nearest house, and not go into the garden. I was so nervous and miserable as I sat with my mother and Mrs. Abram in the long dining-room-mother always preferred that room in summer, because it opened on to the garden-that I feared they would observe it. As it grew later mother said, once or twice: "I wonder what can keep your grandfather so long! I hope he is not overtiring himself." I told her that he had warned us not to be uneasy if he were late. "Perhaps he has gone over to Woolling," she said. "Eliza tells me that he ordered the man to drive to Market Diggleton. That is not so very far from your uncle Cudberry's house. I should not wonder at all if he were there. I'm sorry it has turned out such a bad night. Perhaps Mrs. Cudberry may send him home in their covered vehicle. He would get wet through in the chaise." She had no apprehension that there was any thing amiss. the doctor and Mr. Ayrlie were attending him. It was one of them London gentlemen who had been staying at Market Diggleton. He was an awfully rich gentleman, they did say, and all sorts of tales were going about as to how much money he had been robbed of. The thief hadn't been caught yet. But the police were after him. The groom was greatly excited, and would have held forth all night if I would have remained to listen to him. But I left him to regale the ears of the other servants with the unwonted feast of news he had brought home with him, and returned to urge my mother to go to bed. "I knew it!" exclaimed Judith, solemnly. "Didn't I say there had been some accident? I've been feeling it in my bones all the evening!" I told mother the groom's story with as much steadiness and composure as I could muster, and begged her to go quietly to bed. It was more difficult to persuade Judith to do so. But at length she consented. The Nine o'clock came; half past nine; ten; man was to sit up for his master. All the and yet neither Donald nor my grandfather household was in a state of nervous exappeared. Judith set herself to conjure up 'citement; but fortunately I could depend on a variety of evils which might have overtaken Eliza to be steady and quiet with my moththem. Perhaps the chaise had been upset. er, and not to weary her with wordy conject Perhaps the pony had broken his leg. Per-ures, and the repetition of all the rumors haps grandfather had been taken ill. Per- which seemed to be springing up magically haps Mr. Cudberry's house was being burned in the very midst of our quiet household. down, and Donald and the doctor were re- For, by dint of talking the matter over maining to assist in putting out the confla- among themselves, the servants had arrived gration! at an extraordinary degree of circumstantiality in the narrative before the house was hushed for the night. "There will be no lack of water, at all events, Judith," said my mother. "Hark! how the rain is beating on the windows! But By an early hour next morning the news pray don't exercise your imagination any had spread all over Horsingham. Retired more. You make one nervous. If any thing as were our house and our ways of life, fifty were wrong we should soon know it. Ill different rumors penetrated to us. It seemed news travels apace." as if they were carried in the air. I had passed a sleepless night, and arose soon after it was light to watch for grandfather's return. Mother was still sleeping when at length I heard the sound of wheels, and ran out trembling and eager. Then came a loud ring at the hall door, which startled us all. It proved to be the groom, who appeared at the door of the dining-room, dripping wet, with a note in his hand. It contained a few lines in pencil addressed by my grandfather to me, to the effect that Donald and grandfather were together, and quite safe and well; but that there had been an accident, and their medical assistance was needed. They might not return all night. Donald added a word or two: "Pray go to rest, darling, and make your mother and Mrs. Abram do the same." I went into the kitchen to cross-question the groom. He had been particularly cautioned, he said, not to frighten Mrs. Furness. But he was to tell me that a gentleman had Grandfather was alone. But a glance at his face showed me that there was nothing to fear for Donald. He waved his hand encouragingly as soon as he saw me. He was in a vehicle which I recognized as belonging to the Royal Oak, and was driven by Dodd's hostler. What follows was narrated to me by my grandfather, and I give it as nearly as possible in his own words. "I drove," he said, "to the inn at Market Diggleton. It was growing dusk when I reached it, and was darker than usual at that | ing awake o' nights-that I feel as if I must hour, by reason of the sky being overcast rise up then and there and take steps in the with clouds. On demanding to speak with matter." 'Mr. Smith,' I was told he was out. I was "But to what," said I, interrupting my prepared to be told so, and said to the wait-grandfather, "did Dodd's suspicions point?" er that I knew Mr. Smith denied himself to "You will hear, Anne," he answered, gravemost people, but that my business was ur- ly, and then resumed: "Greatly to Dodd's gent, and I positively must see him. I would surprise, I told him that I believed I held in take no refusal. The man knew me, and as- my hands a clew which might lead to the sured me that he was not deceiving me. discovery of the truth, but that success de'Mr. Smith went to W- this morning, pended on our acting with caution; and that, Sir,' he said. 'He may be back to-night, or above all, no hint of danger must be allowed he may not. I can't say. If you don't be- to reach the ears of Mr. Smith. I declined lieve me, you can go and look in his rooms.' to tell Dodd any particulars of my plan for He threw open the door, first of a sitting- the present; and he declared he was willing room, and then of a bedroom, and I saw that to trust to my wisdom in the matter. By they were empty. I asked, if Mr. Smith this time it was past eight o'clock. The rain came back that night, at what hour he would had come on, and the night was very dark. do so, and was told at about eight. A coach I had resolved to return to the inn at Market that plied between W- and Horsingham Diggleton before going home, being unwillwould bring him to within a mile of Marketing to lose the chance of seeing the man I was Diggleton, and he would then walk to the in search of that night. It was, of course, inn. possible-indeed, likely that he would remain at Wall night; but, as I have said, I would not lose a chance. Alice tried to persuade me to let their horse be put to a covered cart they use for marketing, and to drive to Market Diggleton in that, as she declared I should be wet to the skin in my own little open chaise. But I refused, being unwilling to lose more time. I had plenty of wraps, and Donald lent me a great mackintosh cape; and, after all, I'm not reduced to being afraid of a shower of rain. So I declared myself ready to start. But all the discussion had taken up time. It had taken some time, too, although not a great deal, to get the groom to move from the comfortable kitchen of the Royal Oak, where he was being entertained with unlimited hospitality. Altogether it must have been hard upon nine o'clock before the chaise was ready. servant had scarcely gathered the reins in his hand when a man came running breathless into the stable yard, all wet and splashed with the mire of the road. Assistance was needed at once. A man was lying badly hurt in Diggleton Wood. Maybe he was murdered. They must send a mattress and some men to help carry him. And some one with a lantern. Mr. Ayrlie, the doctor, was there, and said they'd best carry him to the Royal Oak, as 'twas the nearest house. Haste, haste! "I was now rather at a loss what to do. After a little deliberation I resolved to go to Dodd's house, and endeavor to speak with him. He was within, and he and his good wife gave me a hearty welcome. He had been expecting to see Mr. Ayrlie, he said. Mr. Ayrlie had promised to look in at the Royal Oak that afternoon, as he would be visiting some poor patients, farm laborers, not far from Diggleton's End. But he had not yet appeared. Dodd was a good deal perplexed in his mind, and by degrees, during the frequent absences of his wife, who was busy with her household affairs, he confided to me the cause of his perplexity. He had certain suspicions regarding Mr. Smith. Mr. Ayrlie had laughed at him at first, but it appeared that the strength of his (Dodd's) persuasion had somewhat availed at last. For Mr. Ayrlie, after warning him over and over again to be cautious, had at length consented to come and talk the matter over, and try to devise some means of getting at the truth. 'You see, Sir,' said Dodd, 'this Mr. Smith fought uncommon shy of Horsingham folks; would see none of 'em if he could help it. That didn't look like being on the square. But I had had a glimpse of him once or twice by chance. And I had heard his voice one day in the inn yard at Market Diggleton, and I'd dodged him here and there, and watched him after I began to have my suspicions, and the notion I had in my head grew stronger and stronger.' But it presently appeared that Dodd's interests in the matter conflicted with his search for truth, for he confessed to me that he wanted to sell his fields to the 'Company,' and that Mr. Smith's favor or opposition would be all-important to him in that negotiation. 'Sometimes I'm tempted to think I must be cracked to harbor such a suspicion. But then at other times it takes hold upon me so strong-'specially if I'm ly My "Alice behaved very well. She was quick and quiet, and peremptorily hushed down her two foolish serving-women, who began to cry and clap their hands hysterically. In almost as short a time as it takes to tell it you, quite a procession started from the Royal Oak, carrying a mattress and blankets to sling it by, and with Dodd himself at their head bearing a big stable lantern. I believe I was the only man left about the place. But my old legs could not keep pace with the speed the others were making. 'At least,' said annually cause to swarm into Horsingham. But who could have conceived-who could have dreamed, of finding such a one in the position of this Smith?' "That is not his only alias, Donald,' I said. 'There is yet another name he is known by in Horsingham; whether that be his own or not, God knows! He was once called hereGervase Lacer.' "I then related to him, as briefly and clearly as I could, the story of your meeting with him; and told him that the circumstances of his having in his possession a letter written by you first put me on the right track for discovering his identity with the itinerant preacher. I had picked up and careful hardly knew why myself; certainly not foreseeing what it was to lead to—and had said no word about it to any one. I would you could have seen our dear Donald, child, by that bedside! After the first moment he put aside every thing but the plain duty which lay before him. There was no room for wrath or vengeance in his heart at that time. The man was lying maimed and injured before him, dependent on Donald's skill and care for life itself, and he nobly fulfilled the noble duties of his calling. I felt proud and thankful to know that my dear child's child was to be the wife of such a man?" "God bless him!" I sobbed out. I was blinded by tears. I to Alice, who, now that the necessity for action was over, was looking very faint and scared-'at least this poor fellow will be well looked after, whoever he is. Whatever could be done for him Donald would be sure to do.' Then we waited, with what outward composure we might. It was really a short time, although it seemed long enough to us, before the party returned, bearing on the mattress a form covered up and sheltered from the rain as far as was practicable. Dodd still led the way with the lantern, and beside the bearers of the mattress walked Donald. Dodd had already told him of my presence at the Royal Oak, and he greeted me with outstretched hand, saying, in a low voice, 'I'm afraid this is a bad business.' 'Is he dead?'ly preserved the torn scrap of your letter-I I asked. Donald shook his head slightly. Do you guess, Anne, whose that maimed figure was that was laid on a bed under Dodd's roof, with Donald ministering to him and tending him? I see the answer in your white face. Our first business-Donald's and mine —was to ascertain the extent of the injuries he had received. I had the room cleared of all save Dodd, who assisted us, and we proceeded to make our examination. He had been robbed. The pockets of an overcoat he wore were rifled. His watch was gone, but the broken chain was still attached to his waistcoat. The robber must have done his work in fear of interruption and detection, for every thing bore marks of extreme haste. The injured man lay perfectly insensible under our hands. He had been 'garroted,' as the word is; rendered insensible by a drug, and then brutally beaten. He had received a frightful blow on the back of the head, a blow evidently given by a heavy, blunt instrument. I spare you the painful details. In removing his clothes, I found a little pock-energy and sense barely sufficed to keep a et-book, or port-folio, in an inner pocket. Your description immediately came into my mind. I opened the pocket-book and found there your letter. The little leather case contained nothing else. I sent Dodd out of the room to ask for something of which we had need, and the moment he was gone I took from my note-book, in which it had lain, unknown to any one, for many a day, a torn greasy scrap of paper. I smoothed the letter out, and laid my torn scrap to it. As I had expected, they fitted nearly perfectly. 'Look here, Donald,' said I. 'Do you recognize this?' It was the scrap of oily paper on which the thief who had robbed him in that very house on the night we have all such deep cause to remember had wiped his fingers. Donald knew it at once, and looked at me in speechless amazement. 'There,' said he at length, almost in a whisper, 'Dodd was right! And the wretched man before us is no other than the disguised Methodist parson! He must have been then flying from detection, and doubtless made one of the horde of blackguards of all sorts and classes which the races Grandfather then told me that, after a hurried consultation between them, he and Donald had decided to say nothing for the present to Dodd of their discovery. The greatest confusion reigned in the house. Servants were running hither and thither, carrying the wildest reports to and fro. All Alice's semblance of order. Up to a very late hour groups of people kept coming into the bar, and the excitement caused a great consumption of liquor. Presently Mr., the London engineer who had been staying at Market Diggleton on behalf of the "Company," arrived. He was greatly shocked at the dreadful occurrence, but did not waste many words. His chief anxiety was to discover the ruffian who had committed the crime. He was very energetic, and infused something like energy even into the phlegmatic rural constable, for whom Alice had long ago expressed so profound a contempt. No money was to be spared, said Mr. and no trouble. "Has suspicion fallen upon any one ?" I asked. "I don't know, child. I heard some vague rumor. I could not concern myself with that. Donald and I had hands and head fully occupied with our wretched patient." "Is there is there danger, grandfather? Danger to life?" "Anne, there is danger-great danger. The unfortunate wretch has been badly hurt. "Oh, it is terrible!" "It is terrible; but-ought we to wish to prolong such a life?" "Oh, but time-! Time to repent, to do better! Think of being hurled at one blow into the awful gulf of the hereafter!" CHAPTER LVII. THE public excitement in Horsingham was intense. The crime itself-in its special circumstances was an unprecedented one in our neighborhood. Horsingham had not had the honor of contributing so inthralling an item of news to the daily press for many a long year, if, indeed, it ever had done so. But in our own neighborhood one of the greatest sources of interest, and which seemed to add a hideous relish to the eagerness (al particulars of the crime were sought out and discussed, was the fact that the murdered man had been the rich "City gentleman" who was so influential in the "Company" that was to make so many people's fortunes in Horsingham. I was terribly agitated, and grandfather soothed me, and was tenderly patient with me as he had been in my childish days. Aft-ways hideous enough to me) with which all er a while I grew calmer, and could be considerate for the dear old man who was so unselfishly considerate for others. I made him go and lie down. He was very weary. As for myself, although I had passed a sleepless night, I was utterly unable to rest. Grandfather had insisted, before going to his own room, that I should retire to mine. I consented, chiefly to avoid the pain of being questioned. The house was beginning to be astir, and I dreaded to meet Judith, and yet more to have to reply to my mother's inquiries. I had not fortitude enough to bear them as yet; for, above all things, it was necessary that mother should continue to believe that the victim of this crime was a mere stranger to us. I think that an abrupt communication of the truth might have killed her. She could never, to the end of her life, bear even a passing allusion to the old days at Water-Eardley, and those who had been associated with those days, without the keenest pain of mind. Heaven forgive me if I wrong them, but I used to think at the time that the knots of gossiping idlers who at all times and seasons, and in all manner of places, were to be found discussing the dreadful event, would fain have had yet more horrors to gloat over; and that if a financial "smash," as they termed it-in other words, the ruin of many families-could have been the result of the victim's death, their excitement would have been more pleasurable than painful. But no such thing happened, at least so far as Horsingham folks ever knew. I had to school myself to hear the event discussed in all sorts of tones by all sorts of people. Two brave, faithful men were ready and willing to screen me from the pain such discussions caused me, but they could not do so altogether. Some I lay weeping and trembling on my bed. Old memories, which had seemed to be oblit-thing-much-I had to hear, which neither erated from my brain, came thronging back to me. The ghosts of departed days came and looked at me with eyes full of almost unendurable pathos. I felt an anguish of compassion for the man who lay upon his bed of pain a detected criminal-the man who had once held my hand and asked me to be his wife, and whom I, in my girlish folly and ignorance, playing with a mighty passion as a child might play with fire, had once fancied that I loved! It was bright, broad day, and the sun was shining on the world, and the leaves and grass still sparkled with the tremulous diamonds of last night's rain, when Donald came home. I heard him enter, and stole down to meet him. He was just entering the study when I came along the passage, and whispered his name. He turned and took my hand, and led me into the room. I could not speak, but I looked at him, and I felt my lips quivering beyond all power of mine to control. "Darling!" he said, very solemnly, "my own dear love, it is all over. He is dead." Then he opened his arms, and let me weep my heavy heart out on his breast. Donald nor grandfather could spare me. Thank Heaven, my mother was spared entirely. It was not so difficult a task as it seemed at first to shut out from her the rumors with which the town was ringing. Newspapers she never read. Our two old servants were faithful and discreet, and few strangers were ever admitted into mother's presence. Poor Judith had a dim ideaborn of the true affection which made her observant of us all-that the murder had been a severer trial to me, had affected me more powerfully than it had affected others. She watched me pityingly, would timidly stroke my hair or press my hand when she thought herself unobserved, and made efforts to turn aside the conversation whenever it approached that topic in my presence. That her efforts were generally unintelligible to third persons, and that they consequently had no effect save to cause various persons to enter into elaborate recapitulations of the most harrowing details, under the impression that she had not understood their previous statements-all this was not her fault. And I was none the less grateful for the simple attachment which prompted her attempts. Due and well-directed inquiries elicited |