Grand Rapids Herald-Review Newspaper, October 2, 1897, Page 6

YY ; Oo : ¢ aE CHAPTER XLVI—(Conti “Lors, chile, dat ain't nuttin Not as I knows any thing ‘bout it; ple Aunt Cybele say, wait till de ¢ is drawn an’ de wine put on de ta will you Den you tink ole Nick all his imps done broke loos: ways, so ole Aunt Cybele ought to know. Which it’s as dat is de reason why ole ma ber married, ’cause, you see, he k bery well how no wife would put up long o’ such high-jim-hbe- goings on in de house! Listen to said Venus, indignantly. as their ears. Astrea felt shocked and outry Astrea felt shocked and outry As the evening passed on thy ¢ zrew higher and more furi coud talking and_ boisterous y soon reached improper je: and bacchanalian s quite unfit for woman’: listen to dat dare chdru: Ain’t dat ’nough to make any decent body go run dere head righ nto de ashes?” said Venus. “Tam not listening, fer not to hear sue! replied Astrea, in a tone of rebuke that si- lenced Venus for the time. It drew near midnight, and still the F gave no intimation of subsiding. “I gwine try to fasten up dis yere room deed is I; ‘cause L done got sleepy, an’ dere’s no tellin’ where dem Jere debbils wander to when dey get alind drunk; dey won't know dis room Joor from de front door or de back Joor, an’ dey’ll be as like to stumble mto here as any other place,” s, as she looked about for some s of securing the room ag: ion. But she had no better su than Astrea had upon a previous honey! Well, I do think how dis is a down- tight ’barbarious ’trivance of ole Nick aisse’f! Ebery key took out’n de locks, an’ no bolt on de doors, an’ all de doors swingin’ outward, so you can’t even gile up anything agin ‘em to keep ’ém sts aimed Venus, in a rage. My good woman, if you are tired, inst close the doors and go to sleep. I shall sit in this chair and watch through the night. I could not, in any trust myself to sleep through is night,” said Astrea, kindly. “Well, honey, it do seem funnelly selfish in me for to go to sleep an’ you leave sittin’ up by urself; eastw: it would seem so if I could aelp of it, which I couldn't to save my fife! An’ when de sleep do come on me I can no more keep my eyes open dan nuffin’ ’tall; an’ I coutdn’t if de nouuse was a-fire,” said Venus, opening ser wide mouth in an awful yawn that axhibited a deep, ragged chasm terri- ole to contemplate. “It is a very pardonable weakne Venus; pray, yield to it at once, Astrea, gently. ““Deed, I gwine to, honey!” she woman, knee! short evening pra answered . After which she yawned again fearfully, crept under the bed to her ma Ss, and w; soon fast asleep. Waking up, howey- ar, at th erolling in of an unusually xproarous chorus, she started, put her aead out from under the bed, and said: “De lors, if I didn’t think robbers nad broke into de house! An’ it ain’t auffin ‘tall but dem riprates a-roarin’ »f dere songs! Well, I try it once more! An’, honey, mind, if you is ’sturbed in je night, or frightened or anything, an’ { a-sleep, jest you overturn a chair or somethin’ an’ wake me up, ’cause I shan’t sleep so bery soun’ no ways. Well, good-night, hone: And so saying, with another tre- mendous yawn, the woman once more drew in her head, tumbled down upon ber mattress, and resigned herself to a sleep too profound to be again dis- turbed by the most noisy outbreaks of -the dining room orgies. hate ad ~ CHAPTER XLVI. ‘Meantime Astrea sat alone in her ¢hair, counting the weary hours of that fearful night as they passed. Wilder and wilder grew the revels in the din- ing room. The hall clock had struck two before the noise began to subside. _Soon after that she heard the guests rise from the table an dprepare to de- part. She heard the order given for the gentlemen’s grooms, who were fol- lowing, in the kitchen, th eeample set by their masters in the dining room, to bring around the horses. She head the tramping of thehorses as they ‘were brought around to the hall door; ‘and the disorderly exit of the gentle- men, as, with loud renewal of ergage- ments to similar scenes of excess, and with uproarous adieus, they separated and mounted and rode away—some singly, and some in parties of two or more, as their roads homeward lay. When the last guests had departed, ~she heard Rumford and his man, Sam, putting out the lights and fastening up the house. Lastly, sh eheard the mas ter dismiss the man through the ba door, lock it, and enter his own. She heard him movin gabout for a little while, and then all was silent. The house that had so lately been the scene of such high revelry wos now as still as a vault. Astrea trembled more at the still- ness than she had at the orgies. The visitors, wild as they were, had vas been felt as a temporary protec- jon. Now she was defenseless, but for pretection of the little poniard. ones Her room was in semi-darkness, be- ing lighted only by the slender bed room candle. Like a child, she felt more afraid in the dark. So she soft ly arose and lighted two large wax can- dies, that stood in silver candlesticks . upon the dressing table, hitherto more bat let than service. ‘The room was now in a blaze o light, and Astrea, reassured, sorte wheeled her easy-chair around until it faced Rumford’s room, sat herself down in it, unsheathed her little dag- er, and fixed her eyes upon the com- of wild revelry rolled 11), 1. sesccscmmrsnphnsnaninoenme in- pri- hes aml @S, un- ith ind felt ler, up owmmnet 1S | of oor len } ih img He ing ber Cui, taae seu, to the floor. The shriek of Asi and the fall of the chair roused up Venus, who rolled herself about until she got her head under the valance of the foot of the bedstead, from which, had anyone stooped low enough to observe, they might have seen her black face and shining ¢ looking out like a wild beast from its lai Astrea had sprang several ‘al rds from Rumford, where she steod like_a lioness at bay—her form drawn up to its haughtiest height, her eyes blazing defiance, her hand grasping the dagger. Rumford stood gazing upon her. His face was bloated, his eyes bloodshot, ne tremulous. He was in that r state of intoxication where a man is still conscious of his acts, though reless of their consequences —in a we when he is both rational and reckle: He stood staring with stupid admiration upon the beautiful form of Astrea. This new, fierce a pect of her beauty seemed to add fuel to the fire of his passion. “Splendid creature! you are *vorth a fillion of money! and V’ll marry you to-morrow, in spite of all the laws in the land, if that is the price of your precious love he exclaimed, and, opening his arfs, he advanced toward her. “Stop!” cried Astrea, in a high ard ringing tone of command, that arrest- ed him where he stood. “Come no nearer, on your life «ud soul! But look at me and listen from where you stand! You see this dagger, where I hdve placed its point against y throat, just over the cartorid art- my hand is nerved to drive it to lilt! Come, then, but one step ncear- and I drop dead, slain by my own red at her, appalled, and He felt well assured that he uttered no vain threat. He saw in that proudly-erect form, on that imperious brow, firm lips and flashing eyes, a resolution impossible to defy. His first impulse was to throw him- self upon her, disarm her. her at his mercy. But he saw that she still watched him too closely; first step toward such an act must be instartly fatal to her. He could, there- fore, only seek to disarm her vigil: So, instead of advancing toward her, he retreated, and began to walk slow up and down the room, as he «an- swered: Nonsense, Zora! what is the use of your flying out in that ferocious man- ner? Have I done you any wrong? Have I offered you any violence?” “You have invaded the sanctity of my private apartment, sir! and I order you to leave it at once!” commanded Astrea. “Stuff, girl! that is not the way in which you should speak to your mas- ter, and I am your master, though quite willing to become your slave. 1 entered your room because I had a right to do so; and for the kindly pur- pose of having some friendly conver- sation with you.” “At 3 o'clock in the morning, sir!” exclaimed Astrea, with angry scorn. “Why not? I was up and dressed, and so were you! I saw that through the keyhole of that communicating door. Deuce take it, how you watched that door, Zora! One would have thought you expected me!” “And you looked in upon my priva- ey through a_ keyhole? Oh, base, though not baser than all your other conduct! And so that was the reason you entered by the passage door and stole upon me from behind?” “Exactly, my girl, and to give you a little ple nt surprise!” “Then leave my room this instant, sir! Every moment that you remain here is an additional insult! Why do you not obey me?” “Because it is not the master’s place to obey the slave, my girl!” “Iam no slave! I have told you who and w I am, and I need not repeat the story here. You disbelieve, or you affect to disbelieve, my statement. But that shall not make me forget or abandon my position for one moment! Once more I command you to leave me!" “Bosh, Zora! Your story, as you call it, is all moonstruck madness! As to leaving you, I shall do it when I please. I shall not harm you by walk- ing about here while I talk to you a few moments, although you have put yourself into such a belligerent atti- tude toward:-me. And why, indeed, should you have done so? Hang it, girl, do you think I am a beast, or a devil—or a mixture of the two—to offer apy rudeness to a woman, even though she were my own? No, Zora, do not be afraid of me, girl. I came in here to-night to tell you that your words this morning made some impression upon my mind. They were brave, true, good words. I feel that I am an old man, drawing near the end of my car- eer. I feel that I should reform a life that hes been rather wild. This even- ing the conduct of my guests filled me with disgust at the habits in which I myseli have been too much accustom- ed to indulge. So, when they were gone, I resolved to come to you and say what I am about to say! I love nd have | you, Zora! You have awakened in my ; entered upon the enjoyment of Fulke jem approached {ts solution, this un- heart a pure affection and a profound esteem that no woman has yet been able to call forth.” And, quadroon as you are—for you are much too light to be a mulatto, as was se tdown in the bill of sale—I will make you my wife to-morrow! It is true that the laws of this state would not recognize such a marriage, but we can cross into a state where they do. And, of course, I will emancipate you at once. Come, my dear Zora, what do you say to that?” “Sir,” replied Astrea, unconsciously lowering her dagger, “I thank you for your preference! and for what, to you, at least, must seem your very generous otfer. And I hope that your profes- sions of repentance are sincere, and that your reformation may be eom- plete. But with that I can have noth- ing to do, as you must be aware that I cannot accept your proposal.” the elevation I offer you—that a free woman and a wife?’ injuired Rum- ford, in seemingly sorrowful surprise, as he drew a little nearer to her in his walk. “Ah, sir, why should I reiterate a statement that you refuse to credit? wedded wife!” “This is ost strange!” said Rum- ferd, in apparent perplexity, as he the room. “Your adherence to this story is most wonderful. That, and the perfect consistency of your state- shakes my faith in the tale told me by Merrick, and almost tempts me to believe your own account of your- self to be the true one.” And as he: finished these words, he drew nearer than ever to Astrea. “Oh, sir, believe it; believe it; or rather test its truth in the way that friends, Mr. Rumford!’ implored guard. “I will do so, Zora, or rather Mrs. Greville, as I. shall henceforth call you, and cause you to be respected | until the arrival of your friends. 1 will do so to-morrow,” said Rumford, standing beside her. “And now, sir,.since you acknowl- edge my rank and position, may I request you to withdraw from my room! And oh! take with you most sincere and earnest thanks, and the assurance that my friends will richly repay you for all losses that you have suffered on my account,” said Astrea, earnestly. “Certainly, Mrs. Greville!” said Rum- ford. And in an instant he had thrown his arms around her, pinioned her arms in his embrace and wrested the dagger frof her hand. Tuving done this, he retreated to the wall, leaned against it, and laughed aloud! “Ha, ha, ha! ho, ho, ho, ho!” he shouted, leaning back and pointing his finger Gerisively at Astrea. “Your very humble servant, Mrs. Fulke Greville! How are your health and spirits at this moment, madam? How is the gal- ; lant colonel, your husband? Ha, ha, Oh! I was impressed | ha! Ho, ho, ho! with your words, was 1? Oh! I offered jage, did 1? And, ah I was going to write to your friends and re- stcre you to your rank, was I? Ha, ha, ha! Ho, ko, ho! Oh! Zora! what a gull you were to think that I should be outwitted or defied by a child like you! What do you think of your pros- pects now? Do you know what they are? I'll tell you what mine are—to pass the remainder of the night in this room, in spite of all eart hand heaven —and to take a kiss to begin with, my dear! ant, snatched lik burning of your wr advanced toward his intended victim. But a marvellous change had passed rea! Her form seemed to di- late, pand and rise, until she stood, a majestic presence in the room; her head was thrown back, her eyes were zh That will be all the more piqu- a brand from the th ” he said, as he An awful glory lighted up her face! In her terrible beauty, she seemed a Cas- sandra about to prophecy! a Python- s sent to utter the oracles of a god! or an Angel of Wrath pronouncing the doom of a world! “Pause¥’ she commanded, as Rum- ford advanced toward her. And, as if compelled by some all-po- tent spell, the planter paused. “You have profaned the sactity of a maiden bride’s bed chamber! You have used treachery and force to dis- arm her of.the only méans she pos- sessed of defending her purity! think you have her at your mercy! You mistake! I have you at mine!” “That voice! that voice!” exclaimed the planter, in horror. “You have been tried, judged, con- demned! And now, in the name of all outraged womanhood—I command you —die!” Affected by some fearful agitation, the planter stood and trembled. “In the name of all pure spirits that watch over chaste women—I command you—die!” “In the name of the awful Judge of quick and dead, whose laws you have defiled, whose name you have Dlas- phemed—I command you—DIE!” And the planter reeled and fell at the feet of the virgin bride. CHAPTER XLVIII. We must now take up the fortunes of Welby Dunbar, and explain the re- assumption of his boyhood’s name: To do this we must make a brief retrospect of a few years. When Mrs. Greville, accompanied by her daughter and her supposed son, left America for Europe, she made her arrangements for a lengthened ab- sence. On her arrival in England she en- gaged a highly-accomplished govern- ess for her daughter, a very learned tutor for her son, necessary attend- ants for herself, and with this large party, left again for the Continent. She extended her travels not only through Europe, but over Asia and into Africa. At the end of three years she re- turned with her party to England, placed her son at the University of Cambridge, where, at his own desire, he was to study the profession of law, ard then proceeded to Paris, where she took up her residence, and engaged the best masters to complete the education of her daughter. Welby Dunbar, or Mr. Greville, as he still continued to be called, entered the University with the resolution to make the very best use of his opportunities while there. And he applied himself to study with such unremitted assidu- ity as to graduate with great honor be- fore he had reached the supposed of twenty-one (for poor Welby had ho aceurate knowledge of what his own age really was;) but, o fcourse, he had | would sail for a month. | them now was impossible. | penetr | during his residence Greville’s birthday as he did upon all that young gentleman’s other posses- sions avd privileges — advantages which Welby did not intend to have forced upon him for one hour beyond that in which he shouid reach his sup- | posed majority, and be free to ecxst” them off. Although he had graduated, he was | still, by Mrs. Greville’s desire, contin- uing his legal studies at Cambridge, in the oflice of a distinguished lawyer there, and waiting only for his nex birthday to declare his identity and in- dependence, when he received a letter from that lady, enclosing a check for | a thousand pounds, and desiring him to occupy and impre iting all the principal courts of Europe, while she and her daughter mode an- other expedition to the East. You see that Mrs. Greville, except in the state and luxury of her mode of travel ,was another Madame Ida Pfeiffer. As soon as Yelby got this letter, as} he wanted but tfo days of his supposed } majority, he set out immediately for Paris, hoping to intercept Mrs. Gre- ville’s journey, and resolyed to make | his disclosure. But when he reached Paris he found ; that the lady and her party had al- He lost no} ready left for Marseilles. time in hurrying down to that port, pa.y’s ship Falcon had sailed an hour ebfore for Alexandria, having on board Mrs. Greville, daughter and two ser- yants. No other packet for that port Therefore, there was nothing ther for Welby to dobut to take the goods Fate forced upon him and obey | his patroness. He did visit all the and, if the truth must be told, found himself rather confused than improved | He | elation, and leave the house? would he by their heard oces and Loi: travels as far as they could possibly ate with safety into the inter of Africa. And he wrote whenever there seemed a shadow of a chance that they would get his letter. So passed two years and a half, at the end of which time, having sutti ciently mystified himself with the sci- ence of justice as administered in the various law courts of Europe, Welby Dunbar found himself for the winter in Paris. He had reely settled in his lodgings, when he received a letter from Mrs. Greville, dated Calcutta, conflicting practices ionally from Mrs. Greville | giving him an account of her traveis ; through Asia, and enclosing an order | another | but fixin gno time | on her London banker for thousand pounds; for her return. He answered this let- ter, but reser personal interview . However, in settling himself tn Par- is, he assumed his own name. He left his card with the American minister | and with other resident Amricans. And, without the advantage of a sin- | gle letter of introduction (for while many would have introducec him as Mr. Greville, who could have present- ed him as Mr. Dunbar?), by the sim- ple force of his personal worth he gained considerable otlice practice. It w: intention, on returning to Ameri apply for admission to the New York bar. There was but one contretemps that Welby dreaded—and that w embarr ing meeting with some one who had known him as Mr. Greville. He resolved, in such a case, to adopt the only remedy—a full explanation of his singular position. little likelihood of such an event, as, at Cambridge, he had avoided forming acquaintances, and afterward, in going the rounds of eled incog. rly in the spring, to his great as- tonishment, Welby Dunbar received a letter from his patroness dated New telling him she had formed the ac- quaintance of an American family at Calcutta, who were on the eve of sail- ing for their own native courtry, and that she suddenly formed the resolu- tion of joining their party and return- ing with them—also, that she had writ- ten to him, giving him all this news, on the eve of sailing; but fearing that he had not got that letter, as the mails were so uncertain, sh erepeated the in- telligence here. She concluded by en- treating her dear son to join her as soon as possible in New York. Welby Dunbar wished nothing bet- ter than this! He engaged his passage in the first steamer that was to sail from Havre, and immediately com- menced preparations for his voyage. It was while employed in this agreea- ble task that he learned the American minister had been recalled and would erturn in the same steamer with him- self. And the next day after receiving this intelligence, he was introduced to Madame de Glacie, as the reader al- ready knows, and undertook to aid her with his professional services in the search after her daughter. The whole party sailed together from Havre, and in due time arrived safely at New York, or rather, at the landing at Jersey City. There was an express train to start for Washington in an hour, and no other one until the next morning. The, impatience of Madame de Glacie to see her daughter would, upon no account, admit of twelve hours’ delay. So, without allowing her youn gattorney time to call and see his frieads, or even to cross over to the city, she, and in fact, the whole party, took the ex- press to Washington that afternoon. We have already seen how lucky they were in meeting Captain Fuljoy at their ‘hotel in Washington; how prompt they. were in hurrying down to TFuljoy’s Island; and how overwhelmed with consternation, sorrow and des- pair at the intelligence that met them there. You have heard how Madame de Glacie, the first to recover from the terrible shock, and to doubt the fact of the murder of Astrea, resolved to remain and prosecute her investiga- tions in the neighborhood of the isle, while she sent her young attorney to advertise the missing girl through all the principal cities of the Union. Young Welby Dunbar first went to New York. One city was as good as another to begin with, and he was really very impatient to see Mrs. Gre- ville and Miss Howard, make his im- portant disclosure to them, and learn upon what terms he was henceforth to remain with them. This question gave.him, and had al- ways given him, the greatest uneasi- ness; it was the only trouble of his young life! And now that the prob- a ve himself by vis- | To overtake | eee ories of pain and pleasure was it as who were extending their; d his disclosure for a | many good friends and even a! an th | after the receipt of my letter! att here Was | easiness was augmented to the most poignant anxiety! He loved, admired and honored Mrs. Greville, and was very proud of her as his adopted mother. It would be terrible to him to lose their affection and esteem! But Lois Howard was the star of his life! He loved her with all the passion of his soul! She was, also, his betrothed bride! To lose her! He could conceive no possibility of a future life on this planet for himself ,after such a crush- ing calamity. If he were to suppress this disclosure only for a few weeks, he might marry her, and make her and her fortune ir- revocably his own! If he should make the disclosure, he might, and probably would, lose ne forever! Yet it was his duty to make it, and i so, come what would of calamity, it} must be made! In the midst of his keen personal anxiety he did not forget th ebusiness ef Madame de Glacie. He had arrived in the city late at night. But immedi- ately after breakfast the next morning | he went out aud distributed among the daily papers a carefully-worded adver- pment, offering a reliable reward liable information regarding the m ng girl. the morning. At noon he returned to | his hotel, took a slight repast, made a where, upon his arrival, he learned that the Oriental Steam Packet com- | sh toilet, and set out to call upon lady was expected to be visible. He soon reached Ma on Square, | and paused in serrowful and anxious ion befere the old, familiar h hom many strange mem- contemp) house. W ciated? Here he had been forcibly dragged from a state of utter poverty and destitution to one of wealth and | s hy | luxury! Here he had foun principal law courts on the Continent, | 2 mother. Here he had first met Lois Howard! But now! how now? Should he cros: that threshold, make his intended rev- ever be perinitted to return to i in? These were stions he dared to a ! He hurried up to the door and knocked, and he won- dered, while he waited for admission, if any. of th eold serv: . Who had known him in his boyhood as Fulke Greville, would appear to add to his embarrassment. He need not be un- Long years of absence on the of the mily had effected an en- | tire chi n the domestic service of M Greyille’s establishment. Not one of the old servants remained. A stranger came to the door. Welby Dunbar handed his card. The footman showed him into that well-remembered little reception par- lor into which, as a boy, he had once been dragged. It ha dundergone a thorough renovation, and instead of gold-colored curtains, sofas and chairs, it was furnished with pale blue. Welby had scarcely noticed these changes when the door opened ,and a lady in an elegant morning dress of some fine Oriental fabric, white and | sprigged with gold, led majestically into the room. It was Mrs. Greville, looking as beautiful and fresh and blooming sh ehad looked so many years ago. Time seemed to have but little power over her. majes- tic beauty. , As soon a her s fell upon young Dunbar, a ray of surprise and joy | ,* ened | lighted up her face, and she h toward him with extended hands, ex- claiming: “Fulke! Oh, my son! What a happy surprise! Why, when did you arrive? You must have left Paris immec you get my letter from Calcutta Welby could not answer all questions in a breath, as she had asked. them, so he confined his atten- tion to the last, and replied, as he re- | the law courts of Europe, he had tray- | ceiyed and returned her embrace: “I missed your letter from Calcutta; but I received the last from New York. And I left Paris within a few days after its receipt.” “You good boy! but when did you arrive? There has been no steamer iu for three or four days! I know it, because I have been looking out for a letter from you, not hoping to see you so soon in person?” said the lady, in a happy tone, as she sank grace- fully into an ea chair, and motioned Welby to take another one near her. Welby obeyed, and when he was seated, replied: “I arrived by the Phoenix, a week ago-—" “A week ago, you unnatural boy; and you have not called to see re, or, rather, come home to me, before to- day? What have you been doing with yourself all this while?’ inquired the lady, half-angrily. “I came over with a distinguished client, whose business was of such eminent importance that it admitted of not one hour’s delay. We did not even cross to the city, but proceeded at once from the custom house to the station, and took the express train to Washington, where we arrived late the same night. I have been kept busily engaged upon the affairs of my client ever since my arrival in America. It was last night I returned to New York, and this morning I have scized the first free moment to pay my re- spects to you!” said Welby. “Fulke! once for all, I teJl you, I do not like your delving so hard at the drudgery of your profession! There is no earthly necessity for it! You will have quite enough to live upon with- out it! Not, observe, that I find fault with your having a profession! Every man of talent ought to have one! But I will not bave you delve at its drudg- ery like a pettifogger earning his daily bread! I would like to see you an em- inent lawyer like William Wirt or Daniel Webster!” Welby smiled as he answered: “But, my dearest madame, do you imagine that either William Wirt or Daniel Webster reached the eminence they attained without a good deal of wearisome climbing; in other words, a good deal of delving at the drudgery of their profession, as you call it? Be- lieve me, madam, there is no royal road to eminence in any of the learned professions. For every aspirant what- ever there is the same rugged and toil- some ascent! And to very few is giv- en the power to reach the summit!” “You may be right, Fulke! But I do not see how dancing attendance upon a client, like a lacquey upon his lord, is going to make you attorney-general, however!” said the lady, with a gay laugh. “Where is Lois? She hag not made her appearance yet! Does she know that I am here? Or is she not well?” inquired Welby, anxiously. “Lois is gone to her jeweller, to see about the setting of some fine emer- This duty oceupied all | s. Greville, at the earliest hour that | | tered thi tely, as | her | alds I collected in the East. She left the house a few moments before you > came, and so, of course, could not know of your arrival. “As for her be- ing well, she never had an ho ill- ness in her life, and was neveryy finer health than at present! She *¥iJl be delighted to see you, my dear Wplke! And, by the way, I hope it will %« be long before you and Lois agree to fix upon your marriage day. It is quite tine to consummate your engagement! She is. twenty-three; you are nearly twenty-five! You need not wait until you get a handsome practice, for it you do, she will be gray, and you will be -—~* bald before your marriage. There is no necessity for waiting at all! With her handsome patrimony, andf*he for- tune I am able to bestow upon you, you may marry at once, and live in good style.” Welby lowered his eyes in sorrowful i thought. Tbe words of Mrs. Greville : brought back to him the memory of =~} that painful revelation which he fett it his duty to make to her; waich, when made, might change all his fu- ture prospects, deprive him of Lois, and ruin his happiness forever!” In the warmth of Mrs. Greville’s wel- come to him, he had almost lost of the necessity of making the re tion! Now he was reminded of it. the widst of his distr thing perplexed him—he h to her his card, bearing his true name —‘Welby Dunbar”’—engraved upon it She had come down, twirling that urd in her hand, and she was even now twirling it in her hand; and yet, without any reference whatever to th other name, she continued to address Fulke Greville, and to treat s her a hs on. ust be some mistake; 1 fter all, the bit of pasteboard she twirled was not that which he had sent, he thought. So he resolved to in- quire. “Madam, did the servant take up my eard to you?” “Not ninly not! nor even the name altogether unprepared to meet you when I entered this room! I came in to see—Oh, dear, me, that re- ! How very rude of me! But, really, your unexpected appear- ance drove everything else out of my head!” said Mrs. Greville, getting up and ringing the bell. - “To what do you refer, madam?” in- quired the young man, anxiousl: “Why, to a breach of politeness of which I have been guilty! ‘The fact is, that, just before I came down stairs, I received this card nt in by a gen- tleman who was waiting to see me!—a Mr. ——Mr. Wesley—Welby—Dut' no, Dunbar! Welby Dunbar! the lady, referring to the card in her hand, and then continuing: “I re- turned word that I would be down in 2 moment, and I came down and room, expecting to see a stranger, when the sight of you « everything else from my memor “Madam,” began Welby, in tone; but before he uttered anot word and the footman appeared, in an- swer to the bell. “Ah, John, you have come! Now, where have you shown the gentleman who sent up this card? Into the 1 bra morning parlor? dining room? dvawing room, or where I expected to find him here? per- s’ chair, and speaking a low, respectful tone, though with a look of surprise, “he is here! there he sits; the gentleman who sent up rd! why, how stupid you are, John! this is Mr.—” “Dear Madamf’ interposed Welby, suddenly, “send your servant from the | room! I understand it all now, and will explain! But my communication must be for your private ear alone. “You may go, John,” said the lad. and when the door had closed after the man, she turned to Welby, with a and face full of curiosity and interes inquired: “Now, Fulke, what is it?’ CHAPTER XLIX. “Madam, I am at this moment h. in the enjoyment of your affec esteem and confidence! The next hour may change all that! I have a revela- t tion to make to you which, when made, ' may banish me from your heart and= ' home forever!” “In the name of Heaven, Fulke Gre- ville!” said the lady, turning deadly } pale, “what do you mean? Haye you 4 been led into folly, vice, crime? Have you done aught unworthy of the name you bear? If so, speak out! Tell you mother! Confess to the one being ir the world who will never reproacl= you! And being penitent, you shall ly pardoned, Fulke! I will not break thy bruised reed, even though my ow: heart should break!” “No, no, no!” said Welby, with grea emotion and emphasis. “I have don none of these things which you fear My character and reputation are with out reproach, and I am not unworth®== to be called your son! The worst tha ‘ can be said of me is that I am in false position!” ; “ina false position? You? Explair Fulke!” said the lady, much relieve: however. “In the first place, as your servar truly informed you, it was I who ser up that card!” se ; “You? But it bears the name « y Wesley——Wellesly——Welby Dunba Ah! I see! You said that you were a false position! you send me up a other name than your own! Go: Heaven, Fulke! you must have ber wrongfully accused of some crime, ar must be hiding from the police and ¢ ing under an assumed name—the nar that you sent up tome! But could FO fancy, my dear boy, that, for such misfortune, I could turn against yo I could banish you from my heart a home?” a “I fancied nothing but What w > most magnanimous of yon, my de lady! But you are a: taken! have been accuse@ of ni e; Le hiding from no poliee; the name ——— that card is the only one upon whici ; have any sort of claim, even if I ha ; any rightful claim to that, whieh ; doubtful,” “The name upon this card, the o: ; one to which you have any sort ; claim—Fulke, are you mad?” 4 “Ah, no, madam! bust most sa i sane!” said the young man, with a °""" = found sigh. “Will you please to explain yours ; then, Fulke! and clearly, too; fe pledge you my word, that, hitherto, more you have talked, the deeper © riddle has grown!” said the lady, so 3 what impatiently. To be continued.