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about fifty yours of ago. lie looked vexed 
and depressed. 
“ Is it not over yet?" he asked. 
“ Henry likes late revels, you know,” said 
Ids sister. “ They will hardly go before nine.” 
“ Is AUDA with the company ?” 
“ You cannot suppose she would be!” 
“ Oli, nobody could tell what cousin Henry 
might taken fancy to do!’’ exclaimed Oscar. 
‘‘But I am glad she is not there. We have 
to move very cautiously now, Selina." 
" Have you seen Mitchell to-day?” 
“ No, 1 have not. I leave him to you. I 
have enough on my mind as it is; and more 
than enough, 1 can tell you !” 
“ I Ins anything happened?” 
“Yob. Ool, Harris )a in Maple, ton.” 
Selina started to her feet, pale as death. 
“ He — has lie brought Laura with him ?’’ 
“ No; he lias led her, I understand, at his 
home. What can he have come hero for, 
but to get up a reconciliation between 
Henry and his wife?” 
“ You know he did it two years ago,” said 
Selina, frowning. 
“ Yes, hut lie declared then that if Henry 
Vie cent ever again was guilty of miscon¬ 
duct—so lie was pleased to phrase it—he 
would take away his daughter, and her bus- 
kind should never see her more, lie must 
know of A i ida Vaughan's being hero?” 
“ I wrote the letter and posted it myself,” 
said Miss Thorne. 
“ Good. Now, Selina, let us look at the 
situation. Wo are Henry Vincent’s cous¬ 
ins—heirs to this estate and all his money, 
if we can got rid of that proud wife of his, 
whom he is fool enough to love, in spite of 
the ill usage that drove her once from home. 
Laura will never enter this house while that 
Creole girl, whom ITknry brought from New 
Orleans, is here living with him, Her lather 
is not likely to come here. He will probably 
send for IIenry to meet him at his hotel.” 
“ Can you not prevent tlmir meeting?” 
“ I do not see how 1 can; 1 do not want 
Henry to have the least suspicion of me or 
of you. He is frantically fond of his wife, 
though he lias tormented her twice into 
leaving him. I la will see her father in hopes 
to persuade lier to return.” 
“ But she will not come home to meet this 
Creole.” 
“ She. will not, that is certain. You must 
keep At, i da hero, Selina.” 
“I have paid her every attention,” said 
the spinster, with a twist of her mouth as if 
the task had been a most disagreeable one. 
“She is much attached to Henry,” mused 
Oscar. 
“And he cares very little for her,” replied 
Selina. 
“ He, cannot turn her out, now he lias 
brought her,” resumed Mr. Thorne, “ and 
her presence is a bar to that of Laura or 
Col. H arris. There is another difficult}'— 
about the child, plus would Inherit all. We 
must have her in our own keeping.” 
“ Laura may give up her huslmnd if she 
thinks him unfaithfitl; she will never gix r e 
up her child," remarked Selina, 
“ The law makes the father the child’s sole 
guardian,” responded her brother. 
“ Be sure she will foil us there. She will 
not resign the child." 
“ She cannot keep it against Henry’s will. 
If I am not mistaken, it is about this matter 
that Col. Harris is come. He will want 
some sort of *uu agreement from Henry to 
give up the little girl.” 
“ He would lie a fool to give it.” 
“ I am sure of that, lie shall not yield the 
point. I will see Col. Harris to-night.” 
Selina interrupted him with “ llush!” 
and the sounds from the dining room indi¬ 
cated the rising of the guests from the table. 
Presently the doors were thrown open and 
they came into tho drawing room, a merry 
group, evidently excited with the wines they 
had drunk. Their lulk was boisterous. 
IIenuy seemed graver than the rest. He 
did the honors of the host by ordering some 
fine cigars. The door of the boudoir was 
closed, all but a narrow crevice, through 
which Selina could sea what, passed. She 
saw a colored boy come in by the dining 
room door and hand a letter to his master. 
She saw him open and read it, and noticed 
that he gave a brief message to the boy, who 
bowed and went out. Shu whispered her 
observations to her brother. 
“ No doubt a note from Col. Harris,” re¬ 
marked Oscar. “ Observe how lie takes it.” 
“ He is ranch sobered,” replied his sister. 
“ Ik is speaking to two of the gentlemen." 
“Apologizing for going out, probably.” 
It was so. In a few moments the guests 
took their departure, the last two accom¬ 
panying Henry Vincent as ho left the 
house. Oscar Thorne made a gesture of 
despair as the door closed behind them. 
Selina then went up stairs to speak to 
.Miss Vaughan and adjust some matters in 
hyr own apartment. Her brother was left 
pacing the floor of tho deserted drawing 
room. This he did for some fifteen minutes 
in moody thought. So much absorbed was 
he that he did not hear the sound of carriage 
wheels without, nor a gentle ring t* the 
front door, nor the opening and closing of 
the same. He heard nothing till the door 
of the drawing room was thrown open and 
the figure of a lady, closely veiled and 
wrapped in a £ilk mantle, stood before him. 
The Hcrvant who admitted her said:—“A lady 
to see you, Mister Thorne" and retired. 
Thorne looked up in amazement. He 
did not recognise the lady. She was too 
full in form for his cousin’s wife, and a cer¬ 
tain air about her indicated a middle aged 
lady. He stepped forward, offered her a 
seat and said “ You wish to see ray sister, 
I presume ?” 
“ No, Oscar Thorne,” was the curt re¬ 
ply, “ my business is with you.” 
Again he started at the sound of the voice. 
It had a familiar tone, but he could not im¬ 
agine whose it was. 
“ I ought, perhaps, to say ‘ Cousin Oscar,’ 
said the lady, throwing back her veil. 
The face was that of a middle aged lady 
of marked and haughty fen I urea, bearing the 
traces of beauty', with a still fresh complexion. 
Her eyes were gray and penetrating; her 
mouth wan firmly compressed; she was 
evidently a person of deckled character. 
Thorne looked at her puzzled. 
“ Is it possible you do not remember me! 
Then I must remind you, sir—” 
“(Ian it ho—H elen Meade?” stammered 
the gentleman, growing very pale. 
“ The same, with a different name,” was the 
reply. “1 am now Mrs. Lyun, 1 have been 
only two hours in Maple ton ; yet I learned 
you were ft resilient here, Mr. 1 horne, and 
something of the history ol the laiuilv. ’ 
“ My cousin’s, Henry Vincent’s,” faltered 
Oscar. 
“ Yes; let us take seats, sir; I see you are 
overcome by seeing me so unexpectedly, and 
no wonder. To go on with what 1 was say¬ 
ing, there is a great deal of talk just now in 
lown about your cousin’s affairs.” 
“ Unhappily, there is.” 
“ About the separation, so it is called, be¬ 
tween your cousin and his beautiful young 
wile, caused, it. is said, by his own miscon¬ 
duct; and his bringing home a Creole girl 
to instal her as mistress in his wife’s rightful 
place.” 
Mr. Thorne looked down, but made no 
reply. 
“The town people think Miss Thorne 
very ill treated in this matter. It must be 
felt as an outrage by a xvoman of such deli¬ 
cate feelings, to have introduced to her so¬ 
ciety a creature so unworthy-.” 
“ It is, indeed, I assure you!” said the gen¬ 
tleman, looking up. 
“ And you, as her brother, must feel it 
sensibly. Y on have, of course, remonstrated 
with your cousin ?" 
“ I—I—have, as yet, had no opportunity.” 
“ l see; you are diffident. You fear to 
wound his feelings.” 
The slightly ironical tone of the speaker 
did not escape the notice of Mr. Thorne. 
Piqued, he looked at Imr defiantly. 
“ I know you of old, Mr. Oscar Thorne.” 
“ And if you do, Helen -” 
“ I know no evil, you would say ? I know 
that you have kept within the letter of the 
law: you have not transgressed any statute 
in -working out your purposes. You remem¬ 
ber I was the friend of Charlotte West, 
the mother of Mrs. Henry Vincent, when 
Ool. Harris married her. You alarmed her 
fears about her brother, who had turned out 
a hair brained scamp when she was an in¬ 
fant, or before she was born. You produced 
a forged note, or something of the kind, 
which you threatened to make public if she 
did not buy your silence.” 
“ And you, Madam, counselled her to com¬ 
ply with my demands." 
“ 1 did,” said Mrs. Lyon, smothering a 
sigh, “ for I thought it her best course. The 
discovery that she had a swindler for a 
brother would have broken off her marriage, 
for Col. Harris was too proud; and that 
would have broken the poor girl's heart.” 
“Very generous of you, considering how 
well you liked the Colonel," observed 
Thorne with a sneer. 
“ If 1 had not cared tor him," retorted Mrs. 
Lyon with flashing eyes, “ I might not have 
so urged the marriage. I distrusted uiy own 
motives. You need not taunt me, sir. I 
helped the poor girl bear her sad secret till you 
were paid!—till you had exacted to the full the 
price of your silence, and your victim, her 
brother, was dead 1 But I could not help the 
coldness and estrangement that grew tip be¬ 
tween her and Col. Harris, when he begun 
to suspect her of having a secret from him, I 
tried to undo my work, but it was too late 1" 
The lady bent her head and wiped away 
some tears. 
“ I do not understand you,” said Oscar, 
“ 1 told all to Col. Harris.” 
“And denounced me?” cried Oscar. 
“ No, it was not necessary. My poor, suf¬ 
fering friend was dead. She died at. her 
aunt Harrington’s, and Col. Ha rris refused 
even to come and receive her coflined form, 
though he was on his way to her death bed. 
I met him at the inn. I told him all, as I 
said; but lie refused to believe me,” 
“ Tie did ?” 
“ He still claimed to have been deceived 
and injured by bis wife—aided and abetted 
by me. We parted with angry words— 
reproaches on his side and scorn on mine. 
We have never met since.” 
Oscar breathed a sigh of relief. He had 
feared retribution from this woman’s hand. 
“ But it is growing late; I must Hot stay.” 
“True,” replied the gentleman,recovering 
his habitual self-control. “ The object of 
your visit, could certainly not bo to recall a 
disagreeable past.” 
“My coming Iicre was unexpected. I 
heard what I have told you. I knew that 
Mrs. Vincent was the daughter of iny friend 
Charlotte. I learned that she had been 
driven from her borne, and that you were 
living in her house.” 
“ In ray cousin’s house.” 
“Her’stoo, of course: You and your sis¬ 
ter. I came to ask you why you do not make 
u)i the breach.” 
“ You overrate my poor ability.” 
“ Mrs. Vincent is spoken of as a lovely 
and amiable woman, though a proud and 
reserved one; and it is said her husband is 
devotedly attached to her.” 
“ He brought a visitor home to console him 
for her absence” said Mr. Thorne, insinu¬ 
atingly. 
“ She can be sent back to New Orleans.” 
“ I cannot undertake to send her away.” 
“But you might persuade your cousin to.” 
Oscar maintained an obstinate silence. 
“Oscar Thorne," said the lady, “you 
have done evil in the past; but you may not 
be entirely hardened. Y’ou blighted the poor 
young mother’s life; but you may save the 
daughter! I conjure you to save her! Re¬ 
store those loving hearts to each other 1” 
Thorne was silent a moment. Then he 
answered softly, “ Do you know Henry 
V incent, AL-s. Lyon ?” 
“ I do not know him. He is not well 
spoken Of in Maplelon; but the general in¬ 
dignation at his conduct is but natural.” 
“ Ho is a profligate and unprincipled man. 
He hr.s no stability of character. Laura 
could never Jive xvith him.” 
“ Love might reclaim him.” 
“ It cannot. It has failed in tho past. 
The years of Laura’s married life have been 
unhappy. This is the second time she lias 
left her home.” 
“ Still, I say, while Henry loves her there 
is hope of him.” 
“She has never loved him. She‘is cold 
and proud, like her father.” 
“ 1 know you slander her. She has a 
daughter, and she must care for its future. 
Oscar Thorne, I am compelled to leave 
Mapleton to-morrow morning; but I shall 
inquire mlo this matter. 1 urge you, again, 
to do justice—to atone for the past. If you 
will do so, we may again be fr iends; if not 
_n 
“ What then ?” demanded the gentleman. 
“ You M ill feel retribution from some 
quarter. It will overtake you. Oscar, I 
must leave this upon your conscience. I 
have no other course. Will you not do what 
is right ?” 
Her last words were almost an agonized 
appeal. Thorne replied rather stiflly that 
lie would always endeavor to do so. Just 
then steps were heard descending the stairs, 
and unwilling to meet either Ids sister or the 
Creole girl, Airs. Lyon hastily drew her cloak 
around Irt and let down her veil. Mr. 
Thorne attended her to the door with 
scrupulous courtesy, and assisted her into 
the carriage in Availing, lie stood on the 
steps till it drove away, then went back into 
the drawing room, and told Miss Selina ho 
had received a visit from a cousin of his (she 
was his half sister) whom he had not seen in 
many years, and who was passing through 
Mapleton. 
It M as about ten when Henry Vincent 
returned; and he went directly to his room, 
having ordered his usual refreshment, a glass 
of punch, to be prepared and brought to 
him. His cousins were most anxious to 
know if he had seen Col. Harris ; and, after 
a long discussion, Oscar determined on 
going to him and boldly asking the result. 
He went up stairs, and having previously 
ascertained that .Miss Vaughan was in her 
own apartment, knocked at Vincent’s door. 
An indolent voice bade him come in. 
The young man was seated at the table in 
his dressing-gown of flowered silk. The 
table before him was spread with writing 
paper, and he had been busy Avitii the pen. 
His form was thin to fragility, and bore, as 
Avell as his face, the traces of reckless dissi¬ 
pation. His complexion was pallid, and his 
features were wasted, though a hectic Avas 
in his cheeks. Ifc looked as if lie had un¬ 
dergone some recent agitation. At once, 
and without waiting for any queries from 
his cousin, he commcneed telling him of his 
intervieAV Avith Col. Harris, who had sent 
to request him to call at his hotel. The 
Colonel had no Avish to procure a reconcili¬ 
ation between him and his daughter; in fact 
he had declared it to be impossible. 
Oscar looked down, to avoid showing 
lioM' much his face heightened at this news. 
“Col. Harris,” continued Vincent, “is 
anxious about the child." Thorne looked 
keenly at Henry. “ He wanted an agree¬ 
ment signed and witnessed on my part, to 
resign her wholly to the care of her mother.” 
“ Which yon refused, of course!” 
“ I beg your pardon, sir; I did not refuse, 
but signed it at once.” 
“ You did?” gasped the cousin. 
“ Certainly. The mother has the best right 
to tho daughter. She shall have her, too.” 
“ For what period did you relinquish your 
claim, Henry?” 
“ Forever! I shall never claim the child.” 
“Forever!” echoed Thorne, faintly, in 
great surprise. 
“Surely!" cried the excited Vincent. 
“Do you think mo such a brute as to Avant 
to part her from her mother? Do you think 
me such a fool as not to know she will be 
better off with Laura than with me?” 
“ But if—if Laura remains with her 
father,-” 
“ Then what good should I get from the 
child, without my wife?” 
“It is hard to lose both,” suggested 
Thorne, in ids peculiarly insinuating tone. 
“ But I do not mean to lose either the one 
or the other,” cried Henry, starting up and 
pacing the room in great excitement. “1 
am writing to Laura; Avriling her such a 
letter as she Avill not withstand. I have 
been a fool, but I am not so infatuated as 
not to kriOAV that Laura is the M'ife for me, 
and no other Avoman in the Avorld ! I love, 
yes, I adore my proud, noble, beautiful M'ife! 
I should not love her half so well if she 
were Jess proud ! 1 should scorn her if she 
Averc xv i I ling to come home and live in such 
company! You sec I have come to my 
senses I” 
Oscar stood in bewildered astonishment. 
II is fine castle seemed to have melted into 
air before Ids very eyes. 
“ I know 3 ’ou and cousin Selina do not 
like her!” pursued Henry Vincent. “I 
do not mean to have you stay here. I shall 
send Alida home next, xveek, and make a 
clean house of the rest of you ; and then I 
shall go doAvn to Long Grove and bring 
home my M'ife.” 
“ If she Avill come Mill) you,” muttered 
the discomfit ted Oscar. 
“ Do not fear: I will bring her. 1 love 
her beyond all the world ; 1 Avorship her 
pride; I honor her dignity ; I will have her 
back — my life upon it! — and Ave shall never 
be parted again.” 
The. servant appeared at the door with the 
tray of punch and biscuits. Vincent bade 
him set it on the table, sipped the punch, 
and Avent, on writing. Thorne saM r lie xvas 
Avanted no longer, and quietly went out 
of the room. 
In the drawingroom lie met. his sister, and 
told her all. The prospect of success was 
dark for the moment; but Selina’s courage 
did not sink as did her brother’s. 
They sat talking about an hour; then Air. 
Vincent’s bell rang, and one of the servants 
Avent up to his room. He returned with a 
letter in his hand, AA'hicli his master had 
ordered him to post without a moment’s 
delay. 
“ It is too late for you to go out, James,” 
said Miss Selina, taking the letter quietly 
from him. “ Mr. Thorne will post it. Do 
you go hack and bring down the tray in a 
few moments.” 
While the man went to obey, Miss Thorne 
closed the door, ran to the light, and opened 
the letter, the seal of which avss not dry. 
Rapidly her eye ran over its contents: then 
she uttered a scream, which brought her 
brother instantly to her side. She held the 
letter, open, towards him — unable to speak. 
The sides of a large sheet were covered with 
Writing. 
“What is the meaning of this?” asked 
Oscar. 
“ Read it! read it!” she gasped. He ad¬ 
justed his spectacles, and read. The first 
paragraph was in coherent language; the 
rest of the letter contained but the frensied 
ravings of a madman! Not a particle of 
meaning could be gathered from the rapidly 
scraAvled sentences. The two conspirators 
looked at each other. 
“ He is insane !” whispered Selina. 
Iler brother made no reply. 
“ We must sIioav this to Mitchell,” again 
she whispered. “ There can be no doubt 
_I) 
A shrill cry from the room above, and a 
sound like some lieaA'y object tailing on the 
floor, interrupted her. Again a wild shriek. 
They both rushed up the stab's, followed 
by the alarmed servants, and filing open the 
door of Henry Vincent’s chamber. The 
table Avas overturned; they heard a smoth¬ 
ered cry for help at the furthest end of the 
room. The man-servant Avas struggling for 
breath in the grasp of bis master. Avbo had 
pinned him to the wall and had nearly 
throttled him. 
Oscar Titorne hastened to catch Henry’s 
arm, and release his victim. The man fell 
on his knees, blubbering that his master Avas 
going to kill him, because he had not gone 
to post the letter. In great terror he fled 
from the room. 
As Henry was dragged back, lie turned on 
his cousin; but suddenly his face, so violently 
flushed, became deadly pale, and he sank in 
a swoon on the floor. — [To be continued. 
||rt a life Artists. 
THE LATEST ART GOSSIP. 
Cicert, a celebrated scenic painter, died 
recently. He was over eighty years of age. 
Church’s “ Niagara” has been ohromo- 
litlwgraphed, but does faint justice to the 
original. 
B. F. Reinhardt, of Kentucky, has 
painted a full length portrait of the late Gen. 
John II. Morgan. 
Charles Akers, of Buffalo, has completed 
a life size, medallion head of Rev. O. B. 
Frothinoham, of New York. 
The late C. L. Elliott Avas a native of 
Scipio, Cayuga county, N. Y. L. Gaylord 
Clark talks of him in the December num¬ 
ber of Lippincott’s Magazine. 
A collection of the pict ures of the late C. 
L. Elliott, Emanuel Leutze and 8. A. 
Mount are on exhibition at the National 
Academy of Design in Ncav Y'ork. 
The Ncav York Academy of Design open¬ 
ed for its “second winter exhibition,” on No¬ 
vember 34th. It is to be hoped this exhibi¬ 
tion Avill be more popular than the first. 
J. Van Leri us, of Antwerp, lias painted 
“ Esmeralda,” the dancing gypsy girl oi 
Victor Hugo’s “ llunch-Back Do Notre 
Dame.” It is on exhibition hi Ncav York. 
Louisa Landers’ marble statue of “ Vir¬ 
ginia Dare ” Avas recently sold at auction by 
Messrs. Hatch <bi Co., ol Boston. The orig¬ 
inal cost avus six thousand dollars. It Avas 
modeled in Rome in lbob. 
Antonine Vechte, who lately died in 
Paris, hud every characteristic of genius, 
and, as is usually the case, his youth avus 
hampered by poverty and misfortunes. Ho 
persevered, however, won tame and honors, 
anil then died. 
Miss Julia Oakley, w ho has distinguish¬ 
ed herself by the excellent manner in which 
she paints interiors, has gone to Europe, and 
a vill spend the AYinter in the south ol France. 
She has the good fortune to have a rich 
relative, who Avill give her fine artistic ad¬ 
vantages in the Old World. 
Charles II ink is to paint the portrait ot 
the late Miss Lacohtb, whose sudden and 
early death, six months ago, was so sincerely 
lamented. Mr. Dine will puuiL her portrait 
from a east he made of her face alter death, 
aided by the clear and vivid memories of her 
living face, so bcautilul and intellectual, 
Bierstadt’s ncAv picture of “ A Midnight 
View of V esuvius in eruption,” is on ex¬ 
hibition at Putnam’s Art Gallery in New 
Y'ork. Ten thousand dollars have been 
offered for it. It is grand, powerful and 
striking. Bierstadt makes bold strokes 
with his pencil, but could improve iiis pic¬ 
tures by giving better attention to the com¬ 
position. 
John Rogers, the sculptor, lias a new 
statuette, “ A Legend of Sleepy Hollow.” 
Ichabod Crane is putting the Dying ques¬ 
tion to pretty Katrina Van Tassel. It 
is a realization of Icharod, in plaster, as 
Irving pictured him, in his inimitable Avay, 
in "The Sketch Book.” Rogers has Avon 
the hearts of all American art lovers, for his 
loyalty, his devotion, to home subjects. lie 
is a patriot-artist. Copies of this last statu¬ 
ette can he had for fifteen dollars. 
Titians “ Venus” is said to be in danger 
of complete destruction. The strainer on 
which the canvass is placed is warped to 
such a degree that the picture is liable to as¬ 
sume a convex or concave position. Almost 
every square inch of i lie canvass is covered 
with cracks, and at the slightest toueh from 
finger or brush, some of the precious color¬ 
ing is lost. An effort will be made filestore 
and preserve it by applications to the back 
of the canvass. 
Mrs. Murray, xvife of the Englis h Consul, 
has taken a studio in the Nevv York Uni¬ 
versity. She has it fitted up palulially, and 
Winthrop’s “ Cecil Dreeme ” has made it 
historic. Mis. Murray is a priestess of 
water colors. She has made sketches In 
Turkey, Barbary, the Canary Islands, Dal¬ 
matia, and most of the countries about the 
Mediterranean, She is an English woman. 
Her lather, Thomas Graphy, was painter 
to George the Fourth. She is as social and 
entertaining in her speech as she is gifted 
and charming in her pictures. 
Frank W. Carpenter, the artist and 
author, is to paint the portrait of Ezra 
Cornell for the Cornell University at 
Ithaca. Mr. Carpenter spent a short 
time in a store in that town, in his boyhood 
days, but was dismissed by his employer for 
his “manifold sins of omission.” He was 
not made for that niche. As an artist he is 
conscientious and faithful. lie has a fine, 
clear cut, intense, “ extravagant face of tho 
artist,” and is on the sunny side of forty. 
He is of medium size, compact, but graceful. 
He has dark eyes, hair and beard. 
m 
