no 
MOmWB HEAL HL'W-IOEEIE, 
la a 
that, m the absence or evidence, lie would 
merely endeavor to show tlie worthlessness 
of that brought forward on the part of the 
prosecution. 
In the first place, no sufficient evidence 
existed of the death of Henry Vincent. 
IIow many instances were there of the return 
of persons supposed dead? His seal ring 
may have been lent or given to some other 
person; and the watch and other articles 
found in the wife’s possession may have been 
received by her from him before their sepa¬ 
ration. How alike arc watches, rings, pocket- 
books, &c.? The clothing was such as hun¬ 
dreds might have worn; how was it possible 
to identity it ? 
A lady might have called at the saddler’s 
to meet some one by appointment, and again 
to have a scratch on her hand dressed ; but 
what did that prove? Nothing at all. 
What evidence was there to show that the 
murder had been committed on the day of 
the picnic? There was no proof whatever 
of its date ; no ground even to make it prob¬ 
able that was t he day. Murders are usually 
committed under cover of darkness. To 
suppose that a timid woman had fixed on a 
bright summer afternoon for the perpetration 
of a deed of blood — on a day of festivity, 
when hundreds were almost within hearing— 
it was a simple absurdity! 
No one had attempted to identify the strips 
of shawl; t hough much had been said of 
the glove business. Where was tho evidence 
that the glove found in the wood and the 
one that had belonged to the prisoner formed a 
pair V The glove might have been dropped in 
the woods long before tin* murder. As to the 
wound, the faint sear may have been owing 
to a cut received in childhood. The note 
may have been from some other lady ; how 
like another’s is a woman’s handwriting? 
The theory of a secret correspondence, as¬ 
sumed by the prosecutor, is sustained by no 
proof whatever. 11 was a more presumption, 
too, that the accused came to meet the ap¬ 
pointment for the interview alluded to in the 
note. When Mrs. Vincent received a note 
requesting her to visit, a sick friend she 
placed it, with perfect openness in her friend’s 
hands. It was the merest chance that Miss 
W i no ate did not accompany her. Is it to 
he supposed that a lady of her high charac¬ 
ter and known scrupulous regard for truth, 
would invent a story, and fabricate a note, 
to deceive her trusting friend ? 
’I’lie advocate entered into an argument to 
show that Mrs. Vincent’s movements that 
afternoon must have been totally unconnect¬ 
ed with the events that transpired after¬ 
wards. “ And even were it proved,” lie con¬ 
tinued, “that her husband was dead — that 
she saw and spoke with hiui shortly before— 
it does not follow that she killed him! Sup¬ 
posing the desired interview granted on that 
day; circumstances show that others also 
were present. There wore found evidences 
of a social repast. A quarrel may have en¬ 
sued between the gentlemen; a man may 
have been slain ; and the lady’s safety have 
depended on her taking a solemn oath of sc- 
cresy. She may have interfered to save the 
victim, and received the wound. This would 
account for her loss of the glove, her nerv¬ 
ous agitation; for all her strange expressions, 
and the suspicious circumstances; and for a 
silence that, weighs most heavily against her. 
That silence might, be the result of a mis¬ 
taken sense of religions obligation — a mo¬ 
tive paramount in her pure, frank mind.” 
The learned counsel’s argument occupied 
several hours, and was listened to with deep 
attention; though it seemed to have little 
effect on the general opinion. 
The prosecutor, a Mr. Nkwi.in, then made 1 
his argument, lie dwelt on the proof that : 
the body found was really IIknry Vincent’s, 1 
ami that lie had been slain not for the pur¬ 
pose of robbery, since efforts had been made 1 
to restore him. lie detailed the complication 
of circumstances leading to suspicions against i 
the prisoner, and went over the history of 1 
her married life ; showing the probability of 
a secret correspondence, and a decisive meet- i 
ing. Her agitation after her return that ? 
night — herconceahne.nl of the wound which I 
she would naturally have mentioned to an I 
intimate friend — her hasty departure—her ) 
distress at hearing of Miss Wingate's arrest ' 
— her assertion that she can and will save I 
her — her note to Mr. Ely — form links in I 
the chain of evidence. Her apprehensions } 
reveal a guilty knowledge. 
She must have had companions. The 1 
lawyer went on to say that he charged the t 
accused with uo murderous design. Her 1 
husband was determined to Induce or com- ( 
pel her to return to him. lie may have f 
attempted violent measures; perhaps to i 
carry her off. She may have resisted; she 1 
may have snatched the knife and used it as < 
her only means of escape. Her mysterious J 
silence was dwelt, on as natural only on the i 
supposition of her guilt. It is not necessary 
to follow the close and logical argument, * 
which strongly impressed the jury and all ' 
the spectators. There was a murmur in the s 
assembly when it was ended, the differing £ 
opinions being expressed. All decided that 1 
the deed must have been committed either £ 
by the prisoner or her unknown companion, i 
The accused sat motionless as a marble and inclosed another, which might be shown, 
statue, and as pule. One of her hands was urging her to come to visit a sick friend, 
clasped in Mrs. Lyon’s, the other in that of This was to cover the real appointment. 
her faithful Ada, who looked wistfulfy in 
her face. 
Profound silence reigned in the court when 
the presiding Judge rose to give hia charge. 
He went over all tho points of evidence, 
placing them in clear view; and his speech 
was a masterpiece of luminous precision. 
All eyes were turned on the prisoner. Her 
head was bowed down, and tho vail had 
fallen over her face. When the Judge ceased 
there was a suppressed murmur of pity. 
Ada clung to her friend’s arm with a ter¬ 
rified face, as if some succor she had counted 
on had failed to come. Then she turned 
towards her lover, almost gasping for breath. 
Calmly Osborne Maitland rose to ask 
for a delay. At the same moment came the 
sounds of violent confusion at the entrance. 
Some persons were trying to force their way 
in. The officers wore heard loudly ordering 
b.uk the inti utters, and a clear voice was firm in the. dignity of virtue, seemed to nmd- 
board insisting that way should bo made. don tho un]iaiw Hknry Vincent. At his 
fhe crowd parted to make way for two per- desire, Mitchell, who had been largely paid 
sons one of whom, a woman, pressed for- for hLs services, lmd brought a basket of wine 
ward till she faced the Judges seat, and an d refreshments, and Henry had drank 
cued, breathless with haste: . freely before his wife’s arrival. Rathbone, 
Htop, sii! I demand a hearing! r l lie outside the cabin, heard him soliciting her 
prisoner is inn ocent!” to return home with him. When she re- 
XV.-THE MYSTERY SOLVED. fused to violate her promise to her father, lie 
The appearance of the strange, wild-look- overwhelmed her with reproaches. His be¬ 
ing woman was little calculated to inspire havior became wild, savage, and even re- 
eonlidcnee. | Icr dress was travel-worn, her volting. lie opened another bottle of wine, 
bonnet had fallen back, revealing a face of un ^ drank deeply again and again. He be 
remarkable beauty, but ghastly pate, save a came more urgent, more vehement, and 
crimson spot on either cheek; her hair was began to use violent threats, 
disordered, and her black eyes flamed with Poor Laura bitterly repented the step 
fierce energy. She turned from the judge to H,, e hud taken. She tried to escape quietly, 
the jury and repeated her appeal. Then find called to Rathbone to take her back to 
rushing again into the crowd, she seized by the village. Mitchell interfered; but his 
the arm the man who had come in with her, attempts to pacify Vincent only wrought 
and dragged him fonvard to tho center of him to more furious excitement. He made 
the court-room. frantic charges against, his wife; and her 
The confusion was indescribable; and it silence and calm purity goaded him still 
was several minutes before order could be further. Suddenly, he sprang up, drew a 
restored. knife, and made a motion as if to stab him- 
The judge sternly demanded what all this self. Laura sprang forward with a terrified 
meant. He rebuked the woman for her in- shriek, grasped the blade of the weapon and 
decorous conduct. She should have sent for pulled it aside, wounding her hand severely, 
counsel, if she had anything to say Ratubone angrily reproved her husband 
The woman Inmg her head abashed ; she for this cruel mummery, designed merely to 
had not thought how strange her behavior frighten the lady. Vincent’s maniac laugh 
must appear. rang through the woods. 
“We have traveled night and day,” she “You shall see it is uo mummery!” he 
said, “ to reach here in time. The steamer cried, and again lilting the weapon, he 
was burned ; we were saved by miracle. I plunged it deep in Ids own breast, 
feared we were too late.” Laura sank to the ground in a death* 
The judge gave some directions to an like swoon. Rathbonh drew the knife from 
officer, who went to summon one of tho the breast of the wounded man. His eyes 
counsel for the accused. The man, Rath- rolled with the frightful glare of insanity. 
BONE, who stood beside the woman, was He struggled to his feet, shouting, “ It is the 
gazing at the prisoner, who looked at him best thing I have ever done yet!” then burst 
with bewildered eyes. He then whispered again into maniac laughter. Presently lie 
to .Miss Vaughan, who asked the judge if staggered backwards, fell down, gasped a 
she might speak to the accused. He gave few times and expired, 
permission. The two men hastened to staunch the 
“ Lady,” she said, in low, soft tones, “ the blood by tying over the wound strips of the 
Providence that saved this man to prove lady’s shawl, but they soon saw that life was 
your innocence, in all probability laid on you entirely extinct. What was now to be done ? 
a heavy sorrow. Your father was on board Laura had recovered her consciousness, 
the burning vessel, Here is a slip contain- She seemed the only one capable of deciding 
ing the names of those who were saved.” whatsbould be done. The madness and foil) 
yhe handed Laura a printed slip — the of her own conduct iti yielding to the thmits 
extra of a newspaper — giving an account of employed to gain her consent to this clan- 
Lauiia had thus promised to meet her 
husband at the, lonely hut on the mountain, 
in reliance on Ills solemn pledge that if she 
would see and listen to him once, she should 
bo molested no further. Her anxiety to ter¬ 
minate her agony of suspense about th« 
child, induced her to swerve from the strict 
lino of duty—from the faith pledged to her 
father—-from the open truth she had been 
taught to revere. Maternal solicitude swal¬ 
lowed up all other considerations; and with 
her accustomed self-reliance she had con¬ 
cealed everything from her friend, enjoining 
strict silence on the others. 
Rathbone conducted her to the hut, 
where she again beheld her husband — the 
miserable wreck of what be had been; the 
victim of evil habits and passions; broken 
lady a pair of long, white gloves, she having 
lost one upon the mountain. 
Mitchell was most anxious to conceal 
his agency and presence, and for that reason 
wanted to send the Irishman out of the 
country. His meeting with Alida, and t he 
catastrophe on the Mississippi, have been 
already related. Ai.ida and the child were 
saved from death by two of the men belong¬ 
ing to the steamer, who clung to the piece 
of timber till the current swept them near 
the shore. Rathbone had escaped on an¬ 
other piece of the wreck; lie found his 
child unhurt; and with the dawn of day 
the three commenced their journey on foot. 
Days elapsed before they reached a village. 
Alida’s perseverance, and some hits of jew¬ 
elry she hud on, obtained for herself and 
companions outside places on a stage-coach; 
and thus they came within twenty miles of 
the Blue Springs. They had walked all 
and haggard with dissipation. The sight of night and part of the day to reach the court- 
ills wife, in the bloom of her beauty, and room at the critical time. 
The crowded assemblage listened with 
breathless interest to the testimony of the 
witness. Ada’s face expressed her joy; but 
Laura’s anguish at her bereavement ab¬ 
sorbed all her thoughts, and she seemed to 
take no heed of what was said. 
Two officers were despatched to search 
for the clothing removed from the dead body; 
and a subpoena was issued for James Mitch¬ 
ell. Mr. Osborne Maitland rose to say 
be had the night before despatched a mes¬ 
senger with one. The lawyer could nowhere 
be found. 
But the discovery of the clothing, easily 
identified, the prompt recognition of Rath¬ 
bone by the saddler, his wife, and the little 
girl, were sufficient corroborative evidence. 
The judge again charged the jury, who 
wit hout ret iring, gave the prisoner a full and 
honorable acquittal. 
Airs. Lyon and Airs. Gray supported the 
released prisoner from tlie room, and Miss 
Wingate, escorted by Chauncey, followed 
them to the carriage. They drove to Mr. 
Wingate’s house. There Laura had just 
strength to gain her room, when she sank on 
the bed in a stupor of exhaustion. 
XVI. - CONCLUSION. 
The beautiful Creole lady whose timely 
intervention had saved the prisoner, was 
sought for by Laura’s counsel; but she bad 
already left Hie village with the little girl. 
Mr. Stewart, in infinite disgust at the 
conduct of Mitchell, went, to Oscar 
*Tiiornk’s apartim nt, and reproached him 
as accessory to the fraud of which he had 
been made the instrument. Thorne’s pro¬ 
testations were disbelieved. Disappointed 
and chagrined, he set out at once for Maple- 
ton, where lie and his sister bemoaned their 
defeat together, and execrated the man of 
law who had served them no better. 
Young Lyon chanced to see Maitland in 
the village and was greeted by him with an 
exclamation of joy. Two or three gentle- 
; was heard, as of a rider in hot haste. The 
sound ceased at the front door. Airs. Lyon 
looked up, and closing the volume, rose from 
her seat. 
“That is Chacncey’s voice!” she ex¬ 
claimed, turning quickly to the door. 
Tlie door was flung open, and Ada danced 
in, entirely out of breath, her face radiant 
with joyful excitement. She ran up and 
embraced first Laura, then Airs. Lyon, ex¬ 
claiming ; 
“ You must be glad now T ! No more sor¬ 
row !” 
“ My father 1” cried Laura, and she sprang 
from the couch. 
“ Safe; safe, and -well! Chauncey brought 
the news! He will be here directly! Hark— 
the carriage wheels!” 
Tlie two rushed from the room and down 
tlie stairs. The hall door swung open, and 
Laura, trembling more with joy than weak¬ 
ness, was clasped in her father’s arms. 
As in an estatic dream, she rested there a 
moment ■ then a sudden recollection caused 
her to look up into her father’s pale and 
wasted fucc. Iler eyes tell to the ground; 
her arms relaxed from the glad embrace and 
dropped motionless. 
“ Aly child 1” said the rich, deep voice, “ I 
know all!" 
“Ob, father! you cannot forgive me I 1 
broke the promise I had made you!’’ 
“ I did wrong to exact such a promise. I 
forgot the Scripture precept: 1 It is n»t in 
man that icalketh to direct his steps.’ I should 
have trusted to the principles by which you 
have been guided; to the Providence that 
had watched over you ! I should have left 
you free to act according to your own sense 
of right. Aty daughter, we have both some¬ 
thing to forgive!" 
“ No, dear father I I alone have done 
wrong.” 
“ You have — in failing to trust, my love. 
You could not humble your proud spirit to 
confess a fault into which you were led by 
maternal anxiety. It was a fearftil error, 
but it was one of a high and noble nature. 
We will both learn a lesson for the future.” 
When the party was seated in the draw¬ 
ing-room, Ada was first to think of Airs. 
Lyon. Laura spoke for her, and asked if 
she might not be sent for. 
“ Let me see her 1” said the Colonel. “ Let 
me bless her for her love to my child— and 
my child’s mother.” 
Ada fiew up stairs, and in a few moments 
the two, so long separated in anger, stood 
face to face as friends. Col. Harris offered 
his band, and with grace and feeling thanked 
the lady for her kindness to liis daughter m 
her sore trial. He mentally condemned him¬ 
self for his former proud obstinacy. 
A happy party was that evening assembled 
round the hospitable table of Air. Wingate. 
As Mrs. Gray was better, it was decided that, 
all should set. out next day for Long Grove. 
The news of All's. Vincent’s acquittal was 
men were standing near him, looking as if i not long in traveling to Mapkton. Mitchell 
the terrible catastrophe on the Mississippi. 
TIil- unhappy woman glanced at it, and 
gasping, “My father!" sank back, in Mrs. 
Lyon’s arms. She had fainted. 
On motion ol Air. Weston, the court ad¬ 
journed till the following morning, the two 
witnesses being detained. The crowd dis¬ 
persed as the prisoner was borne from the 
courtroom, The news brought, by tlu¬ 
st range looking Creole, caused intense ex¬ 
citement. 
When Laura recovered her senses, it W’a9 
to entreat her friends to obtain all possible 
information about her father. His name was 
not among those known to be saved, and 
there was too much reason to fear the worst. 
The testimony of George Rathbone, 
taken under oath in court ne«t day, may be 
given in condensed form. He had been a 
farm laborer in the vicinity of the Springs, 
had often carried luggage for the stage-coach 
passengers, and had thus necoraw acquainted 
with 11 kn ry Vt scent. That gentleman had 
been in the village with James Mitchell a 
few days before the tragedy. Mitciiell en¬ 
gaged Rathbone to take a letter to Mrs. 
Vincent at Mr. Wingate’s lie said slie 
bad corresponded with, him on the subject 
of lier child. He had t hreatened to deprive 
her of her little girl unless she complied with 
certain stipulations, among which w r us the 
granting a personal interview to the hus¬ 
band. Terrified beyond measure by these 
threats, driven desperate by anguish and tlie 
dread of losing her only treasure, poor 
Laura had at last consented to a decisive 
interview. 
Mitchell informed Rathbone of this, 
and engaged his services. The picnic, it 
was thought, would afford unusual facilities, 
and that time was fixed upon. The little 
girl was ordered to take the note to Mrs. 
Vincent, while Rathbone waited for her 
at the saddler’s shop. The letter to her 
named the time and plaee for the interview, 
destine interview, were now plain to her. 
She declared she would rather die than let 
her father know liow she had deceived and 
disobeyed him. She said, too, that her hus¬ 
band would be refused interment in conse¬ 
crated ground, were it known that lie had 
committed suicide; while the ignominy of 
his crime would cling to his innocent child. 
She shrank with unutterable horror, from the 
exposure of a public investigation, and espe¬ 
cially of the particulars of the dreadful scene 
that had passed. Come what might, she 
said, her father should never know it! 
She declared that the body must be secre¬ 
ted somewhere, and Air. Mitchell and Mr. 
Rathbone must t ome and lmry it by night. 
She made them both bind themselves by a 
solemn oath, never, during her father’s life, 
to reveal w hat they had witnessed. “ I will 
perish,” she again averred, “ rather than let 
my father know how weak and wicked 1 
have been. I will bear the punishment for 
this cruel deception, this falsehood to my 
own solemn pledge! Aly lips shall be sealed, 
even unto death 1” 
Mitchell removed from the body such 
portions of clothing as might lead to recog¬ 
nition. These were throw n into a ditch and 
covered with stones. The purse, watch, 
pocket-book, ring & e., were given to the 
widow; she gave back tlie money to the 
lawyer. Rathbone then carried the body 
to the place among the bushes, returning to 
accompany the lady to the village. Her last 
words to the lawyer as they parted renewed 
her injunction as to the decent burial of the 
corpse. He promised to attend to it the 
same night; a promise which, it is needless 
to say, he did not keep. 
The Irishman's dark clothing showed no 
stains. He tried to comfort, the weeping 
Laura, and urged tlie necessity of eontrol- 
ing her feelings. They stopped at the sad¬ 
dler’s, where the women dressed her wound. 
In the village Rathbone purchased for the 
surprised by some news. 
“ Col. Harris here I” exclaimed one. “ He 
has just driven to the hotel,” replied another 
Chauncey was caught by his friend and 
hurried along, till they came to the hotel. 
The waiter took up their cards. 
Col. Harris had been saved from drown¬ 
ing when t he steamer was lost; but a severe 
contusion on the head had quite stunned him. 
The workmen carried him insensible to a 
cabin on the riverside, and it w r os some days 
before lie recovered his full recollection, or 
strength to sit up. A physician from 8t. 
Louis, passing that way, came and prescribed 
for him, forbidding his being moved under a 
week. But the very next day he was aston¬ 
ished to find that liis patient had disappeared. 
He had ordered a conveyance, and had been 
laid upon a mattrass in an open wagon, cov¬ 
ered only with a rug and liis clothing. A 
matter of life and death, he told the good 
woman of the cabin, demanded liis presence, 
hundreds of miles away. The doctor shook 
liis head, and opined that liis patient’s ow n 
death would be brought about. 
It was indeed in a wretched condition of 
health that Col. Harris drove into the comi¬ 
ty town near the Blue Springs, after a 
fatiguetng journey by stage and railway. 
He had not stopped an hour for repose. 
The letters written by liis sister had reached 
him after many delays, and he was most 
anxious to come to the succor of liis daugh¬ 
ter. The suspense he had suffered on the 
way was maddening; but never for a mo¬ 
ment had he doubted Laura’s innocence. 
He dreaded a conspiracy against her on 
the part of the covetous Thornes, and lie 
trembled to think what their malignity might 
accomplish. Before he arrived at, liis desti¬ 
nation, however, he was met by the news of 
her acquittal 
Airs. Lyon was at Air. Wingate’s house, 
She was seated beside tho sofa where Laura 
lay, and reading aloud verses from different 
portions of the Bible adapted to mourners; 
promises on which many a stricken, bleeding 
heart has reposed, and found the peace that 
passeth all understanding. 
The rapid tramp of a horse on the avenue 
was constrained to make a virtue of neces¬ 
sity, and acknowledge the truth of Rath- 
bone’s testimony. He assumed no little 
credit to himself for his firmness in adhering 
to his solemn promise of secresy, when the 
sympathy naturally felt for a lady in such 
perilous circumstances had so strongly 
tempted him to disclose what he knew of 
Vincent’s death. The townspeople, unfor¬ 
tunately, did not view the matter in that 
light. To them the lawyer’s conduct looked 
extremely like conspiracy ; and, notwith¬ 
standing his assurance that lie had never 
believed there was the slightest danger of a 
conviction — MituheLI, soon found Aiaple- 
ton too hot to hold him. He went South¬ 
ward, and may be left to his deserts. Aiiss 
Selina, compelled to quit the house, took 
humble lodgings in a large city, where she 
managed to gain for herself a conspicuous 
character for religious zeal. She received 
her late cousin’s bequest and had tlie impu¬ 
dence to put forward a claim on the estate 
for “ services rendered during Henry’s ill¬ 
ness," for "taking charge of his house, etc.” 
This claim was not allowed by tho lawyers 
who settled up the estate. 
Oscar’s legacy did him little good. Ho 
was severely chastised in New York by some 
one whom he had cheated; and went a down¬ 
ward course, getting no help from his sister. 
Truly he proved the saying: — “The way of 
transgressors is hard.” 
The penitent quadroon went with Rath- 
bone and his child to Indiana, where she 
devoted her time to lowly and useful labors. 
Her life as a bumble Christian may bo com¬ 
pared with the selfseeking parade of a hypo¬ 
crite like Selina. 
Laura Vincent never returned to Ala- 
pleton to reside. There was a wedding at 
Mr. Wingate’s a few months later, and the 
lively Ada, transformed iuto a happy bride, 
took a short tour before she was installed iu 
her home near her friend. The reader w ill 
be neither surprised nor displeased to learn 
that after a time the lovely w idow consented 
to reward the faithful attachment of Os¬ 
borne Maitland. In her second marriage 
she enjoyed happiness as perfect as this 
world affords. 
