; 
 
 
 9TOHM
 
 THOU SHALT NOT 
 
 (NEW SERIES.) 
 
 BY ALBERT Ross. 
 
 AUTHOR OF 
 
 His PRIVATE CHARACTER, " SPEAKING OF ELLEN, 
 " IN STELLA'S SHADOW," " WHY I'M SINGLE," 
 " HER HUSBAND'S FRIEND," ETC. 
 
 " Of course it's unpleasant when these 
 things come into one s own family ; but 
 you knozv they do happen, and happen 
 every day. Ton my soul, were not tlie 
 ones who should cry baby." Page 303. 
 
 ILLUSTRATED BY G. S. SNELL. 
 
 NEW YORK: 
 G. W. Dillingham Co., Publishers. 
 
 MDCCCXCVI.
 
 COPYRIGHT, 1889, 
 BY G. W. DILLINGHAM. 
 
 Entered according to Act of Congress in the year 1896, by 
 
 G. W. DILLINGHAM CO., 
 In the. office of the Librarian of Congress at Washington. 
 
 [ALL RIGHTS RESERVED.] 
 Thou Shalt Not.
 
 PHOTOGRAPHS 
 
 OF 
 
 ALBERT Ross. 
 
 {Cabinet Stzf,) 
 
 Sent to any address on receipt of 25 cents 
 each. 
 
 G. W, DILLINGHAMCO., 
 33 West 2i>d Street, New York. 
 
 2OG1SG8
 
 THE ORIGINAL PREFACE. 
 
 I AM not a moralist, solely. I am a painter of 
 scenes. 
 
 Given, a man : A man steeped in Pleasure, which 
 is also called Vice ; breathing in Sin as other men 
 breathe air and not rinding it disagreeable ; a man to 
 whom the word Conscience conveys no meaning. 
 Unveil to that man, at one flash, his Soul. Take him 
 to a mountain top. Let his gaze rest for a moment 
 on the barren moor whence he came ; then turn his 
 startled eyes to the Elysian Fields that lie beyond. 
 See him tremblingly begin the journey. Paint his 
 former and his latter self and use all bright colors, 
 if you can. 
 
 That man will have struggles ; he will have back- 
 ward slips ; he will resolve again and again and break 
 his resolutions. If he succeeds in wholly freeing 
 himself from his entanglements he will accomplish a 
 miracle. But suffer he must. And I have painted a 
 sufferer. 
 
 If Prudery places her skinny hands before her face 
 and screams ; if roues swear the drawing is incorrect 
 a ul the shading too severe ; if people who admit that 
 the world has pitfalls, but have a constitutional hor- 
 ror of warning signs, say, " It is so dreadful, you 
 know," I cannot help it. 
 
 My scene is painted. It may have demerits, but I 
 know the portraits are accurate. 
 
 ALBERT Ross.
 
 PREFACE FOR NEW EDITION. 
 
 THIS book was published eight years ago ; two 
 hundred thousand copies have been sold ; the original 
 plates are worn out ; and now we begin again. 
 
 Prudery did " place her skinny hands before her face 
 and scream." She even took my work to a grand jury 
 and tried to suppress it. But the jury refused to 
 listen, and the sale still goes on. 
 
 I have no apologies to make. As my purpose 
 becomes better understood I shall be asked for none. 
 
 For your kindness to me, my million readers, I 
 give you a million thanks. 
 
 ALBERT Ross. 
 
 Cambridge, Mass., Sept., 1896. 
 
 [vij
 
 THOU SHALT NOT. 
 
 CHAPTER I. 
 
 THE day was dark and gloomy. Across the after- 
 noon sky the clouds hung like spectral emblems of 
 mourning. Occasionally, through the heavy air, rain- 
 drops fell. In the old forge, the sturdy blacksmith 
 hammered his iron and drove his nails, carrying on 
 meanwhile a conversation with the handsome, boyish- 
 looking young man at his side. The latter was dressed 
 in the latest style, even to kid gloves and patent leath- 
 ers. His fashionable garb contrasted strongly with 
 the rough clothing of the farrier, and not less so his 
 velvety countenance with the grimy visage and sooty 
 arms of his companion. That they should be on such 
 evidently familiar terms seemed strange, as two men 
 more dissimilar it would be difficult to imagine. 
 
 " So yer doin' mi'ty well down in York ?" said the 
 blacksmith, as he paused a moment to put his hand 
 to the bellows. "Well, Walter, I'm glad on't, an' I 
 know ye'll believe me when I say it. When ye left 
 Spring-dale two years ago, I was awful set agin yer 
 goin', I won't deny it. I've seen so many of our boys
 
 8 THOU SHALT NOT. 
 
 start off fer the city that didn't come to no good, that 
 I was afraid fer yer. Some on 'em, who left here jest 
 as pure as you, drifted back arterwards mere wrecks 
 an' drunkards. Some I could name are doin' time in 
 the State's prison. It's an allurin' place, is York, an' 
 I've allus trembled when any one I cared about went 
 thar. I do care fer you, Walter, an' ye know how I 
 allus did from the time when I carried ye down here, 
 a little bit of a baby, an' showed ye the fire thar, 
 burnin' an' shinin,' jest as it does to-day. It's a great 
 comfort to see ye back agin, lookin' jest like ye did 
 when ye left here only a little older, an' a good 
 deal better dressed.'^ 
 
 The blacksmith surveyed the young man with an 
 expression of mingled affection and admiration. 
 Then he took the red-hot shoe from the glowing 
 embers, and struck it several times upon the anvil 
 with his heavy hammer. 
 
 " Why, how did you expect me to look ?" laughed 
 Walter. " You know I never doubted that I should 
 succeed. My expectations were reasonable. I didn't 
 think I should become a millionaire, but I deter- 
 mined not to come back without something to hold 
 to. All I wanted was a good situation, with a tip-top 
 salary, and a chance to see a little of life, and that 
 I've got. I enjoy every second of it. I wouldn't ex- 
 change two years of New York City for a century in 
 this humdrum old town. Why, John Dinsmore, it's 
 really all I can endure to stay out my week's vacation 
 here, even with Clara and you, it all seems so still 
 and deathlike." 
 
 The blacksmith placed the crescent upon one of the 
 hoofs of the pony which he was shoeing, and drove 
 the nails home carefully, clinching each as he pro- 
 ceeded. He had surveyed Walter's eager face with 
 an uneasy expression as the young man talked. 
 There was something in Dinsmore's calm blue eyes
 
 TJIOU SHALT NOT. 9 
 
 which seemed to go far away beyond the object upon 
 which they rested. When his work was finished he 
 came and sat down near his companion and resumed 
 the conversation. 
 
 " Yer sister has read me a good deal out o' yer let- 
 ters, Walter, and I noticed that they seemed to be 
 full of a man named Greyburn. Ye've devoted pages 
 to praisin' him, an' tellin' what a friend he's been to 
 ye. An' yet I don't quite understand it. Tell it all 
 over agin, jest as it happened." 
 
 " You may well say friend," cried Walter, with en- 
 thusiasm. " All my success is due to his kindness. 
 If I hadn't met Hector Greyburn the day I entered 
 New York, my whole life would have been entirely 
 changed. Who else would have exerted themselves 
 for a penniless stranger ? Who else would have bade 
 me make his house my home, and introduced me to 
 his circle of acquaintances as though I was the richest 
 young man in America ? John Dinsmore, you should 
 know Mr. Greyburn. He is one man in a million !" 
 
 u It was on the train that you met him, wa'n't it ?" 
 asked Dinsmore, not seeming wholly to share his 
 young friend's enthusiasm. 
 
 " On my way to the city yes. The merest chance 
 in the world. He happened to get aboard at a way 
 station, and took a seat with me. In five minutes he 
 knew that I was going to New York, a perfect 
 stranger, to seek my fortune. He was so frank with 
 me. 'Have you any money?' 'Very little,' said I. 
 ' Any friends in town ?' ' Not one.' ' Any situation 
 in view ?' ' Not a situation.' ' Your age ?' ' Seven- 
 teen.' That settled it. I must go to his house till I 
 could find a suitable place. Of course I didn't refuse. 
 Wasn't that a chance for a boy to meet with just on 
 the threshold of the city ?" 
 
 It was pleasant to witness the sparkle in the lad's 
 eyes, and the glow which came into his face as he re-
 
 10 THOU SHALT NOT. 
 
 called this story for the benefit of his friend. The 
 blacksmith warmed a little toward him as he pro- 
 ceeded. 
 
 " But didn't ye think he might be a confidence man, 
 or suthin' o" that sort ?" he asked, gazing with affec- 
 tionate regard at the beaming face of the other. 
 
 " Ridiculous !" laughed Walter. " I had only fif- 
 teen dollars in the world, and all my clothes and bag- 
 gage wouldn't have brought as much more. Confi- 
 dence men look for better game than I was then, let 
 me tell you. You would only have looked at him once to 
 throw away all doubt. Let me describe him. He 
 was about thirty years of age, and the handsomest 
 man I ever saw. His eyes were darkish gray, and 
 when he smiled, it was as if the first touch of the 
 morning sun lit up his face. His hair was of a beau- 
 tiful shade of brown. His skin was as fair as a girl's, 
 and in his cheeks the warm, red blood of health showed 
 freely. In height he was a little above the aver- 
 age. Proportioned like a statue, he carried himself 
 with a grace which seemed entirely natural. He was 
 well dressed. His jewelry was rich but not flashy. 
 Everything about him seemed to say, ' Here you will 
 find true metal.' Suspect him ? It would have been 
 impossible !" 
 
 Walter paused a minute, and looked out of the 
 great door, to note that the clouds were clearing 
 away and that the shower was evidently ended. 
 
 "When we reached the station," he pursued, "Mr. 
 Greyburn took a carriage and we drove to his house 
 on Madison Avenue. He said nothing as we rode 
 through the streets, seeing probably that my eyes 
 were riveted on the unaccustomed sights we passed. 
 Everything seemed wonderful. The great buildings, 
 the immense number of people in the streets, the 
 noise and jar of business. 1 was in perfect amaze-
 
 THOU SHALT NOT. II 
 
 ment before I entered his house. And once inside, 
 I was carried away completely." 
 
 " Carried away ?" echoed the listener. 
 
 " Yes, carried away. Not spirited off through the air, 
 but simply dazed with wonder. As we went up the 
 high steps the door was opened for us without any 
 knock or ring, and when we reached the hall oh ! I 
 can't describe it ! I am seeing it now as I saw it then. 
 It seemed to me a veritable palace of Aladdin ! 
 There were the most elegant carpets, furniture, chan- 
 deliers, statuary and pictures, and by no means the 
 least of all, one of the prettiest girls I had ever seen, 
 closing the door after us. In all this splendor Mr. 
 Greyburn was as much at ease as we are in this old 
 shop. He turned to the girl and said, ' Annie, this is 
 Mr. Walter Campbell. Consider him a guest of the 
 house as long as he desires to remain.' I was over- 
 powered and stammered something, I don't know 
 what. It's a mercy I didn't swoon away." 
 
 The troubled expression had come back to the 
 blacksmith's blue eyes. 
 
 " Was this young lady his his daughter ?" he asked, 
 simply. 
 
 " Daughter ? Certainly not," laughed Walter. 
 " He's not a married man. She was only his door- 
 opener ; one of the servants. He told me afterwards 
 he got her to match the tints in the frescoing. Such a 
 man, John ! Nothing too good- for him ! But up in 
 the second story we encountered another vision of 
 beauty. ' Nettie,' said he, ' this is Mr. Walter,' and all 
 the rest of it over again. Up another flight we went, 
 and there was another, more and more attractive, and 
 over the introduction he went again. Then he 
 showed me into my room, which was the finest cham- 
 ber I had ever seen. My trunk was brought up by a 
 colored porter, after which Mr. Greyburn said he 
 would leave me to myself for an hour, when he would
 
 12 THOU SHALT NOT. 
 
 call me for dinner. It took me most of that hour to 
 collect my scattered senses, but I finally changed my 
 dress and got ready. Punctual to the time he called 
 me, and we went down to the dining-room. Oh ! 
 that dining-room ! John Dinsmore, I shall never live 
 long enough to forget how its splendors burst upon 
 my vision. Nor can I ever forget the dinner, nor the 
 beautiful lady who came in and sat with us at table 
 a lady, John, who threw all the others into the 
 shade as the full moon does the smallest star of the 
 evening. I can't describe it, I can't describe her, I 
 can't describe anything. It all seemed more like a 
 dream than reality." 
 
 "This last lady," said the blacksmith, very slowly, 
 and looking on the ground as he spoke, " who was 
 she ?" 
 
 " Why, just his housekeeper," crjed Walter, burst- 
 ing into spasmodic laughter. " Was there ever such 
 a man ? An houri at the door, seraphs on each land- 
 ing, and an angel to preside over them all. The din- 
 ner was perfect, everything you could think of, but 
 my appetite was gone. One can eat any day, but to 
 go at one step from earth to paradise is not a thing- 
 that happens any too often to a poor fellow like me." 
 
 A breath, which was almost a sigh, escaped John 
 Dinsmore's lips. 
 
 " This Mr. Greyburn must be very wealthy," he 
 said, more as if to hide what else he had in mind than 
 for any value in the thought itself. 
 
 " Of course," assented the other. " A man couldn't 
 maintain a place like that on a dollar a day. How 
 did he get it ? I don't know. Inherited it, probably. 
 Most of these rich men do ; or else they make a 
 lucky speculation and blunder into a fortune at once. 
 All I know is that he is in no business, and his hands 
 are as soft and white as a child's. Everybody speaks 
 of his hands, Why, mine aren't very ugly, but his
 
 THOU SHALT NOT. 13 
 
 are to mine like light to darkness. I could look at 
 his hands by the hour, John. You can wager they 
 never did much work, or they wouldn't look like 
 that." 
 
 The blacksmith's blue eyes rested for a second on 
 his own coarse and grimy members, and the mental 
 comparison with the picture which young Campbell 
 had drawn was not pleasing. Then he steadied him- 
 self a little for the question he had been for some 
 minutes trying to propound. 
 
 " Does your sister know all about this ?" 
 
 " Clara ? Why, certainly. That is, she knows all 
 the main parts of it. Of course I didn't expatiate on 
 the beauty of the pretty women. You know what 
 strict ideas she has of propriety, and she mightn't 
 think it looked just right to have so many of them 
 there in a sort of Bachelor's Hall, you know. For my 
 part I can't see why a handsome girl is any worse 
 than a homely one. If Mr. Grey burn fancies filling 
 his handsome house with handsome servants, and can 
 afford to do it, it's not my business. Clara is the 
 dearest creature in the world, and I love her as much 
 as a brother could, but she's a little old-fashioned in 
 some things. Now, isn't she, John ?" 
 
 It was curious to watch the apologetic tone which 
 ran through the young man's defense of his New 
 York friend. His final appeal to the blacksmith went 
 unanswered for some moments. 
 
 "Walter," said Dinsmore, at last, " ye've got the 
 best little woman in this world for a sister, an' her 
 ideas of right an' wrong are safe fer ye to f oiler. Old- 
 fashioned they may be, but so is the earth we live in. 
 That sky up thar is old-fashioned. The God who 
 made it and the heavens beyond it arc gittin' old- 
 fashioned, too ; but we'll try and believe in 'em a 
 while longer fer all that." 
 
 " Why, how sober you are !" said the younger man,
 
 14 THOU SHALT NOT. 
 
 rising from where he sat, with some uneasiness in his 
 demeanor. " I didn't mean to offend you, John. 
 You know there's nothing in the world would make 
 me do that intentionally. I love Clara better than any 
 one else loves her or ever will, and that's why I didn't 
 write her anything that I thought she would dislike 
 to hear.- If I had supposed you would take it in this 
 way I wouldn't have told you, either. Come ! You 
 don't hold it against me, John, do you ?" 
 
 The far-away look had come into Dinsmore's eyes 
 again. He hardly heard what Walter was saying. 
 The young man repeated his last words : 
 
 "You don't lay it up against me, John ?" 
 
 " No, no ! my boy," replied the blacksmith, heart- 
 ily. " I lay up nothin' agin ye, an' I hope agin no 
 man. But, Walter, yer father was as good a man as 
 ever lived ; yer mother was a good woman ; an' now 
 that you an' Miss Clara are all that's left, ye owe 
 something to the memories of them who gave ye 
 birth. She is jest what her mother was, pure an 
 sweet as the air of the brightest summer mornin'. 
 Be careful, Walter, be very careful that nothin' comes 
 over ye to make ye else than like her." 
 
 " Why, John, you are eloquent ! I never heard you 
 speak like that before." 
 
 The unlettered man had indeed found expressions 
 such as had never before passed his lips. It was as if 
 he had uttered a prayer and a benediction. 
 
 There were fifteen years difference in their ages, 
 and Walter could not recall the time when Dinsmore's 
 forge was not there, and Dinsmore himself striking 
 the iron and pulling the handle of the old bellows. 
 When big enough to go to his first school he used to 
 stop at the old forge door, to see with a child's de- 
 light the sparks flying from the anvil and hear the 
 merry cling-clang of the horseshoes. As a boy the 
 blacksmith's shop had always been his resort when-
 
 THOU SHALT NOT. I $ 
 
 ever he had any trouble on his mind, and it had 
 never failed to be lifted there. Who knew so well as 
 John how to set the snares, to fix the traps, to find the 
 irst wild berries ? Who could make better whistles 
 iu of willow or rig such a cross-bow ? 
 
 Tne sky was now entirely clear again, and the 
 
 ening sun sent his radiance like burnished gold 
 v T er the little forge and in at the open doorway. 
 As Walter ceased speaking a presence entered the 
 shop which brought hardly less brightness with it. 
 Clara Campbell had guessed that her brother would 
 go straight to his old friend, and was not surprised 
 when she found them together. The little maiden was 
 indeed " as pure and sweet as the air of the brightest 
 summer morning." Two years younger than Wal- 
 ter, she had that womanly way about her which 
 comes so often to girls thrown at an early age upon 
 their own resources. Looking not a day older than 
 her seventeen years, she had the air of a woman of 
 twenty. It was easy to tell the relation which she 
 and Walter bore to each other. Had it not been, the 
 radiant smile with which she met his glance, would 
 have shown to any observer that he was very dear to 
 her indeed. 
 
 " Good evening, Mr. Dinsmore," she said, giving 
 her hand in a perfectly unconstrained manner to the 
 blacksmith. "Walter ran away from me before I 
 had hardly looked at him, and I knew he would go 
 straight to your forge. Well, how does he look ? 
 Has he not grown ! I really fear I am almost too 
 proud of him !" 
 
 Dinsmore dusted a chair and offered it to the girl, 
 who took it with a pleasant "Thank you." The ad- 
 dition to the group seemed to have a momentary 
 effect upon his speech, for he only smiled assent to 
 her words. 
 
 "To be sure I've grown," said the brother, looking
 
 1 6 THOU SHALT NOT. 
 
 with a smile into his sister's eyes. "Did you think I 
 was always going to be a little armful of a thing like 
 you ? New York is the place to grow. I shall be as 
 big as John in two years more. Clara always did ad- 
 mire tall, strong men, John. Muscle and brawn are 
 favorites with you ; eh, sister ?" 
 
 " I do like to see men strong and well," assented 
 Clara. " It seems the right of their sex to be strong. 
 But I do not despise the weaker ones. God does not 
 make us all alike, and surely He knows what is best." 
 
 The blue eyes of the tall and brawny blacksmith 
 brightened during Walter's speech and fell a little at 
 the close of Clara's. 
 
 " If you want to see a perfect specimen of manly 
 beauty," said Walter, " you ought to meet my friend 
 Greyburn. I've been telling John about him. He is 
 built like an Apollo, and they say he has the strength 
 of a Hercules. His hand is daintier to look at than 
 yours, Clara, and his grasp is like well, like John's 
 here when he chooses to put forth his will." 
 
 " He has been very kind to you," said Clara. 
 
 " Indeed he has. I wasn't in the city a week, you 
 know, before he got me a clerkship at the City Hall 
 at one thousand dollars a year. In three months that 
 was raised to fifteen hundred dollars, and in a year to 
 two thousand dollars, with prospect of an increase in 
 the near future. When I think it all over it seems 
 like a fairy tale." 
 
 " I can't comprehend," said his sister, with a shake 
 of her head, " how you can possibly be worth such a 
 sum to anybody. My little brother earning two 
 thousand dollars a year, while I can only get four 
 hundred dollars for teaching thirty or forty children. 
 You will certainly become rich and retire before 
 long." 
 
 " Rich !" ejaculated Walter. " That's a very differ- 
 ent thing, my dear. It costs a pile to live in the city,
 
 THOU SHALT NOT. I/ 
 
 and a fellow must go around some, you know. I 
 haven't saved a dollar yet, except what I sent to help 
 you pay the mortgage off the homestead. When I 
 get my salary raised again I mean to put by just so 
 much every month, but I don't see how I can do it 
 now. Living is very expensive, and there are so 
 many things to get. Wh) 7 , Mr. Greyburn insisted on 
 lending me five hundred dollars to start with, as he 
 said I needed that amount to fix myself up so that I 
 could go to work at all. He said in the kindest way 
 that my dress might look a little countryfied to the 
 other clerks. It was a mighty good act of him. I 
 couldn't have borne to be made fun of, you know, and 
 I might have got into trouble." 
 
 Clara stared at him with wide-open eyes, but there 
 was more astonishment than chiding in her ex- 
 pression. 
 
 " Of course you couldn't save anything until you had 
 paid Mr. Greyburn his loan," she said, extenuatingly. 
 
 " But, to tell the truth, I've not paid it," said 
 Walter, coloring just a little as he saw his sister's 
 eyes open wider yet. " He told me not to mind it ; 
 that he was in no hurry whatever. So I gave him 
 my note, and it hasn't seemed to come handy to take 
 it up." 
 
 Clara's eyes encountered those of the blacksmith, 
 and each read in the other the same sentiment. Dins- 
 more found his voice. 
 
 " Ye ought to pay that note, Walter, if ye'll excuse 
 me for sayin' so. You an' yer sister have managed 
 to get the mortgage off o' the old house. It was only 
 two hundred and fifty dollars, but it troubled her, an' 
 she looked like a new creature the day the debt was 
 discharged. There were those of us who would 'a' paid 
 it any moment, but she wouldn't hear to that. This 
 note o' yourn ain't her affair, in one sense, but I know
 
 1 8 THOU SHALT NOT. 
 
 she won't feel easy till it's paid. Ain't I right, Miss 
 Clara?" 
 
 "John is right, brother," replied the girl. "You 
 earn your own money, and are doing well, and I am 
 very proud of you, but that note should not stand a 
 day longer than you can help. I have a hundred dol- 
 lars laid away that I will be glad to let you have 
 toward the amount. Promise me that you will not 
 leave it unattended to." 
 
 " Oh, very well," said Walter. " If you care about it, 
 I will. It will put me out a little to do it this year, 
 but let it be as you say. As to your money, Clara, of 
 course I wouldn't touch that. My salary is large 
 enough for my own debts. No," as the girl started to 
 open her lips, " I should not think of it, so please 
 don't ask me again." 
 
 Whatever further protestations the sister might 
 have made were cut short by the sound of rapidly 
 approaching wheels, and the quick, sharp steps of a 
 horse coming at speed. A moment later the driver 
 pulled up his animal at the forge door and leaped 
 lightly to the ground. 
 
 Walter Campbell sprang from his seat and caught 
 the hand of the new comer. 
 
 " Mr. Greyburn ! is it possible ? Where did you 
 come from ? I supposed you were in the city." 
 
 Greyburn smiled pleasantly into the face of his im- 
 petuous young friend, and was about to reply, when 
 he caught sight of Miss Clara, who had risen at the 
 approach of the stranger and was preparing to de- 
 part. His broad hat of Panama straw was immedi- 
 ately lifted from his head, and he made a profound 
 obeisance as the girl stepped from the doorway. 
 His manner was courtly, but with no trace of any- 
 thing offensive. It seemed like involuntary homage 
 paid to beauty.
 
 THOU SHALT NOT. 19 
 
 " Clara," said Walter. She paused and looked up. 
 " Mr. Greyburn my sister." 
 
 He did not attempt to touch her hand, which, with 
 country politeness, she half offered him. 
 
 " I am delighted," he said, " to meet any relation of 
 a young man whom I esteem so highly as I do your 
 brother. I was taking a drive through this part of 
 the State, and learning accidentally that he had gone 
 to his native town on a vacation, I directed the steps 
 of my horse thither. The creature cast a shoe a 
 little ways back, and I stopped here to get the dam- 
 age repaired. I had no idea that I should meet him, 
 and certainly not that I should have this additional 
 pleasure." 
 
 Miss Clara listened to this speech with quiet atten- 
 tion. Dinsmore leaned heavily on one of his ham- 
 mers, which he seemed to have picked up in a mo- 
 ment of abstraction, looking from the girl's face to 
 Greyburn's and back again, as if he would read their 
 inmost thoughts. Walter looked at Greyburn and 
 him alone, with admiration written on every feature. 
 
 " I have often heard of you, sir, through my 
 brother's letters," responded the girl, " and welcome 
 you to our little village. You will find Mr. Dinsmore 
 an excellent farrier. Our cottage is but ten minutes 
 walk from here, and when your horse has been shod 
 you will let Walter conduct you there. I will go in 
 advance and be ready to receive you." 
 
 " Many thanks for your kind offer," said Greyburn, 
 " but I had no intention of troubling you at all. The 
 village hotel will answer for Robin (my horse) and 
 me. However," seeing in Walter's face a decided 
 negative to this proposition, " I will make you a 
 call on my way to the hostelry. How long shall I be 
 delayed here, sir ?" he said, turning to the black- 
 smith. 
 
 Dinsmore did not answer immediately. He was
 
 2O THOU SHALT NOT. 
 
 putting " Pet," Miss Clara's pony, which he had just 
 shod, into her phaeton, which stood under a shed out- 
 side the door. He adjusted the harness with the 
 greatest care, assisted the young lady into the 
 vehicle, and placed in her hands the reins and whip. 
 When she had bowed her good-byes to the company, 
 and disappeared at the turn of the road, he deigned to 
 reply to the question. Not in words, however. He 
 took the blooded beast from the shafts and proceeded 
 to the work required, without uttering a syllable. 
 Greyburn, seeing that the shoe was being fitted, turned 
 to Walter, and the twain engaged in animated conver- 
 sation. When his work was finished the blacksmith 
 put the horse back in his place, and re-entered the 
 shop, still without speaking a word. 
 
 Greyburn stepped to the horse's shoulder. " Robin," 
 he said, as if speaking to a child, "let me see it." 
 
 The intelligent creature lifted his foot and his mas- 
 ter surveyed the shoe critically. 
 
 " That's well done, my man," said Greyburn, ap- 
 provingly, turning to Dinsmore. " Not a farrier in 
 the country could have set it better. In these days 
 when there is so much bungling it's a pleasure to see 
 a job like this. Nothing requires more skill than 
 shoeing a horse, and nothing is done worse on the 
 average. I thank you, and he thanks you, too. Don't 
 you, Robin ? Make a bow to the gentleman." 
 
 The horse immediately made several inclinations 
 of his head. The action was executed so perfectly 
 that Walter laughed aloud. The sight of Greyburn 
 seemed to put him in excellent spirits. 
 
 " How much shall I pay you ?" said Greyburn, tak- 
 ing out his pocketbook. " Charge enough, now. The 
 job is worth it. I shall be satisfied." 
 
 "That is all right," said the blacksmith, gruffly, 
 walking away toward the farther end of his shop. His
 
 THOU SHALT NOT. 21 
 
 manner was almost discourteous. Greyburn turned 
 to young Campbell. 
 
 " Don't they charge anything for a job like that up 
 in these parts ?" he said. 
 
 " Oh, it's because you're a friend of mine," said Wal- 
 ter uneasily, for Dinsmore's curt words puzzled him 
 not a little. " I've known him from childhood, and he 
 never would take a cent from any of our family." 
 
 "But he mustn't do that," expostulated the other. 
 " It's not right. The laborer is worthy of his hire. 
 I'm going to leave this two dollar bill on the post 
 here, with that bit of iron to hold it. When he comes 
 to shut up shop he'll find it and think better of the 
 matter." 
 
 Greyburn left the money as he had suggested, and 
 entering the buggy with Walter, they drove toward 
 the Campbell cottage. 
 
 After they had gone, John Dinsmore sat down on 
 his lonely bench, and looked for a long time into the 
 far-away sky. A tired look as of hopes unsatisfied 
 marred the lustre of his blue eyes. Now and then 
 his brows contracted, as unpleasant thoughts passed 
 through his mind. Once he sprang up and grasped 
 again his heavy hammer, as if to use it as a weapon 
 of assault. Long after his usual hour for closing he 
 sat there, and no one came to disturb his medita- 
 tions. 
 
 When it was nearly dark he rose, fixed his fire, 
 drew the large doors together, turned the key and 
 started to leave the place. As he did so, he saw the 
 paper money lying upon the post. He looked at it a 
 minute and then the truth began to dawn upon his 
 mind. Mechanically taking the key from his pocket 
 he reopened the forge door. Stepping inside he 
 picked up a pair of blacksmith's tongs and went 
 back to the post. Then he took the piece of money 
 with his tongs and buried it in the embers of the
 
 22 THOU SHALT NOT. 
 
 forge until it was reduced to ashes. He closed 
 the doors again, locked them, and walked toward his 
 home moodily, with slow and measured steps. 
 
 CHAPTER II. 
 
 HECTOR GREYBURN'S house on Madison Avenue was 
 not the finest palace in New York, Walter Campbell's 
 glowing description to the contrary. It was a modest 
 residence, with an interior like that of many others, 
 but with rather more than the usual amount of room 
 within its walls. Its furnishings were all elegant, and 
 nothing that could reasonably be asked to minister to 
 the tastes or add to the comfort of its owner was 
 missing. He was a good liver, happy and free in hos- 
 pitality, with a carelessness of expenditure through 
 which ran a grain of prudence. To be very wealthy 
 had never been the desire of this man. To live at 
 ease with a fair and certain income was all he asked. 
 Had money flown twice as freely into his coffers, it 
 had flowed twice as freely out. He was an enigma to 
 all who knew him at least, to all but one. Where 
 he came from, who his people were, and whence his 
 money, were the frequent cause of gossip among his 
 acquaintances. 
 
 Some knew he had been, but a few years before, a 
 mere clerk in the employ of the municipal govern- 
 ment, with a salary no larger than his present 
 monthly expense account All at once he seemed to 
 leap into opulence. Had some rich relative suddenly 
 died and left him a fortune ? Had he drawn the 
 grand prize in a lottery ? Was he a secret and 
 successful gambler ? Each of these propositions, 
 with many others were advanced, and after investiga- 
 tion rejected as untenable. All that was known of
 
 THOU SHALT NOT. 2$ 
 
 Hector Greyburn was that he was rich, liberal, and 
 fond of pleasure. 
 
 Even in his vices he was prudent. No one ever 
 saw him intoxicated, though he drank a glass of good 
 wine when he liked. He was never excited at the 
 card table, nor could he be persuaded to risk above a 
 small amount on the turn of a game. He kept but 
 one horse his favorite "Robin " which served 
 equally well as a saddle or road beast, and to which 
 he was devotedly attached. He had his dime always 
 ready for the beggar, or his bankbill for the man or 
 woman in distress, but he was never reckless even in 
 his gifts. 
 
 If there was any place where Greyburn's generosity 
 trenched on prodigality it was in the entertainment 
 of his guests. Nothing pleased him better than to 
 see gathered in his dining-room a set of good fellows 
 who would do justice to his larder and sideboard. If 
 the fair faces of women were scattered about the 
 table on these occasions he was not less contented. 
 For two years he had entertained on a certain day of 
 each month such a party, and the gentlemen who 
 met together had organized themselves into an asso- 
 ciation called the Greyburn Club, of which their host 
 was perpetual president. There were but six mem- 
 bers in the Club proper, but each one had the privi- 
 lege of bringing any friend whom he believed would 
 enhance the pleasures of the occasion. To the young 
 men about town, and to some of the elder ones, noth- 
 ing was more agreeable than an invitation to dine 
 with the Greyburn Club. Reports of its gay charac- 
 ter permeated all the other clubs of New York, and 
 he who could boast of having attended one of its 
 gatherings became at once a temporary center of in- 
 terest. 
 
 As previously stated, the membership of the Club 
 was limited to six. That number happened to be
 
 24 THOU SHALT NOT. 
 
 sitting at Grey burn's table one evening when the 
 proposition to organize was made. It was voted then 
 and there that the six gentlemen present should con- 
 stitute then and forever the Greyburn Club, and that 
 no other person should ever become a member ex- 
 cept to fill a vacancy caused by death or resignation. 
 
 First of the six was the president, Hector Greyburn, 
 already introduced to the reader, and sufficiently de- 
 scribed in his young friend's eulogy to John Dins- 
 more. Next we may place Mr. Jacob Mendall, a 
 banker and near friend of the host, aged about sixty, 
 with a well-preserved frame and a ruddy complexion 
 which, with the absence of gray hair, showed fine 
 health and good living. Next, Clarence A. Perkyns, 
 Esq., a lawyer with a lucrative office practice, a bach- 
 elor of five-and-thirty summers. Then Mr. Otis W. 
 Middleby, an attache of Mendall's, who owned to fifty 
 winters and sported a sign in a down-town building 
 announcing himself as a broker. Next Mr. Chester 
 Bolton, twenty-five years of age, an attorney's clerk, 
 who held a firm conviction that the fickle goddess had 
 served him a shabby trick by sending him into the 
 world with a hungry mouth and compelling him to 
 undertake the job of seeing it filled. Lastly, Mr. Wal- 
 ter Campbell, who, when the Club was formed, had 
 seen but three months of city life, and felt the honor 
 of his selection more than all the others combined. 
 
 From the day Walter entered Greyburn's door, he 
 advanced rapidly in the mysteries of those polite 
 vices which are inseparable from life in a great city. 
 He worked at his desk from nine to three each day, 
 and did what he had to do well. The rest of the 
 time was his own. He was entirely unsophisticated, 
 and embraced eagerly his opportunities to see the gay 
 side of New York life. At first its grosser forms 
 repelled him, but step by step he learned to like what 
 he could not once endure, and to endure what he
 
 THOU SHALT NOT. 25 
 
 could not learn to like. He found that his benefactor 
 smiled upon such peccadilloes as came to his notice, 
 and there was no one else in the city for whose dis- 
 pleasure he cared. 
 
 When Walter got so full of wine at one of the club 
 dinners that he had to be carried upstairs to bed, 
 Jacob Mendall interposed a mild objection. 
 
 " You should have put in a word, Greyburn, before 
 he got so far as that. Such a boy as he is !" 
 
 " Oh, no," replied Greyburn lightly. " He must learn 
 for himself. He's got sense enough to get tired of 
 that sort of thing after he's tried it a few times. I'd 
 wager a bottle of canary, Jacob, that you've gone un- 
 der the table more than once in your time, and I can't 
 see as you're any the worse for it." 
 
 Mendall joined in the laugh at his expense, and ad- 
 mitted the imputation. " But," he added, "it wasn't 
 when I was a boy like him. I got my growth and saw 
 my thirtieth year before I ever took enough liquor to 
 down me. That was the way I built up my system. 
 I'd like to see enough go down my throat to lay me 
 out to-day, though." 
 
 He dashed down a bumper of brandy as he spoke. 
 
 " Early or late every young man of the present age, 
 with any life in him, is going to drink something," 
 said Greyburn. " He may begin at eighteen like 
 Walter, or at thirty as you did, but he's going to do it. 
 Let him take his own time, say I. Besides, I have 
 some notions about hospitality, and I would see every 
 one of you lose his power of locomotion and utterance 
 once each month at this table before I'd say a word 
 to influence what you should eat or drink here." 
 
 " Bravo !" cried Chester Bolton. " Three cheers for 
 Hec. He's right, Jake, he's right. Let's all take him 
 at his word, and get paralyzed to-night. Let's put 
 what-you-oall-its in our mouths to steal away our 
 brains. Pour out one kind of wine at a time, and
 
 26 THOU SHALT NOT. 
 
 we'll all begin at once. He who goes down last will 
 be voted to have the most sense. Come, let's begin." 
 
 But to this Mr. Perkyns instantly demurred. His 
 tastes were moderate, and a couple of glasses in an 
 evening satisfied his wants. 
 
 "All right, Perk," said Bolton, with that astonishing 
 familiarity which follows a good dinner. " I know 
 you and Oat," by which title he usually designated 
 Mr. Middleby, " are light drinkers. Walt just pours 
 it down and succumbs easily. Jake couldn't be filled 
 up if he emptied the Prince of Wales' cellar, and Hec 
 never takes enough to let us see how it would affect 
 him. All right. I'll withdraw the motion." 
 
 Walter's constitution was so strong that an occa- 
 sional indulgence of this kind was slow to make itself 
 seen in his countenance, and he conducted himself so 
 well on his visit to Springdale that his sister had no 
 cause to suspect the truth. That her brother had 
 drank to intoxication would have seemed impossible 
 to her. She associated drunkenness with filthy hovels 
 and bar-rooms. A drunkard could be known, she be- 
 lieved, by his bloodshot eye, his ragged attire, and his 
 staggering gait. Walter was in danger from the vices 
 of a city, she had no doubt. But not that, not that. 
 
 It was but a few weeks before the young man prof- 
 fered his kiss to pretty Annie when she opened the 
 door to let him in, as he had seen Greyburn do. He 
 visited places of questionable repute, and associated 
 with a gay set of dissolute young men who had more 
 money than brains, and most of them not too much 
 of either. It does not require so long as one might 
 think to take the steps in a city education when one 
 has good teachers and enough leisure in which to 
 study. Clara's weekly letters proved a brake on her 
 brother's progress for a little while, but their influ- 
 ence lessened month by month. As he had said to
 
 THOU SHALT NOT. 2/ 
 
 John Dinsmore, he thought his sister, while the dear- 
 est creature in the world, a little old-fashioned. 
 
 At Greyburn's house he learned rapidly. The 
 conversation at the monthly dinners was not always 
 exactly what a young boy's mother might like him 
 to hear or to join in. The women who generally 
 formed a portion of the company were not such as he 
 would have liked Clara to meet. " Fine girls," lie 
 would have told you, " full of fun and life, pretty as 
 pictures, but, of course " 
 
 One evening he was sitting with Greyburn in the 
 latter's cozy parlor, during his first few months in the 
 city, when one of the housemaids entered, bearing a 
 card on a salver. Greyburn took the card, read the 
 name, and looked up as if a little in doubt. 
 
 " Shall I show the lady in ?" asked the girl, seeing 
 that he hesitated. 
 
 " Y-e-s," he replied slowly, as if in thought. " Where 
 is she now ?" 
 
 " In the lower reception room, sir." 
 
 "Very well. Show her into the library. Or, 
 Susanne," hesitating again, "on the whole, show her 
 up here. It will make no difference." 
 
 " Shall I go ?" asked Walter, taking up his hat. 
 
 " By no means. I would much rather you would 
 remain. If June is like what she usually is, you will 
 be well repaid. Ah !" rising and extending his hand 
 to his visitor. " To what am I indebted for the 
 honor ?" 
 
 The lady was of medium height, with dark hair 
 and eyes, and what is often described as traces of 
 former beauty. She was probably twenty-seven years 
 of age, and still attractive. The look of scorn which 
 she threw at Greyburn, and the gesture with which 
 she declined his proffered hand, added to the im- 
 periousness of her general carriage.
 
 28 THOU SHALT NOT. 
 
 " You are sarcastic, as usual, I see," she said, taking 
 a chair. 
 
 " I ?" he repeated. " You mistake. I never am sar- 
 castic. Least of all would I be so to a lady. But 
 allow me to present you to my friend here, who seems 
 quite amazed at your conduct. Mr. Campbell Miss 
 June. The one the solace of my youth, the other the 
 companion of my declining- years." 
 
 " God help you if you expect much from his friend- 
 ship," said Miss June, bowing slightly to Walter as 
 she spoke. " He professed it for me once, and it was 
 all pretense." 
 
 "June," interposed Greyburn, "you are not fair. 
 Upon my honor 
 
 " Upon your honor ?" she echoed. 
 
 " Well, upon my word, then." 
 
 " One is worth about as much as the other," said 
 the lady, satirically. " Your honor or your word are 
 things which, if you ever had them, were squandered 
 long ago." 
 
 Walter looked with some astonishment at the never- 
 fading smile which appeared on Greyburn's face 
 under the harsh words and vindictive manner of his 
 visitor. 
 
 " How very often you have told me that," said Grey- 
 burn, yawning a little. " Don't be prosy to-night, 
 June. Have you nothing new ?" 
 
 " To think," she proceeded, " that I could ever have 
 loved such a creature ! I despise myself for it." 
 
 "And that," he said, in the same bantering tone, 
 " you have also told me before. If it was a matter of 
 guessing, I should say I had heard it word for word 
 well probably a thousand times." 
 
 She had risen and begun to pace the floor, but she 
 turned fiercely at the last sarcasm. Drawing from 
 her pocket a small ivory-handled pistol, she said : 
 
 " I bought that thing to kill you with, I don't
 
 THOU SHALT NOT. 29 
 
 know what keeps me from doing it. I will some day. 
 Don't you believe it ?" 
 
 She flourished the weapon within arm's length of 
 his face. Walter started to intercept her, but was 
 stopped by a wave of Greyburn's hand. 
 
 " If that is a question," he answered, with the great- 
 est nonchalance, " as much as I dislike to differ from 
 a lady, I must answer, No." 
 
 " You don't ?" she cried, approaching nearer, and 
 apparently beside herself with rage. 
 
 " You will certainly get hurt with that thing," he 
 went on, deliberately, "if you persist in carrying it. 
 Only last week I read of a man who was fatally in- 
 jured by a revolver which he was handling. Take 
 my advice, June, and exhibit more prudence." 
 
 She put the pistol back in her pocket with a ner- 
 vous action, and resumed her seat. Her excitement 
 showed itself in her nervous hands, and the pit-pat 
 which her feet kept up on the carpet. 
 
 " Do you know," she said to Walter, presently, not 
 deigning to address herself long to Greyburn, " what 
 sort of a man it is whose friendship you have been 
 honored with ?" 
 
 " Get her to tell you, Walter," said Greyburn. 
 " You will find it entertaining. It's a tiresome story 
 to me, but to you it will have the charm of novelty. 
 You see June is an old and dear friend of mine. Old 
 in the sense that we have known each other many 
 years, and dear in every sense. She is feeling a little 
 unhappy this evening over something, and when she 
 feels that way she always comes down here and be- 
 stows her charming presence on me. She'll tell you 
 the whole story of our early acquaintance, with plenty 
 of delightful embellishments of her own. If you're 
 not bored by that sort of thing, you'll find her inter- 
 esting.
 
 30 THOU SHALT NOT. 
 
 " He is a villain !" cried the lady, in great excite- 
 ment. 
 
 " I don't deny it, Walter," said Greyburn, his smile 
 broadening. " It may or it may not be true. But, 
 coming with such unction from those charming lips, 
 how can I dispute it. Excuse me. I interrupt." 
 
 "Listen to me, young man," said Miss June. 
 " Twelve years ago I was an innocent girl living in a 
 country town. I was fifteen. He was eighteen. He 
 ruined and abandoned me." 
 
 " Triumphed over your virtue is the correct ex- 
 pression," interposed Greyburn. " The other is obso- 
 lete and never used now in polite circles." 
 
 " We came together to this city," pursued the lady, 
 not noticing the irony which Greyburn used. "I 
 trusted to his manhood and his honor to support and 
 protect me here. We hired an attic, and lived for a 
 week on what we could get. He never tried to get 
 work. I knew that when our last penny was gone we 
 must separate. I could not bear to lose him wretch 
 as he was and I sold my soul to buy him bread." 
 
 " A fantastical expression," mused Greyburn, as if 
 to himself, " and quite meaningless, but en regie* 
 Let it go." 
 
 Walter listened with eager attention. 
 
 " One evening I went out in the streets with the last 
 dime I had in the world, to buy as usual a morsel of 
 food for our breakfast. A man accosted me. I was 
 desperate. After midnight I crept back to my room 
 like a frightened criminal. He was asleep ! In the 
 morning when he woke (for I never closed my own 
 eyes), I showed him money, expecting that he would 
 rave and cry. And he never said a word 7" 
 
 The lady rocked herself backward and forward for 
 a minute, while a half sob issued from her lips. Wal- 
 ter looked at Greyburn, and saw that the smile was 
 still about his mouth.
 
 THOU SHALT NOT. 3! 
 
 " How I loved him then," she continued, raising 
 her clasped hands, "you may guess when even that 
 exhibition of his character did not induce me to leave 
 him. When the money was gone I met the man 
 again. He was rich. He gave liberally. Hector 
 and I left the attic and took a pretty furnished room. 
 We dined at restaurants. Though I knew he loved 
 me no longer, those days seemed like heaven. Every 
 dollar I got I gave to him ; and he took it. He took 
 it! One night I came home and found that he was 
 gone. He had left a note bidding me good-bye and 
 saying that he should not return. I found out after- 
 ward why he went. The man to whom we owed our 
 living had met him and bribed him to go. He got one 
 thousand dollars for me. Good heaven ! A slave in a 
 Turkish harem would have been valued higher !" 
 
 Walter looked at Greyburn, expecting surely now 
 to hear his prompt denial. But there was the smile, 
 just the same, and no sign that he questioned her 
 statements. 
 
 "It is true, Walter, what she says," said he. "I 
 did get one thousand dollars for her, and I considered 
 it a good bargain. I wanted money. Her new lover 
 had plenty of it. He wanted her. I didn't. What 
 could be more sensible than an exchange ? I believe 
 I had the best of it ; though, to do June justice, Mr. 
 Moneybags didn't think so ! no, nor doesn't to-day ; 
 for, would you believe it? she is with him yet." 
 
 " I shall always wonder how I lived through the 
 days which followed," continued Miss June. "For 
 six weeks I was in a raging fever." 
 
 " And has been raging ever since," laughed Grey- 
 burn. " What do you think of it, Walter ? For these 
 dozen years she has given her love to this man she 
 speaks of, eaten his bread and worn the clothing and 
 jewelry he provides, and you will see, if you take notice, 
 that they are very good ones. How she must hate
 
 32 THOU SHALT NOT. 
 
 her 'Turkish harem!' How she must sigh for the 
 little miserable hamlet from which I rescued her, and 
 the attic where we went, and the penny rolls on 
 which we tried to live. Ah ! these women, Wal- 
 ter ! Always complaining, always unhappy, always 
 wronged !" 
 
 " If I have succeeded in saving myself from the 
 street it is not his fault," said the lady. " What did 
 he care what became of me ? He was through with his 
 plaything, and he tossed it away. Look at him now. Liv- 
 ing like a Prince in a house which cost no one knows 
 how much and on money got no one knows how ! Is it 
 not enough to make one doubt the justice of Heaven ?" 
 
 "Well, if June has finished," said Greyburn, rising 
 and walking meditatively up and down the room, 
 " I'll say a word. Her story is substantially correct, 
 in this way : If you look at anything with a colored 
 glass the objects which your eyes encounter will be 
 colored also. If I look at the sky with clear glass and 
 you with black glass, and you say there is a cloud 
 there, I will agree with you ; but if you say it is a 
 dense, black cloud, and it appears to me a white, 
 fleecy cloud, we shall disagree. She has put in the very 
 darkest shade possible everywhere. When I was eight- 
 een years old, Walter, I wasn't an unhandsome young 
 fellow, though it may take a violent effort of your imag- 
 ination to conceive it. She was a deuced pretty girl, as 
 any one who sees her this evening will swear she 
 must have been. She fell in love with me. I couldn't 
 blame her. She wasn't the first girl who had done so, 
 and she wasn't the last, by a good deal. Don't let me 
 seem egotistical, my boy, but pretty women have al- 
 ways fluttered toward me as doves do toward their 
 keeper. I never had to do more than stretch out my 
 hand and they were there. When I concluded to 
 start for New York, June must go too. Nothing would 
 persuade her to let me leave her an hour. What
 
 THOU SHALT NOT. 33 
 
 could I do here, unknown and penniless ? I went and 
 looked at the wharves. Would she have had me a 
 stevedore ? I climbed stairs and asked for work. 
 Doors were shut in my face. One man offered me 
 two dollars a week to take care of a horse and cow in 
 the suburbs. Should I have accepted it ? I saw our 
 pittance growing- smaller and no prospect of more. 
 What would have followed I do not know, but one 
 morning I awoke to find money in my hand. Was I 
 to ask questions which might prove unpleasant ? One 
 day old Moneybags met me and took me out to din- 
 ner. He had fallen in love with June and wanted her 
 all alone by himself. He ended by offering me the 
 thousand dollars. Was I to refuse it ? Not I. I 
 knew she was safe in his hands and I was glad when 
 the money was safe in mine. I went my way. That 
 week of poverty had taught me discretion. That dis- 
 cretion, properly applied, has brought me ease and 
 comfort. As she says, Nobody knows how I get my 
 money, but as it is Nobody's business, Nobody need 
 not mind. 
 
 "Oh, he's a saint, there's no doubt of that," said 
 Miss June, rising and arranging her dress for de- 
 parture. " With a few pretty phrases he would tear 
 down the wall of condemnation which I raised about 
 him. I see by your face, Mr. Campbell, that you are 
 converted by his sophistries." 
 
 " Must you go ?" asked Greyburn. " So early ?" 
 
 " I almost forgot to tell you," she said, evading his 
 question, " that Mendall wishes to see you without 
 fail at his office to-morrow morning by ten o'clock. 
 Some business matter is troubling him." 
 
 " I will be there," said Greyburn. " I'm glad he 
 makes the appointment at his office. I am horribly 
 afraid every time he comes here that he will fall in 
 love with one of my chambermaids, and that would 
 put your nose out of joint. You see how thoughtful
 
 34 THOU SHALT NOT. 
 
 I am for you, June. There ! It's all out now ! 
 Walter knows who Mr. Moneybags is. Well, never 
 mind. Mendall wouldn't care." 
 
 " If you must leave us, good-night," he added, as 
 her touch was on the handle of the door. " But, 
 June, you're not going to leave without a parting kiss. 
 After all these hard words, just one little kiss." 
 
 She looked at him strangely for a moment, and 
 then, as if moved by an impulse she could not resist, 
 she stepped to his side and raised her lips to his. In 
 her dark eyes the tears had risen till they nearly over- 
 flowed the lids. 
 
 "Oh ! not for me !" cried Greyburn, with a light 
 laugh, and retreating a step. "It wouldn't be right 
 for me, June, under the circumstances, considering 
 my relations with Mendall. I was only speaking for 
 Mr. Campbell." 
 
 She dashed the tears upon the floor and for a 
 moment looked as if she could tear him in pieces. 
 He stood there with the provoking smile still lurking 
 on his handsome mouth. Gradually she came to her- 
 self again, and turning away, hastily left the room 
 and house. 
 
 " Come, Walter," said Greyburn, turning to his 
 almost dazed companion, " let's go down to the parlor 
 for a game of euchre." Adding, as they reached the 
 staircase, " Do you like to see a woman in tears ? I 
 don't." 
 
 CHAPTER III. 
 
 IN one of Grey burn's many rambles through the 
 country he met with a young gentleman lately gradu- 
 ated from the Andover Theological School, and 
 intending after a short period of travel and rest to 
 enter some pulpit of the Congregationalist denomina-
 
 THOU SHALT NOT. 35 
 
 lion. This gentleman's name was Arthur Reycroft. 
 He was the scion of a very old and wealthy family, 
 and had been carefully trained from childhood with 
 a view to the profession he was expected to embrace. 
 Being gifted with superb health and excellent spirits, 
 the course he had passed through did not succeed in 
 making him a prig. Few better oarsmen lifted the 
 blades. Few could leap a fence easier or ride a horse 
 at a faster pace. In salt water or fresh he could swim 
 an hour without fatigue. In short he was a likeable, 
 athletic fellow, who seemed, when his spirits were 
 aroused, as little like the conventional idea of a clergy- 
 man as it is possible to conceive. 
 
 Arthur Reycroft had never in his life committed 
 knowingly a deliberate sin, and in this he did not con- 
 sider that he had done anything entitling him to 
 praise. He had after all acted out his nature in the 
 school in which he had happened to be brought up. 
 That there was such a thing as Sin in the world and 
 a great deal of it he did not doubt, for was it not 
 written in every line of his collegiate course ? He 
 had often argued to himself that in order to grapple 
 successfully with this monster, a clergyman should 
 obtain more than a superficial knowledge of the thing 
 with which he had to deal. The minister who ex- 
 claimed against the theatre, for instance, never hav- 
 ing been himself within one's walls, seemed to Rey- 
 croft like a man aspiring to teach navigation, never 
 having been to sea. He determined before setting 
 himself up as a preacher to take a look about the 
 world and observe it awhile for himself. He meant 
 to know what Sin was by actual observation, no mat- 
 ter into what places the necessities of discovery might 
 lead him. It was not necessary that he should plunge 
 into the mire, but he meant to see how and why 
 others fell, in order to learn the best way to rescue 
 them.
 
 36 THOU SHALT NOT. 
 
 Some of these ideas Mr. Reycrofi communicated to 
 Hector Greyburn one evening as they were riding 
 their horses slowly down a pass in the lower Catskills. 
 They had become the best of friends and chatted with 
 perfect unrestraint. Their views were diametrically 
 opposed, but each gave to the other the same right of 
 opinion which he himself claimed. 
 
 " Let me place myself at your service," Greyburn 
 said. " With me for a pilot you will steer your bark 
 among more sinful shoals than you ever dreamed ex- 
 isted. Pay me a visit in New York city for a month, 
 and I will show Sin to you in all its forms, and I 
 won't go outside of the Battery nor above Harlem 
 river, either. Sin ! We'll revel in it. We will have 
 Iniquity for breakfast, Wickedness for lunch, Crime 
 for dinner, and horrors of all kinds to sleep on. Or, 
 I could make you up a little special itinerary, like this : 
 Sunday, Drunkenness ; Monday, Assault-and-battery ; 
 Tuesday, Arson ; Wednesday, Burglary ; Thursday, 
 Kidnapping ; Friday, Suicide ; Saturday, Murder. 
 Bless you, Reycroft, I'll fill you full of it. It's all 
 done within three miles of my house, every week the 
 sweet sun shines on." 
 
 "I fear you are right," said Reycroft, with a touch 
 of sadness in his tone. ''And then there's another sin, 
 worse in my mind than all the others, because more 
 far-reaching and terrible in its results, that of un- 
 chastity." 
 
 " Oh! that ?" said Greyburn, with a laugh. " That 
 you can have all the week. If you call that a sin, it 
 never ceases." 
 
 "7/1 call it a sin," echoed Re) r croft, stopping his 
 horse short in the road. " ~Why, don't you ?" 
 
 " At the risk of your riding away like mad and call- 
 ing for help, I must answer in the negative," said 
 Greyburn. " It has only become a misdemeanor be- 
 fore the law on account of a puritanical folly which
 
 THOU SHALT NOT. 37 
 
 animates our statutes. Anything can be made a 
 crime by the consent of a few fools, with the aid of a 
 sheet of paper, a drop of ink, and a bit of sealing wax, 
 but that doesn't prove that it's a sin. For instance : 
 By one of the city ordinances it is forbidden to pick a 
 flower in the park, and yet if I pick one when nobody 
 is looking, I don't feel" guilty of anything heinous." 
 
 " But you will admit that even this little ordinance 
 against picking flowers in the park is a wise pro- 
 vision," said Reycroft, eagerly. " Because, if it were 
 not for that, the flowers would all be stolen, and the 
 pleasure they give to so many would be destroyed." 
 
 " It's a bad simile," laughed Greyburn. " For the 
 women, though loved ever so incontinently, do not 
 disappear, but continue to fill the earth with their 
 loveliness. We are born with a natural taste for 
 beauty at least I know / was and has any one a 
 right to shut me out of the whole floral kingdom when 
 my senses long so eagerly for the rose and the 
 lily ?" 
 
 " You can have your one rose or one lily, legally 
 and honorably," said Reycroft, solemnly. 
 
 " Yes one," responded his companion. "Just one. 
 And supposing I don't like it after I have got it. Sup- 
 posing I get a rose and discover that I should have 
 had a lily or a violet or a daisy. No escape for me ! 
 No exchange with some man who has made a similar 
 mistake. It's too hard a condition, Reycroft; and 
 flowers so plenty in this world, too." 
 
 "You are wrong Greyburn, quite wrong," re- 
 sponded the young clergyman, starting his horse 
 again, " and your readiness of repartee won't save 
 you. If you will really spend a month with me in- 
 vestigating the sin of the metropolis, I think that I 
 can show you that half of it all comes from violations 
 of the SEVENTH COMMAND." 
 
 "' All right," replied the other. " I'll give you
 
 38 THOU SHALT NOT. 
 
 leave. But you must be an honest, unprejudiced in- 
 vestigator. Throw your dogmatic notions one side 
 and assimilate only what you actually prove worthy. 
 Don't bring everything to your orthodox grindstone 
 to sharpen, but take it as it is, and I will look for a 
 fair verdict when you have examined the whole 
 case." 
 
 "You're really serious in what you say ? In your 
 heart of hearts, removed from all considerations of 
 personal desire, do you believe there is no sin in un- 
 chastity ?" 
 
 "Just as much as there is in drinking a cup of this 
 water," said Greyburn, dismounting and handing a 
 dipper full of the clear sap of the hills to Reycroft. 
 " In that draught you are taking, were a million 
 more or less of little lives. They have been sacri- 
 ficed to give you a temporary gratification. Their 
 microscopic organisms have been ravished because 
 you were the stranger and had the will to do it. If 
 there is a God and I won't say I doubt it He cares 
 as much for the smallest animalcule as he does for the 
 Reverend Arthur Reycroft. He has created it with a 
 wonderful organism, endowed it with life and liberty, 
 and it was going on in the pursuit of happiness, when 
 you unfeeling creature cut short its brief career." 
 
 Notwithstanding the gravity of the subject in Rey- 
 croft's estimation, Greyburn's apostrophe to the ani- 
 malcule was too much for his gravity, and both men 
 burst into a hearty laugh. 
 
 "We are taught," said the clergyman, presently, 
 " that the lower creatures were made for the use of 
 man. Their lives are not to go on through eternity 
 like ours. They fulfill their destiny here and give 
 way to new creatures who are to follow them." 
 
 " Made for man, are they ?" echoed Greyburn. 
 "All the lower animals made for man! What do 
 you do with panthers and crocodiles and great
 
 THOU SHALT NOT. 39 
 
 crawling snakes. What particular good to man does 
 the sand-fly do ? Mosquitoes, gnats, and the red ants 
 that crawl into your boots when you step into the 
 woods to take a nap mighty valuable they are to 
 man's peace and comfort ! Supposing you should 
 meet a tiger, some fine evening, around these parts. 
 Do you think that he would take your statement that 
 the lower animals were made for man, or would he go 
 to work like a sensible beast and stow you away in 
 the interior of his striped body ? It's an old fable, 
 Reycroft, and a foolish one. It arose out of the 
 vanity of man, and had no other inspiration than a 
 desire to magnify his own importance. It took just 
 as much time to make an anaconda as it did Adam. 
 I believe every creature that was ever made was in- 
 tended to go off and enjoy life on his own account. 
 And, by that moon that's rising over there so clear 
 and bright, I'm going to enjoy mine." 
 
 " Let me put it in this way," said Reycroft. " Do 
 we not owe a greater regard to our own race than to 
 any other ? Would you think it as grave an offense 
 to kill an ox as you would to dispatch a man ?" 
 
 " Certainly not," said Greyburn, " and that is an- 
 other instance of our cursed selfishness. Why do we 
 not more frequently kill each other ? The inclination 
 is doubtless often felt to do murder, either for revenge, 
 to remove unpleasant people from our path, or to se- 
 cure goods which belong to others. But there stands 
 in the way always, like a grim and watchful sentinel, 
 the fear of punishment. Could oxen levy criminal 
 process, impanel juries, and bring the destroyers of 
 their race to justice, we should respect their rights as 
 we do those of our own people. We take advantage 
 of their ignorance to steal their labor and take at our 
 pleasure even their lives. It is our cowardly method. 
 We do to them what we would not dare if they could
 
 40 THOU SHALT NOT. 
 
 They rode on together slowly, in order the better to 
 converse. The clergyman was astonished at the ideas 
 advanced by his companion. While not in the least 
 convinced, he was nevertheless much entertained. 
 
 " Do you dispute that the sin of which we speak 
 causes distress and misery ?" asked Reycroft. 
 
 " No. It may cause both. It may cause neither. 
 Eating causes our teeth to decay, but shall we there- 
 fore never eat ? This is a peculiar world. We must 
 take it as we find it. If the fruits we like best are on 
 the tallest trees we must climb. If they are on the 
 lower branches and we can pluck them without effort, 
 very well. Now, Reycroft, you are an honest young 
 fellow, full of your mother's milk, and so dreadfully 
 good that anything I say won't hurt you What have 
 I seen in New York since I have been there ? This 
 thing, forbidden by the Seventh Command, cursed by 
 the church and condemned by the law, is as common 
 as violations of the statute against profanity. Why, 
 I know of a minister who denounces this sin with all 
 his eloquence in the pulpit of a Sunday, and goes 
 Monday to meet a paramour. I know a judge who 
 executes the sentence of imprisonment on the hapless 
 adulterers brought before him, and keeps his private 
 mistress in the suburbs. The police, who are sworn 
 to enforce the law, pat the pretty girls of the pave on 
 the shoulder and accept their caresses in exchange for 
 immunity from arrest. Society is honeycombed with 
 it. To one like you it is almost past belief. Now 
 what does it all argue ? Why, that the law is against 
 public sentiment and should be abolished. That's 
 the way I see it. I would take it off the statute books 
 and out of the church creeds, as a thing which can 
 neither be prevented, nor, except in rare cases, dis- 
 covered, and whose punishment is in consequence 
 senseless and unfair." 
 
 "You would have a fine task before you," said Mr.
 
 THOU. SHALT NOT. 41 
 
 Reycroft. " The first thing you would have to get 
 would be a message from Sinai, declaring that one- 
 tenth of the law given to Moses has been abrogated." 
 
 "Oh, no !" laughed Greyburn. " Only that it had 
 been suspended, like the commandment against 
 covetousness ; or merely reserved for occasional use, 
 like that against bearing false witness." 
 
 " You are incorrigible," said Reycroft, pleasantly. 
 " But while I differ from you I quite admire your 
 frankness. The vice of the time is deception. Nearly 
 every one seems to think it necessary to ' assume a 
 virtue ' before men of my profession. This fact hides 
 from us much of the true condition of the world. 
 You are doing me a service in removing a part of the 
 veil." 
 
 " Thanks," said Greyburn. " You're quite wel- 
 come, I'm sure. If you'll accept my invitation to 
 spend a month in the city, with my house as the 
 central point of observation, I'll lift all the reils you 
 like. I'll show you, too, that they are all made of 
 one material illusion. When may I expect you?" 
 
 " You are very kind," responded Reycroft, " and I 
 will accept your offer in the spirit which prompts it. 
 Say the first of October ; how would that do ? I think 
 I shall finish my rambles by that time for this 
 season." 
 
 " The first of October let it be then," said Greyburn. 
 " You have a month yet to prepare your moral 
 physique, for let me tell you it will receive some 
 severe blows. For thirty days you must expect a 
 series of shocks varying in intensity, and occurring on 
 the average every three minutes. At my house there 
 assembles on the first Thursday evening of each month 
 a set of fellows who call themselves the Greyburn 
 Club. You shall be introduced to them without a 
 word in reference to your calling, and be a witness 
 to their freedom from conventional restraints. You
 
 42 THOU SHALT NOT. 
 
 must receive what you see and hear as the young- 
 matriculate does the first blood which his scalpel 
 draws, as a necessity to the end you seek. There will 
 be ladies present also, oh ! yes !" delighted at the 
 young clergyman's sudden flush " and plenty of the 
 wine which maketh glad the heart of man. I pledge 
 you my word that we shall introduce no novelties on 
 your account, but shall have our dinner, wine and 
 conversation exactly as we always do. I will show 
 you the happy side of Sin a side you ministers 
 never allude to. If it be true that 
 
 " ' Vice is a monster of so frightful a mien 
 As to be hated needs but to be seen,' 
 
 you'll find no vice there. Or if you do, you'll have 
 better spectacles than the rest of us." 
 
 " Why don't you finish the quotation ? 
 
 " ' But seen too oft, familiar with her face,' " 
 " Oh, yes !" said Greyburn. 
 
 " ' We first endure, then pity, then embrace.' 
 
 " Well, that may have been Pope's way, but it isn't 
 the style at the Greyburn Club. We have no trouble 
 to endure after we have once embraced, and our pity 
 is reserved for those foolish mortals who live in the 
 hard, harsh atmosphere of the outside world." 
 
 CHAPTER IV. 
 
 THE first Thursday in October found the Rev. 
 Arthur Reycroft installed as a guest at Hector Grey- 
 burn's house on Madison Avenue. He had passed 
 the ordeal of seeing his host salute pretty Annie at
 
 THOU SHALT NOT. 43 
 
 the door and give a similar greeting to Nettie, Su- 
 sanne and the rest, as they went upward to the par- 
 lor. He had had, in a hundred little ways, an insight 
 into a life unlike anything he had ever before known. 
 And within an hour he had admitted to himself 
 that were it not for Conscience and its uneasy prompt- 
 ings, a man might be very comfortable indeed in 
 those lodgings. 
 
 The first arrival of the party expected to dinner 
 was Mr. Walter Campbell. This young gentleman 
 grasped Greyburn's hand with great effusiveness, and 
 Mr. Reycroft's with no less, on his being presented 
 under the name of Mr. Arthur. 
 
 "You're in luck, Mr. Arthur," said Walter. "These 
 little dinners are the pleasantest things in the world, 
 and you'll never forget them. You're fond of the 
 girls, of course? Always find plenty of nice ones 
 here, sir. Each one a prize bird. Eh, Greyburn ?" 
 
 Mr. Reycroft's embarrassment for an answer was 
 relieved temporarily by the advent upon the scene of 
 Mr. Chester Bolton, whose form appeared at the door, 
 and whose voice called out, in tragic tones : 
 
 " How now, ye secret, black and midnight hags, 
 what is't ye do ?" 
 
 "Ah ! Grabe, old boy," he proceeded, "excuse me. 
 Didn't see there was a stranger present. Happy, I'm 
 sure. What name did you say Arthur? Ah, yes ! 
 I thought so. You must excuse my Shakespearean 
 quotations. I am a lover of the stage, sir. An ama- 
 teur actor, I may say. My head runs full of it. Do 
 you admire the theatre, sir ?" 
 
 " I admire Shakespeare," replied Mr. Reycroft, 
 with pardonable evasion. 
 
 " Ah ! Of course ! Who doesn't, sir ? Shake is 
 the prince of the lot ! Great mind, that Shake, sir. 
 Poet, too. What a range ! Rome and Jule. Mac. 
 Three-Eyed-Dick. What a diff ! and yet, in Shake's
 
 44 THOU SHALT NOT. 
 
 own words, " How express and ad ! Give me Shake, 
 every time. Eh, Walt ?" 
 
 Mr. Campbell, being thus appealed to, expressed 
 his preference on the whole for the ballet, and in- 
 stanced the Black Crook as his idea of a first-class 
 drama. The arrival at this juncture of Messrs. Jacob 
 Mendall, Clarence Perkyns, Otis Middleby, and rap- 
 idly succeeding them, a dozen or more other gentle- 
 men, put a stop to the discussion of theatrical sub- 
 jects, in which Mr. Reycroft must soon have been 
 hopelessly stranded. 
 
 Introductions were made in all directions, and the 
 gentlemen were chatting familiarly among them- 
 selves, when the last guest arrived, Mr. William W. 
 Pickett, a wealthyyoung manufacturer from a Massa- 
 chusetts town, whose errand at the dinner was not 
 wholly unlike that of the Rev. Mr. Reycroft. Mr. 
 Pickett was a man of strong religious convictions, 
 Superintendent of the Sunday School and President 
 of the young men's Society for Religious Instruction 
 in his village. He, like the clergyman, was a " chance 
 acquaintance" of Greyburn, and had been invited to 
 the dinner in much the same manner as the other. 
 "Just to see and not to touch," as he expressed it. 
 
 At last Williams, the faithful colored steward-of- 
 the-household, announced that the table was ready, 
 and the party proceeded to the dining-room. Grey- 
 burn occupied the head of the table, with Mr. Rey- 
 croft on his right and Mr. Pickett on his left hand. 
 When all were seated, he touched a bell which stood 
 before him. 
 
 Instantly, at the signal, the door opened, and a line 
 of handsome young women entered noiselessly, and 
 took their places in the rear of the chairs. They 
 were dressed in white muslin, adorned with ribbons 
 of various hues, and in their hair the same colors were 
 conspicuous. Well-rounded arms showed from be-
 
 THOU SHALT NOT. 45 
 
 neath the short sleeves, and a glimpse of stocking was 
 visible where the skirt just missed touching the slip- 
 per. The utmost propriety was observed by each as 
 they proceeded to serve the dinner, and everything 
 would have gone on without remark, had not Walter 
 Campbell, happening to glance at the faces of Messrs. 
 Reycroft and Pickett, been so struck by the expres- 
 sions there, that a hearty laugh was forced from him 
 in spite of himself. 
 
 " I beg your pardon, gentlemen, all of you," he 
 said, upon recovering himself, " and especially of you, 
 Mr. Arthur. It's an awful habit I've got into of 
 laughing whenever anything happens to take me just 
 so." And at that he went off into another spasmodic 
 fit of merriment, in the midst of which he several 
 times repeated his belief that he should die, and that 
 he had better retire until he could get control of his 
 risibles. 
 
 "You are perfectly excusable," volunteered Mr. 
 Reycroft, "and I beg that you will not think of leav- 
 ing the table on my account. I am entirely new to 
 your circle, and shall doubtless give occasion for more 
 mirth yet before we adjourn. Be assured, gentlemen, 
 I take it all in good part." 
 
 At this, Walter sobered himself completely, and 
 rising to grasp Mr. Reycroft's hand across the table^ 
 declared that gentleman the best fellow in the world, 
 and the one for whom he entertained of all men the 
 deepest affection. 
 
 " If I laugh again may I be blest," he said. " I first 
 sat at this table two years ago, and I was laughing 
 more than anything else to think how it all struck me 
 then. If nobody laughed at me it was owing to their 
 better breeding. If Greyburn, here, wasn't a perfect 
 prince, he'd have thrown me overboard months ago." 
 
 But the host immediately disputed this, and stated 
 that he liked above all things to see perfect freedom
 
 46 THOU SHALT NOT. 
 
 among his guests. He hoped that every one would 
 feel free under that roof to do exactly as he pleased. 
 
 "When a gentleman does me the honor to visit me," 
 he said, in conclusion, " I put the house at his dis- 
 posal. I say to him, Act yourself. Be yourself. If 
 your inclination leads you to eat, there's the larder. 
 If to drink, there's the sideboard. If you wish to 
 smoke your cigar in the parlor, or put your feet on 
 the piano, do it. You are here for your own enjoy- 
 ment, not mine. Eat what you like, drink what you 
 like, do what you like kiss the waiter girls if you wish 
 to." 
 
 Suiting the action to the word, he threw his arm 
 around the buxom Susanne, who, as mistress of cere- 
 monies, stood nearest him, and imprinted a warm kiss 
 on her ruby lips, which she received as a nowise un- 
 pleasant gift. Nettie, who stood by Mr. Kendall's 
 chair ; Marie at Mr. Bolton's ; and each of the others 
 in their several places, were treated in like manner 
 without restraint. Little Annie, who was waiting on 
 young Campbell, was half smothered in the impetuous 
 embrace which he gave her. Allie and Florry alone 
 doing duty at the chairs of Mr. Reycroft and Mr. 
 Pickett respectively, stood with half-bowed heads, 
 puzzled at their exemption from the general tribute. 
 
 " It's a forfeit for you both !" cried Walter, de- 
 lighted, bursting into laughter again. " It's a rule of 
 the house that we must follow Grey burn in every- 
 thing. Allie, poor child, don't cry ! Florry, sweetest, 
 I'll kiss you myself." 
 
 The laugh went round the table. Greyburn was 
 regarding Mr. Reycroft attentively. The young 
 clergyman was the picture of surprise and uncer- 
 tainty. The rich blood flushed his cheeks, and his 
 eyes sparkled a little, as if he had been drinking 
 champagne. He half rose, and for an instant the 
 host was afraid he should lose his guest. Indeed, the.
 
 THOU SHALT NOT. 47 
 
 thought that he ought not to remain was formed in 
 Reycroft's mind ; but, encountering Greyburn's smile, 
 he seated himself immediately. 
 
 " You will excuse rne, gentlemen," he said, " if I 
 ask to be excepted from following this particular 
 custom of the house, which has an entire novelty to 
 me. Mr. Greyburn knows that I came here to see 
 and to listen. I would not prove a damper 011 your 
 festivities, but for myself I must ask some special 
 exemptions." 
 
 " I ought to have told you," said Greyburn, looking 
 around, " that Mr. Arthur is the most intensely moral 
 man alive. While the best of fellows in most re- 
 spects, his education in some important matters, has 
 been sadly neglected. In fact, you will understand 
 his position here better when I tell you that he has 
 probably never kissed a girl in his life." 
 
 " Good Gawd !" cried Chester Bolton, striking an 
 attitude. " An' dost thou think because thou art 
 virtuous there shall be no more cakes and ale ! Such 
 ignorance in this Nineteenth Century is positively 
 shocking. 'Tis, 'pon my word. I'll betcher a fippenny 
 bit there ain't a similar case down in the books 
 anywhere." 
 
 " Yes, there is," spoke up Mr. Pickett. " Here is 
 one ; and I trust to Heaven there are many more 
 even in this city of sin." 
 
 " Doubtless you are right," said Greyburn, laugh- 
 ingly. " The sun has shone upon this earth with 
 unabated heat for millions of years, and yet there are 
 some places where eternal ice and snow continue to 
 exist. Once in a while an iceberg breaks away from 
 the frozen pack and floats southerly until it melts in 
 the sweet bosom of the warmer seas. Such bergs 
 are our two friends, and I trust that they will not 
 invert nature by returning unmelted to their native 
 north, J know them both to be, in the words of the
 
 48 THOU SHALT NOT. 
 
 dramatist whom our friend Bolton quotes so frequently, 
 ' as chaste as ice, as pure as snow,' and I felt it 
 my duty to show them the equatorial clime in which 
 we dwell. I tried to begin in the mildest manner, 
 when I instituted our game of forfeits. Gentlemen, 
 I appeal to you, could I have commenced my treat- 
 ment more delicately ?" 
 
 " Impossible !" said Walter Campbell. 
 
 " Impossible !" echoed up and down the table. 
 
 " You see you are out-voted," said Greyburn, turn- 
 ing to his nearest guests alternately. 
 
 " We are crushed by superior numbers," admitted 
 Mr. Reycrof t, pleasantly, " but not convinced by any 
 means that you are right and we are wrong." 
 
 Mr. Bolton thereupon declared that there were not 
 two sides to the argument. " Oh, I could fight with 
 you upon this theme until mine eyelids would no 
 longer wag," he said. " That is Shake's expression, 
 not mine, but it meets the case exactly." 
 
 " All is forgotten and forgiven so far as I am con- 
 cerned," said Greyburn, " though it's the first time, 
 I'll venture to say, that a woman was ever injured in 
 her feelings by anything that passed at this table." 
 
 His tone was bantering, but good-natured, and Mr. 
 Reycrof t took no offense in the world. 
 
 " I have been taught," said that gentleman, " that 
 undue familiarity between the sexes is harmful and 
 unwise ; that it can lead to no good. Hence my ob- 
 jection." 
 
 "All a mistake," interposed Mr. Clarence Perkyns. 
 " I was taught the same thing, and had it drilled into 
 me, ad nauseum. Those who say so are quite wrong, 
 I assure you. We are nothing more nor less than 
 animals of a higher order, with appetites and hungers 
 which we seek to appease. Anything which reason- 
 ably tends to our happiness we have a right to par- 
 take of. Eh, Mendall ?" he questioned in conclusion,
 
 THOU SHALT NOT. 49 
 
 turning 1 to the banker, who had been a silent but in- 
 terested listener. 
 
 " You've got my idea of it exactly," said Mendall. 
 " The good things of this world are for them as can 
 get 'em. That's my doctrine." 
 
 " Take beautiful woman out of the scale," put in 
 Walter Campbell, " and you lower the gauge of life 
 fifty per cent." 
 
 " A hundred !" cried Greyburn. 
 
 " Yes, undoubtedly for you," assented Walter. 
 " A sorcerer who can bring whom he pleases to his 
 feet. A glance of his eye and they are captive. / 
 know." 
 
 " And does Mr. Greyburn justify such wanton de- 
 struction ?" asked Mr. Reycroft, smiling upon his host. 
 
 "It's not destruction," he replied. "Walter's met- 
 aphor is too highly drawn. In fact, he overstates my 
 capabilities. And yet," he added musingly, and half 
 to himself, " I never tried for such game yet and 
 failed to win it." 
 
 " He speaks truth," said Jacob Mendall. " I've 
 known him a dozen years and he speaks truth. It's a 
 gift. I never had it. Lucky for me, I always 
 thought, that I got one after he was done with 
 her." 
 
 " So it was," said Greyburn. " June is just the 
 woman for you. Keeps you in place. You need 
 a woman that's half tiger, like her. You are reason- 
 able, too. When she shows her teeth you retire. 
 Splendidly mated, Jacob, you and June." 
 
 " And are women really so easily won as your re- 
 mark of a few minutes ago would seem to imply ?" 
 asked Mr. Reycroft. " Speak guardedly now, and 
 weigh your words well." 
 
 Greyburn glanced around the room and saw that 
 his guests were all attention. 
 
 " I dislike to say anything that may seem like
 
 50 THOU SHALT NOT. 
 
 boasting," he said, " but the truth is that the greatest 
 fault I find with women is that they yield too easily. 
 It takes al 1 the sport out of the chase. You're a hunter, 
 Mr. Arthur, and you will understand the simile. 
 When you go after game what is it but the excite- 
 ment of the run that sends the blood dancing through 
 your veins ? If, instead of the long chase over hill 
 and dale, your game lagged for you and fell into your 
 hands within the first furlong, would that suit your 
 sportsman's ideas? I'll venture not. I am tired of 
 shooting at domestic poultry." 
 
 " That's all right for you," said Walter, " but Venus 
 is not so kind to the rest of us. It's over hill and 
 down dale enough for me, I know that. There's one 
 bird over on Long Island that I've tried to wing for 
 six months, and I'm no nearer, as I can see, than 
 when I started." 
 
 "That's because you don't understand the busi- 
 ness," laughed Hector. " You rush in, raise a hue 
 and cry, and frighten her into flight at the very out- 
 set. Women are like other fowl, and must be ap- 
 proached with caution. You lack coolness and nerve. 
 When your bird comes in sight you go all to pieces, 
 and lose your head at the very moment when what 
 you need is calm deliberation. A young hunter, like 
 you, should creep very near before he takes aim ; but 
 away you go, banging at the air, and the creature 
 takes natural alarm. The only way for you to hit any- 
 thing would be for some one to hold it while you shot, 
 and even then it is ten to one that you would kill your 
 friend instead of the object at which you aimed." 
 
 Walter joined in the laugh which this raised, none 
 the less because it was at his own expense. 
 
 " I get the fun of the chase, any way, which is 
 what you were lamenting the loss of, " he said. 
 
 The wine was circulating pretty freely and was 
 having its usual effect. On Greyburn it served to
 
 THOU SHALT NOT. 5 1 
 
 loosen his tongue and make him speak even more 
 openly than usual. 
 
 " Do you mean to tell me," said Mr. Reycroft to 
 him, " that you find the women of to-day, the respect- 
 able women, as easy victims as your words seem to 
 imply; that it is as easy to overcome the virtue of 
 the average woman as it is to shoot a wild fowl ?" 
 
 " Right here, among friends at this table," replied 
 Greyburn, " that is exactly what I mean. 1 am so 
 confident of it that I will agree to put ten thousand dol- 
 lars in Mr. Mendall's hands against a similar amount 
 placed on a contrary proposition, that I will win any 
 given woman within a year from this date or forfeit 
 the stakes. I have made the offer before, and I make 
 it now in the best of good faith." 
 
 " Yes," nodded Mendall, " he has made the offer in 
 my presence time and again, and I never dreamed of 
 taking him up. I'd like to make ten thousand dol- 
 lars as well as another, but I'd as soon invest it in the 
 mines of the Moon, as in such a wager as that." 
 
 " And I wouldn't bet a week's salary against those 
 stakes," said young Campbell. " Of course he would 
 win. Why, it's not a matter of common persuasion, 
 Mr. Arthur. He uses necromancy, I tell you ; clear 
 diabolism !" 
 
 " I dislike to differ with you again," said the rev- 
 erend guest, " but I am compelled to do so. I can- 
 not, without more evidence, admit such a belief re- 
 garding the sex which I have ever credited with pos- 
 sessing most of the virtue and goodness in the world. 
 There are women and women. Undoubtedly some 
 would prove easy victims, finding in the attack upon 
 them only what they had waited and hoped for. But 
 your proposition would implyGod help us ! that 
 there was not a woman of impregnable virtue in the 
 country. That is preposterous. I could not sub- 
 scribe to it for a moment."
 
 52 THOU SHALT NOT. 
 
 " I would not mean exactly that," corrected Grey- 
 burn, pouring out another glass of wine. " I should 
 wish for my own comfort to include in the wager only 
 those women between the ages of sixteen and thirty. 
 I wouldn't like to go on a quest for children or old 
 ladies, so there would be a number left to whom you 
 could pin your faith. And if I succeeded in winning 
 the wager, it would after all only prove that that par- 
 ticular one was pliable. Put up your money, and 
 let's have it tested," he added, toying with his glass 
 and holding it between his eye and the light. 
 
 " Of course, I cannot do that," said Mr. Reycroft. 
 " Even if there were no other reasons against it, I 
 should not like to be a party to such an attempt, 
 which seems to my mind nothing more nor less than 
 a crime. To me it is a serious subject, and I do not 
 feel like jesting upon it." 
 
 "Nonsense !" said Walter Campbell, who had drank 
 very freely of the champagne. " You wouldn't dare 
 risk a cent of the money. What's the use of pretend- 
 ing it's piety that stops you ? Why, Greyburn could 
 take in anything in petticoats just as easily as I could 
 swallow this Heidseck." 
 
 The young man's words were sufficiently insulting 
 to make the whole company wait with unusual in- 
 terest for Mr. Reycroft's reply. 
 
 " I supposed every man had some woman," he said, 
 at last, and with an expression of pain in his fine eyes, 
 " whose name he held in honor. You cannot have a 
 sister, Mr. Campbell, or you would not say what you 
 have." 
 
 Walter started as if he had been shot. He turned 
 as pale as a ghost, and took hold of his chair for sup- 
 port as he rose. In a second the blood came rushing 
 back to his face again, and he hissed out : 
 
 " You coward ! Do you dare mention my sister in 
 such a way as that ?"
 
 THOU SHALT NOT. 53 
 
 " I mentioned no one," said Mr. Reycroft, quickly. 
 " I did not know you had a sister. Your expression 
 made me suppose you had none. God forbid that I 
 should bring the name of any true lady into such a 
 discussion !" 
 
 Walter had drank just enough to hear but not to 
 understand the reply. 
 
 " True lady !" he cried again. " Do you mean to 
 say my sister isn't a true lady ? I'll murder the man 
 who says she isn't ! I'll " 
 
 But Greyburn had him by the arm, and in a few 
 moments convinced him that he was laboring under 
 a delusion. Quick to apologize as to give offense, 
 Walter instantly offered his hand. Mr. Reycroft 
 accepted it, and the dinner proceeded in comparative 
 silence. After a little while Mr. Pickett, who had 
 hitherto said very little, began to grow loquacious. 
 
 "Gentlemen," said he, abruptly, " I'm a plain, blunt 
 sort of a man, and I'm going to tell you what I think 
 of this whole business. I think it's a direct branch of 
 the Inferno." 
 
 " You natter us," said Mr. Bolton. There was 
 something in the frankness of Mr. Pickett which dis- 
 armed resentment. 
 
 " You are ruining your own souls, and those of God 
 knows how many women," pursued the manufac- 
 turer. " You are wasting the precious moments 
 which a kind Providence has given you to prepare for 
 a future life. Like spendthrifts do you use the for- 
 tune Heaven sends you. Unless you repent, Satan 
 will have you all." 
 
 " The devil, you say," put in a young man at the 
 end of the table, not inaptly, as the rest seemed by 
 their laughter to think. 
 
 "To these young women, your victims (cries of 
 
 Oh ! Oh ! and derisive laughter), I have only to say, 
 
 Leave this haunt of sin and secure yourselves honest
 
 54 THOU SHALT NOT. 
 
 labor ; repent while there is yet time, or your end is 
 not difficult to imagine." 
 
 <l One minute," said Greyburn, soberly. " You are 
 a manufacturer. You employ how many women a 
 hundred at least. What wages do they earn in your 
 mill ?" 
 
 " What has that to do with it ?" asked Mr. Pickett, 
 a little disconcerted at the change of subject. 
 
 " Never mind," said Greyburn, " I know, or ap- 
 proximately. They earn from three dollars and a half 
 to six dollars a week. Very few indeed, the latter 
 sum. Probably five dollars would be an average. 
 Now, how many hours a day do they work ?" 
 
 " All this has no reference to the matter," said the 
 manufacturer. 
 
 " How many hours a day, that's the question," per- 
 sisted Greyburn, not minding the interruption further 
 than to pause while it was being made. " I know 
 about. I have ridden by your mills in the morning 
 at a quarter past six and seen women hastening to 
 the gats. I have passed at the same hour at night 
 and seen it lit from top to bottom and heard the looms 
 running. Twelve hours a day of such steady, con- 
 fining work, for less than one dollar ! That's the 
 honest labor that is open to these girls if they choose 
 it." 
 
 " I pay as much as anybody," said the manufacturer, 
 a little warmly. 
 
 " To be sure," said Greyburn. " That's what I 
 meant to say." 
 
 " And as much as I can afford." 
 
 " Excuse me," said Greyburn, " if I doubt that. 
 You have been very severe on us, and we take it all 
 in good part. Now let me criticise you a little. 
 Your father left you less than five thousand dollars 
 twenty years ago. You are now worth two hundred 
 thousand dollars. How did you get it ? You secured
 
 THOU SHALT NOT. 55 
 
 a mill privilege, so-called, a piece of water running 
 through a ravine which the Almighty hollowed out 
 for it in the creation. With the aid of many men, 
 women, yes, and even children, you have built a mill, 
 equipped it with machinery, and manufactured cloth 
 until you are a rich man. Alone, you would have 
 been worth little more than you were at first, but 
 with all these people to aid you that is, they and 
 you together you have amassed a fortune, and you 
 have it all. To you, that mill has brought a splendid 
 mansion, costly furniture, horses, carriages, bank 
 stock, other real estate, in short, all that you could 
 desire of the good things of this life. To them, the 
 workers who have made your gains possible, it has 
 brought long hours of unremitting toil, poor homes, 
 scantily furnished, a crust of bread, and a grave in the 
 cemetery over the hill. No more ! I challenge you 
 to show me that it has brought them more than this." 
 
 " At least," said the manufacturer, pointedly, " they 
 have not imperilled their souls there." 
 
 " I don't know about that," replied Grey burn. " I 
 hardly see how they can have much soul to lose or 
 save in that eternal treadmill of labor. Sunday is 
 their only time for rest, and why you Puritans have 
 left them that passes my comprehension, unless it be 
 that they would otherwise wear out too soon, the same 
 as your boilers, under perpetual strain. The offenses 
 which are joined to poverty prevail in your village. 
 Drunkenness is not uncommon. Theft is of weekly 
 occurrence. And last year, when I was there, a 
 woman lay in jail for strangling her infant, because, 
 as she expressed it, she could not give up her loom 
 to care for it without bringing her other five to starva- 
 tion. Her husband was killed a few months pre- 
 viously by the falling of a piece of machinery, in 
 your mill."
 
 56 THOU SHALT NOT. 
 
 " You surely don't blame me for that," said Mr. 
 Pickett, uneasily. 
 
 " I was blaming nobody," answered Greyburn. " I 
 was only thinking. Here are these girls and there 
 are your spinners. Have you one in all your mill 
 who would not gladly exchange her life for the one 
 these lead ? I doubt it ; I doubt it. Understand me, 
 Mr. Pickett ! I am not rinding any special fault with 
 you, personally. But I do think the system under 
 which one human being fattens out of all needed pro- 
 portion, while a hundred or a thousand stay in per- 
 petual poverty, is a disgrace to the age and a curse to 
 society, compared with which the sentimental injuries 
 of unchaste living are as a grain of sand to the whole 
 globe." 
 
 The hour for separation came with this discussion 
 unfinished, and all of the guests but Mr. Reycroft de- 
 parted ; the manufacturer declaring, however, that 
 he would meet Greyburn again and convince him 
 that the mill-owners of New England were a great 
 source of benefit to the communities in which they 
 lived, and only received their just share of the profits 
 arising from their business. 
 
 " May I ask you just one question ?' said Mr. Rey- 
 croft, as he seated himself in the library for a mo- 
 ment's conversation with his host before retiring. 
 
 " With pleasure," said Greyburn. 
 
 " Why do you not caution young Campbell about 
 drinking so heavily ? It seems to me that he is doing 
 himself an injury." 
 
 " I have done it at other places and times, but I 
 cannot mention it at my own table. Rules of hos- 
 pitality, you know. When I get the right opportu- 
 nity I will offer a suggestion again." 
 
 "Thank you," said the minister. "And ah his 
 sister. Have you ever seen her ?"
 
 THOU SHALT NOT. 57 
 
 " Yes. He took me there a few weeks ago. A 
 charming girl of eighteen. A little country school- 
 teacher. Sweet as a strawberry." 
 
 " She comes within your limit sixteen to thirty," 
 said the visitor, sadly. 
 
 " Yes, and the very last one, you would say, to fall 
 into the hands of sinful man." 
 
 " You you are not trying ?" said Mr. Reycroft in a 
 constrained voice. 
 
 " There ? Oh, no ! not at all. You half believe in 
 my power, I see." 
 
 The clergyman smiled a little. 
 
 " Good-night," said Greyburn, pleasantly, as Wil- 
 liams answered his bell and prepared to escort the 
 guest to his room. " Sleep soundly, as I and all other 
 men with clear consciences do. To-morrow we will 
 commence the task of investigating the REAL sins of 
 this modern Babylon." 
 
 CHAPTER V. 
 
 LET us go out again into the air ; into that country 
 which God made, and in which man was content to 
 find his happiness long before he built himself the 
 town. Let us go where the little country school-house 
 stands on the edge of the maples. Let us see the 
 little country school teacher " sweet as a strawberry " 
 teaching the forty little children, bearing with their 
 faults, soothing their griefs, interested in their joys 
 and sorrows, loved by each, and loving each in return. 
 
 Every autumn afternoon, at four o'clock, the little 
 school-house closed its doors, and the little teacher 
 walked home, past the fields and meadows, past the 
 loaded apple trees, past the little singing brook, ancj
 
 58 THOU SHALT NOT. 
 
 past John Dinsmore's forge. Each school day John 
 hammered away at his anvil or placed the iron cres- 
 cent on the hoof where it was to go, but stopped very 
 often to measure with his eye the shadow of the forge 
 door. For the shadow was his timepiece. It told him 
 when it was the hour for Her to come, and this daily 
 passing of Clara Campbell was more to the black- 
 smith than all the rest that came and went. Satur- 
 day, when there was no school, was a long and dull 
 day for him. A close observer might have known 
 when it came, only by the absence of the smile on 
 John Dinsmore's face. 
 
 He had known her ever since she was a baby, and 
 her brother Walter a toddling thing in petticoats. At 
 that time Rev. Duncan Campbell and his pretty young 
 wife were placed in charge of the parish of Spring- 
 dale. Mr. Campbell, Sr., was a man of no great 
 oratorical pretensions, but his piety and learning were 
 undoubted. His wife was a lovable little woman, 
 who did the whole duty of a country minister's con- 
 sort, visiting the sick, comforting the distressed, 
 breathing hope in the ear of the dying. When Clara 
 was twelve years of age her father died suddenly of 
 heart disease. The blow prostrated her mother, who 
 had never been too strong, and within a year she fol- 
 lowed him to the village cemetery. 
 
 Clara was thirteen and Walter fifteen, but the girl 
 was the elder in all but years. The parish, with New 
 England promptness, ceased to pay its minister's sal- 
 ary as soon as he was unable to perform his duties. 
 The young girl and her brother were placed, theoret- 
 ically, under the care of a guardian, but the gentle- 
 man selected did no more than follow Clara's direc- 
 tions. Every bill due was collected, and by the aid 
 of a small mortgage on the homestead, was paid in 
 full. Young as she was, Clara sought and obtained
 
 THOU SHALT NOT. 59 
 
 the primary school of the village, and set to work like 
 a brave little woman to face the world. For two 
 years she supported both herself and Walter, insist- 
 ing that he should remain at school in order to fit 
 himself for a position higher than he could otherwise 
 expect. To do the boy justice, he protested against 
 this arrangement, and yielded with reluctance to her 
 superior force of will. He found light work for 
 mornings and evenings and for vacations, and suc- 
 ceeded in adding a few dollars to the salary she re- 
 ceived. But at last came the inevitable day, the day 
 she had dreaded and tried to postpone, when he ex- 
 pressed the determination to go and seek his fortune. 
 There was little to do in Springdale, that she well 
 knew, and she had entertained the hope that he 
 would settle in some of the larger towns within a few 
 miles. When he declared that nothing would answer 
 for him but New York city, she remonstrated at first 
 and then pleaded with him. She begged him not to 
 leave her so lonely ; she descanted upon the dangers, 
 she pictured the evils of life in the metropolis ; she 
 urged his extreme youth and the slight probability of 
 his getting a foothold in a city where he had neither 
 relations nor friends, all to no purpose. He had de- 
 cided to go, and nothing could move him. 
 
 When she saw that he would go, she called up all 
 her fortitude and tried to add to, rather than detract 
 from, his stock of courage. She repressed the tears 
 that rose to her eyes, and spoke hopefully, almost 
 confidently, of his future. The good-hearted but 
 stubborn boy had not that keen mental discernment 
 which would have told him that each word of delight 
 at his coming departure pierced his sister's heart like 
 a knife. He kissed her a careless good-bye and de- 
 parted, full of youth, full of animation, full of hope. 
 Then she turned for consolation to the God of her
 
 60 TIIOU SHALT NOT. 
 
 parents, and left her brother in His care, with a 
 somewhat lighter heart. 
 
 Two years had passed, during which she had not 
 seen him. He had written often, and his stories of 
 success, far beyond their dreams, had made her more 
 content to miss his treasured face. Sometimes the 
 feeling 1 came very strongly that she ought to know 
 from some other source just what Walter was doing. 
 Not that she doubted him, but she wished to make 
 assurance doubly sure. No way to do this seemed to 
 present itself, however, as she knew not a soul either 
 in or near the city ; and she had to wait until the two 
 years had passed, when she had his positive promise 
 that he would make her a visit. 
 
 Home at last ! The same dear brother. The same 
 loved one only taller and handsomer. A city young 
 man, with a salary of two thousand dollars a year ! 
 He had stayed a week, which went like a wonderful 
 and impossible dream. And now he had gone again. 
 She had seen him mount the stage box and wave his 
 adieux as he rode away, the admiration and pride of 
 the village. She had suppressed her sisterly tears 
 till he was out of sight. A stout-hearted little wom- 
 an was Clara Campbell. 
 
 After Walter was gone, Clara liked more than ever 
 to stop at the old forge and have a chat with John 
 Dinsmore. John was interested in Walter, as well as 
 she. John had carried him on his shoulders many 
 and many a time. 
 
 " I had a letter from Walter this morning, John," 
 she said, one afternoon, as she entered the forge and 
 took the carefully dusted chair which the blacksmith 
 handed her. 
 
 "Ah !" said John. It always took him a minute or 
 two to get quite easy before this little woman, this
 
 THOU SHALT NOT. 6 1 
 
 child whom he had rocked in her cradle sixteen years 
 before. 
 
 " Yes, John," pursued Clara. " And he asked par- 
 ticularly to be remembered to you." 
 
 " I'm thankful to him, I'm sure," said the black- 
 smith. " It's very kind of him." 
 
 Clara sat quite still for a minute after that, and he 
 did not interrupt her. 
 
 " Do you know, John," she said at last, " that I wish 
 I could go down to New York and see where Walter 
 lives and how he spends his time? It almost fright- 
 ens me to think of him there, in that great city, with 
 so much money in his hands. It's a large salary he is 
 getting. There isn't a man in this whole village, ex- 
 cepting Squire Singleton, who has two thousand a 
 year. And you know, John, he acknowledged that 
 he had spent so far nearly the whole of it. I can't 
 think it is a good thing for a young man like him to 
 have so much money. It opens every form of tempt- 
 ation, unless one is strongly fortified to resist, and 
 Walter was always easily led. Not that I would say 
 any harm of him, poor boy ; but he is so innocent, he 
 seems to me in special danger." 
 
 The blacksmith paused a moment and then said: 
 " O' course, ye couldn't go, Miss Clara. It would 
 be quite out o' the question. Some one else might 
 go down thar an' look about quietly, but not you. 
 Ye hadn't ought to think of it." 
 
 " There's one thing I might do," said Clara, thought- 
 fully. " I might write to Mr. Greyburn." 
 The blacksmith started violently. 
 " He has taken a great deal of interest in Walter," 
 she continued, too much absorbed in her own thoughts 
 to notice him, " and would do anything he could, I 
 know. He said as much when he was here. Very 
 delicately, to be sure, but I understood him. He 
 thinks Walter needs looking after as much as we do,"
 
 62 THOU SHALT NOT. 
 
 " Did he say that ?" asked the blacksmith, in a low 
 tone. 
 
 " Not exactly. I can't remember just how he ex- 
 pressed the idea. It was in the evening-, when Walter 
 had gone to the office for the mail. I know he spoke 
 very kindly. He is such a perfect gentleman, too." 
 
 Diusmore stood very still, weighing every word. 
 When she came to the end he glanced involuntarily 
 at his own hard hands and at his workman's clothes. 
 
 " Money makes gentlemen," he said. Then, seeing 
 that she looked up inquiringly, he added, " Fine 
 clothes, diamonds, gold watches." 
 
 " Oh, no, John, it takes much more than those to 
 make a real gentleman," said Clara. " It takes educa- 
 tion, and politeness ; yes, and goodness, too. A man 
 must have goodness with all the rest or he is not a 
 gentleman. And I think he had better have the 
 goodness and miss all the rest than to have ever so 
 much of the others and fail of that." 
 
 " It ain't the way o' the world, though," said Dins- 
 more. " It sounds very pretty in Sunday School 
 books to read of honest hearts beatin' under rough 
 jackets, but it's the fine feathers that make the 
 fine birds. Now, look at me. I never wronged a 
 man out of a penny. I've done my work in life as I 
 found it to do without complaint. But do you think 
 any one would ever point to me when I went by an' 
 say, ' Thar goes a gentleman ?' No. They'd be 
 laughed at." 
 
 " But you are a gentleman," said Clara. " Honest, 
 .upright ; why, everybody around Springdale respects 
 John Dinsmore. You know they do." 
 
 " Respects me ? yes," said Dinsmore. " But when 
 he was here they looked up at him as if he was a king. 
 Why ? What had he done ? They'd heard he was 
 rich, that's all"
 
 THOU SHALT NOT. 63 
 
 ' And that he had been very kind to my brother 
 Walter," said Clara. 
 
 "Much that had to do with it !" cried Dinsmore, 
 desperately. " What had he done for him, anyway ? 
 Got him a place, did he ? Well, what did that cost 
 him ? Lent him five hundred dollars ? The worst 
 thing he could 'a' done. What was that to a man o' 
 his money? But o' course, I hadn't ought to say a 
 word. He's such a ' perfect gentleman.' " 
 
 The girl stared at him in the utmost astonishment. 
 
 " Why, John," said she, " I never in my life heard 
 you speak so much ill of any one. You have no right 
 to misjudge Mr. Greyburn. Perhaps it was not wise 
 that he should lend Walter so much money, but we 
 must look at his motive. It probably doesn't seem 
 as great a sum to him as it does to us, and he lent it 
 to my brother to enable him to dress as well as the 
 other clerks in the office, and to get rooms in a nice 
 locality. The motive was praiseworthy. John, you 
 must at least admit that" 
 
 " How can you or I tell what his motive was ?" said 
 the blacksmith, doggedly. 
 
 " What could it have been except an honorable 
 one ?" cried Clara, impatiently. 
 
 " Oh, I don't know," replied Diusmore, shortly. 
 
 " Then why do you speak as you did ? You are 
 not used to being so unkind in ) 7 our estimates of 
 people." 
 
 " I don't know what his motive was," repeated 
 Dinsmore, slowly, but I'll wager my head it wasn't a 
 good one. I'll wager my head that fine gentleman 
 hasn't taken all this pains with your brother fer 
 nothin'. It's agin the natur' o' things. Time'll tell 
 whether I'm right or wrong. Fer your sake, Miss 
 Clara," he added, in a softer tone, " I hope I may be 
 mistaken, but I don't believe it."
 
 64 THOU SHALT NOT. 
 
 " You're a strange man, John," said Clara. " When 
 you get your mind once set there's no changing it. I 
 don't think I ought to stay and hear you condemn 
 Mr. Greyburn, unless you can give some reason ex- 
 cept your intuitions and prejudices. This is not the 
 first time you have taken occasion to speak slightingly 
 of him to me. He is my brother's friend, and so far 
 as I have seen, a gentleman. Yes, I repeat it, a gen- 
 tleman. If you intend to abuse him every time I 
 stop at the forge a moment on my way from school, I 
 shall have to cease calling, that's all." 
 
 She rose as if to go. The blacksmith made a ges- 
 ture of appeal. 
 
 "Oh! Miss Clara !" he cried, "ye don't mean 
 that !" 
 
 _^ I do mean it," she said. " Something seems to 
 have come over you lately to make you act very disa- 
 greeably." 
 
 ' Do you think," said the blacksmith, averting his 
 face from her, " that I don't love your brother Wal- 
 ter ?" 
 
 " I know you do," said Clara, quickly. 
 
 " Don't you know," he said, dashing a tear from his 
 grimy face, and speaking almost in a whisper, " that 
 I haven't a friend in the world to claim my love, an' 
 that it's all yours an' Walter's ? Don't let me 
 frighten ye, Miss Clara. I'm almost old enough to be 
 yer father. Ever sence ye could creep you two 
 I've loved ye both. An' now, fer an honest word, ye'll 
 cast me aside." 
 
 " No, John, never !" cried the warm-hearted girl, 
 with ready sympathy. " You have always been our 
 friend, and you shall be. I will stop here every even- 
 ing, if you desire. I spoke hastily. Forgive me." 
 
 The blacksmith brushed the tears from his blue 
 eyes, as if ashamed of his weakness.
 
 THOU SHALT NOT. 65 
 
 " Forgive ye !" he echoed. " Forgive me, rather. 
 I was thoughtless. I allus am. I wasn't born a gen- 
 tleman, ye see, an' don't know how to express myself. 
 I won't speak o' him again. Ye'll stop at the forge 
 evenin's, won't ye ? Because," he said, pausing for a 
 reason " because I shall want to hear from Walter." 
 
 " I'll come," said Clara, " every evening. And I am 
 sorry for what I said." 
 
 She gave him her hand in token of reconciliation. 
 Had he been a " gentleman " he might have bent to 
 kiss it, but he would as soon have thrust it into his 
 forge's fire. To John Dinsmore, Clara was what a 
 saint is to a devout Catholic, or as the mosques of 
 Mecca to a Moslem pilgrim. Only she seemed farther 
 from his possession than any heaven or any shrine. 
 To have her shadow fall across his shop floor was all 
 he could hope for, and on her frequent visits he ex- 
 isted. Had she stayed away entirely, a darkness like 
 that of the Egyptian plague would have fallen upon 
 his heart. 
 
 A few days later, without a word to any one of her 
 intention, Clara placed this letter in the post-office : 
 
 SPRINGDALE, CONN., Oct. , 188-. 
 HECTOR GREYBURN, ESQ.: 
 
 Sir, When you were in Springdale you spoke to 
 me very kindly of my brother, and as I understood, 
 volunteered, should I so desire, to ascertain in what 
 company he spends his leisure hours, and communi- 
 cate the information to me. You will understand, 
 Sir, that Walter and I were left orphans five years 
 ago, and that, while I am the youngest in years, he has 
 always seemed in a sense under my charge. I take 
 the liberty- of begging you to interest yourself to the 
 extent of learning whether he is doing as a young 
 man ought among the temptations of a city. Please
 
 66 THOU SHALT NOT. 
 
 do not let him know, in any way, that I have made 
 this request, as he is high-spirited and might resent 
 what he would call an interference. 
 
 By attending to this you will confer a lasting favor 
 on 
 
 Your Obedient Servant, 
 
 CLARA CAMPBELL. 
 
 When Greyburn read this letter he burst into a 
 hearty laugh. The ludicrous side of the notion that 
 he should investigate the character of Walter's friends 
 and surroundings struck him with full force. Then 
 he read the letter through again, and somehow it did 
 not seem quite so mirth-provoking. He recalled the 
 little sweet-faced sister, living all alone and unpro- 
 tected in the old country parsonage, and seemed to 
 see her eyes fixed on him as he talked in her little 
 parlor of Walter's successes. The wish that he could 
 see her again came strong upon him. He answered 
 her letter in a kind tone, bidding her rest assured 
 that he would continue to do all in his power for her 
 brother. He spoke of the pleasure his brief visit to 
 Springdale had given him, and declared his intention 
 of coming again to breathe the pure are of its hills 
 and valleys. 
 
 " I shall stroll up that way another season," ^he 
 mused, " and I must make a few days stay in that 
 modern Arcadia. No," he added, as a new thought 
 crossed his mind, " not with any special design upon 
 the little schoolmistress. That would raise the deuce 
 with Walter, and I couldn't afford it. And yet there's 
 a charm in the girl that I can't rid myself of. Pshaw ! 
 This is treason to Gabrielle. What is it that Byron 
 says : 
 
 "' And Juan, had he quite forgotten Julia, 
 And should he have forgotten her so soon !' "
 
 THOU SHALT NOT. 67 
 
 CHAPTER VI. 
 
 FAITHFUL to his promise,Greyburn escorted the Rev. 
 Arthur Reycroft for the thirty days next succeeding 
 his advent at the Greyburn Club, through all the 
 principal haunts of sin which the metropolis affords. 
 They visited the slums by night and day, often under 
 the guard of a police officer. They visited the crim- 
 inal courts, the jails, the places of refuge and deten- 
 tion. They climbed the stairs of filthy tenement 
 houses, they burrowed into the cellars where human 
 vermin breed and die. They went to the gambling 
 dens where the stakes are generally hundreds of dol- 
 lars as well as those where a nickel or a dime meets 
 the same grand passion for play. They entered the 
 variety theatres of the lower sort, in which a small 
 bribe admits behind the scenes, where the not over- 
 particular ladies of the ballet disport themselves in 
 abbreviated skirts. They went to some of those 
 places which the French denominate maiscns de joic, 
 and which they found in squalor at Five Points and in 
 splendor on Murray Hill. They went, in short, into 
 the hidden places of New York, places which the or- 
 dinary traveler neither sees nor suspects, but which 
 are to the body politic what the burning lava deep in 
 Vesuvius' crater is to the people on the plain below 
 a never ceasing menace. It is not our purpose to fol- 
 low them. Reycroft was sick at heart long before he 
 had finished his self-imposed task, and when the 
 month had expired he doclared that he would under 
 no consideration go any farther. 
 
 " When Dante walked the streets of Italy," he said 
 one night, as they were taking a lunch in Greyburn's 
 library, after a more than ordinarily unpleasant tour,
 
 68 THOU SHALT NOT. 
 
 " the people pointed at him and said, ' There goes a 
 man who has been in hell." I feel as if every person 
 I meet might with equal justice call the same thing 
 after me. I wonder how the Christian men and women 
 of this city can let these things go on, year after year, 
 without more effort to stop them." 
 
 " Why, they don't wish to stop them," said Grey- 
 burn. " If you will give me another month I will 
 prove it to you. Who do you suppose owns the real 
 estate where these dens, as you call them, are located ? 
 I wish I had time to show you the assessors' books. 
 I wish I could take you where you could follow the 
 profits made in these places and see into whose 
 pockets they go. You would find that the dollars left 
 in the gin cellar, the gambling shop and the house of 
 ill-fame, go very often to purchase the horses and 
 carriages, the velvets, laces and diamonds which stop 
 Sunday mornings before the doors of our big 
 churches. It wouM seriously lower the income of 
 very many of your Christian men and women if the 
 law were strong enough to enforce itself in the slums 
 of this city." 
 
 " It is a terrible thought," said Reycroft. " But, 
 Mr. Greyburn, excuse me for a personal question : 
 How does all this array of sin affect you so little ? 
 You know what I mean. You are not partial to 
 drunkenness, gambling-, and all the horrors which we 
 have witnessed. They can have no charms for you. 
 In whatever light you may view the sins which have 
 more alluring exteriors, these lower things must repel 
 you. And yet you pass through it all as if the smell 
 of the fire did not touch your garments." 
 
 Greyburn smiled at the serious face of his guest, 
 and replied : 
 
 " A good deal of the reason is probably in the fact 
 that I have seen nothing new in this month, which
 
 THOU SHALT NOT. 69 
 
 has opened so much of novelty to you. I have experi- 
 enced no astonishment, which is one of the main ele- 
 ments of horror. I knew it was all there, as I had 
 seen it a thousand times. As ) T OU say, I don't like it ; 
 at least, most of it. I must have my sin gilded and 
 well upholstered to make it palatable. The poison 
 sold in the low dram shop does not charm me, while I 
 like just the same my Maderia or my pale ale. The 
 sight of excited men throwing their last dollar on a 
 roulette table is unpleasant, and yet with a party of 
 friends at piquet or euchre I'll none the less spice the 
 game with a ten or twenty dollar stake. The drunken 
 and bedraggled woman of the street might call after 
 me in vain, but I would not turn away, for all that, 
 from pink and white youth and beauty in the shape 
 of Gabrielle Delaporte." 
 
 " It's none the less sin, though," said Reycroft, 
 shaking his head. 
 
 " I don't believe you," replied Greyburn, gaily. 
 " They say that conscience is to be our guide in such 
 matters, and I never yet felt even the least bit of a 
 twinge over anything of that sort. I bring every- 
 thing up to that test, and the result is quite agreeable. 
 Shall I do murder ? No ! Conscience tells me that 
 without question. Shall I knock down my neighbor 
 or burn his house over his head ? Certainly not ! I 
 shouldn't enjoy it. Conscience would interfere with 
 my pastime. Shall I make myself and the people 
 around me happy ? Conscience immediately smiles 
 her approval." 
 
 ' I am afraid your conscience is not a true guide," 
 said the minister, " if you find happiness in violating 
 the express commands of Heaven." 
 
 "It's the best I've got, any way," laughed Greyburn, 
 " and if it doesn't keep true time I can't be held to 
 blame. Do you remember Meudall's expression, ' The
 
 70 THOU SHALT NOT. 
 
 good things of this world are for those who can get 
 them '? I've thought it over a good deal and I be- 
 lieve he is right. Fourteen years ago I found myself 
 in this city without a sou. A little later I discovered 
 an easy road to luxury, and I've pursued it ever 
 since. Perhaps if I had had too fine a conscience I 
 might have denied myself my opportunities and 
 starved on a clerk's wages till now. So, on the whole, 
 I really can't regret that my inward monitor is a trifle 
 elastic. You've heard the question discussed, no 
 doubt, regarding my source of income ?" 
 
 " No," said Reycroft. " I have met no one alone, 
 you know, since I have been here, and the subject 
 never occurred to me." 
 
 " Have you no curiosity ?" 
 
 " I have no objections to hearing anything you 
 would like to tell me." 
 
 " I shall tell you very little," said Greyburn, " be- 
 cause the value of my philosopher's stone depends 
 largely on its remaining hidden from human eyes. 
 It has amused me to hear the guesses which have 
 been made and the deep investigations which have 
 been set on foot to find how an unknown young 
 fellow stepped so easily from penury to a competence, 
 and no one is ever a bit the wiser yet." 
 
 " So long as it was done in an honest way, no one 
 can find fault," said Reycroft. 
 
 " Ah ! but the question comes, What is honesty ?' " 
 said Greyburn, "and a solution of that problem might 
 take longer than you would think. Absolute honesty 
 is, to my mind, almost an unknown quantity in this 
 little world of ours. Take any sphere of life you 
 choose, and you will find a vein of fraud running 
 through it. It's all I can do to get pure articles even 
 when I am willing to pay the highest price. Take the 
 professions, too. Supposing I go to a lawyer and put
 
 THOU SHALT NOT. 7 1 
 
 a case in his hands. Will he try to settle that case 
 for my best interest, or will he study out what he can 
 get for himself ? Say that I feel slightly ill and call a 
 doctor. Will he say tome, 'Greyburn, you must 
 drink a little less sherry and get to bed at eleven 
 o'clock;' or will he shake his head and look grave and 
 scare me, if he can, into paying him for a dozer; visits ? 
 Why, even the pulpit is just as bad. When I ask my- 
 self. Do I get my money honestly ?' I answer, 
 with such examples all around me, 'Yes, more hon- 
 estly than most of your neighbors, for your method 
 causes no heart-breakings, adds no sting to poverty, 
 and poisons no one's system with adulterated food or 
 drugs.' Honest ! I'm a paragon, compared to most 
 men." 
 
 As he did not seem inclined to pursue the subject 
 farther, silence fell on the pair for a few minutes. 
 
 " You spoke of a Miss Delaporte," said Reycroft, 
 finally. 
 
 " Gabrielle ? Oh, yes ! You haven't seen her, 
 have you ? She has been quite forgotten in the mul- 
 tiplicity of other investigations which we have been 
 making. She must be produced, for to visit my house 
 and not see Gabrielle, would be like climbing the 
 vSwiss Alps and missing the Jungfrau." 
 
 " Must I ? Had I better ?" said Reycroft. He 
 knew from experience what to expect from his host's 
 female divinities. 
 
 " Must you ? To be sure ! You will see the 
 prettiest creature in all New York. You will find 
 her interesting, too. Scold her, if you think proper, 
 for not hiding the light of her pretty face under a 
 bushel, but don't miss seeing her, or I'll never forgive 
 you. Susanne," he continued, as that young creature 
 responded to his bell, "ask Gabrielle to come here." 
 
 The young minister was not made of stone, and he
 
 72 THOU SHALT NOT. 
 
 could not suppress a murmur of admiration as 
 Gabrielle appeared. She was a blonde of petite, but 
 well-rounded, form. Her wavy hair fell unconfined 
 about her shapely shoulders. Her eyes were of the 
 deepest blue, and her mouth, which parted to show 
 two white and even rows of pearly teeth, would have 
 driven a painter to distraction. She came directly to 
 Greyburn and stood looking into his face as if for 
 instructions. 
 
 "Gabrielle," he said, " my friend, Mr. Arthur." 
 
 She put out her hand and he had to take it. She 
 had a momentary surprise when he did not carry it 
 to his lips, but she did not lose her self-possession. 
 
 " I am so pleased, "she said, in soft and fiquid tones, 
 more musical than any instrument except the human 
 voice ever produced. 
 
 She took the chair assigned her and sat down, look- 
 ing alternately at the gentlemen. 
 
 " Isn't she pretty ?" said Greyburn. 
 
 Mr. Reycroft started a little. The words were but 
 echoes of his own thoughts. 
 
 "She is indeed a perfect specimen of the handiwork 
 of God," he said, reverently. 
 
 " And of man, also," smiled Greyburn. " For in 
 these days of prudery the handiwork of God alone is 
 not considered presentable before a miscellaneous 
 audience. I will say this for Gabrielle/however. She 
 is less beholden to the arts of man for her good looks 
 than any girl I know of. She's all genuine. It doesn't 
 take a lady's maid and a milliner to make her over 
 every morning. She's all there, Reycroft, with no 
 deception. A diamond of the first water, without a 
 flaw." 
 
 A good deal of extra color rose to the face of the 
 young minister during this rather bold description. 
 The fact that the girl's eyes were on him, and the
 
 THOU SHALT NOT. 73 
 
 intuitive knowledge that she felt no answering blush, 
 did not lessen his uneasiness. 
 
 " I am going to ask you a few questions," said Grey- 
 burn, after a slight pause. " I want ray friend, Mr. 
 Arthur, to hear your answers. You must speak with 
 perfect freedom. Are you ready ?" 
 
 She smiled a sweet affirmative. 
 
 " Your name ?" 
 
 '' Gabrielle Delaporte." 
 
 u Your age ?" 
 
 " Twenty years." 
 
 " Whom do you love best ?" 
 
 " The man who asks me the question." 
 
 " How long have you known him ?" 
 
 " Six months." 
 
 " Answered like a professional !" laughed Greyburn. 
 " Your witness, Arthur. I believe you appear for the 
 prosecution." 
 
 Mr. Reycroft hesitated and then fell into his vein. 
 
 " This lady is 
 
 " My sweetheart ! Certainly." 
 
 " Do you love her ?" 
 
 " Of course." 
 
 " As you have others before ; how many ?" 
 
 " Oh ! it would be impossible to tell that," said 
 Greyburn, lightly. " Go count the sands of the sea." 
 
 " And as you will love others after her ?" 
 
 " Probably, yes. I'm not a seer into the future." 
 
 " How long did you love this lady's predecessors ?" 
 
 " Different lengths of time. Sometimes an hour, 
 sometimes a day, sometimes a week. Once I loved a 
 woman almost a year, but I was very young then. 
 Not often have I loved one so long as I have ma belle 
 here." 
 
 Turning to Gabrielle, Mr. Reycroft said, very 
 soberly :
 
 74 THOU SHALT NOT. 
 
 " My child, does this satisfy you ?" 
 
 " Perfectly," she replied. 
 
 " Do you think his love and protection will last for- 
 ever ?" 
 
 " I've no idea that it will," said Gabrielle. 
 
 " And when the bond between you breaks, as it may 
 any hour " 
 
 " Ah !" she interrupted, " ' Sufficient unto the day is 
 the evil.' What shall we dwellers in this world do ? 
 Must we never inhale the fragrance of the spring 
 flowers or taste the luscious fruits of autumn because 
 we know there is a winter to come after? Must we 
 not enjoy the glorious sun's painting of the western 
 sky because darkness treads close on his skirts. In a 
 few days or years the mould will surely cover us three, 
 and yet we sit here and smile and chatter." 
 
 " It is infatuation !" cried the minister. 
 
 " Why, then, I beg you not to disturb me," she 
 laughed. " If I am happily-demented, I am better 
 off than if I were melancholy-sane. If I am insane, 
 let us be thankful for insanity. Yes, and for love, 
 that pleasing 'delusion' which you evidently would 
 have us abandon." 
 
 She came to Greyburn's side and clasped her round 
 arms affectionately about his neck. 
 
 " She's enough for yon," said Greyburn, returning 
 the embrace, and looking with mingled love and pride 
 upon the fair being whom his arm encircled. 
 
 " The life you live will shorten your days," said the 
 clergyman. " Have you thought of that ?" 
 
 " Will it ? Well, what of it ?" retorted Gabrielle. 
 " We live too long and too slowly. Five years of real 
 life is worth a century of vegetation." 
 
 " Right again !" put in Greyburn. " Women are 
 like strawberries, only good in their season. I 
 don't want mine green, nor yet old and shriveled up.
 
 THOU SHALT NOT. 75 
 
 ' Whom the gods love/ you know. And if the gods 
 don't love young and pretty women, I haven't much 
 to say for their judgment." 
 
 " You are a handsome woman," pursued Mr. Rey- 
 croft. " Do you know why ? It is because genera- 
 tions of your ancestors lived honest, sober lives. 
 They bequeathed you health, good blood and a strong 
 constitution. Your descendants, if you should have 
 any, would inherit the seeds of deterioration." 
 
 " I did not make the world," she responded, as if 
 tired of argument. " Most people are slow enough 
 to keep it going. If my ancestors have been content 
 with an ox-team gait, I can ride a few miles at a faster 
 pace without much harm. As to my descendants," 
 here she looked archly at Greyburn, "they are not 
 near enough to excite either my sympathies or my in- 
 terest. What is he trying to get at, Hector ? I never 
 was asked so many queer questions in my life." 
 
 Greyburn laughed loud and long. 
 
 " Why," said he, " Mr. Arthur is a man with very 
 peculiar notions. He is the best fellow alive,but prac- 
 tically demented on one or two points. He thinks, 
 for instance, that it is just as wicked for me to place 
 my arm around you like this, as it would be if I drove 
 a dagger into your heart." 
 
 " Oh, no !" corrected the clergyman. " Not quite 
 so bad as that !" 
 
 " Why not ?" said Greyburn. " Sin ought to have 
 no relative sinfulness. There is nothing in the deca- 
 logue which you receive as divine which intimates that 
 violations of the Sixth Command are greater than 
 lapses regarding the Seventh." 
 
 " You reason speciously," said the clergyman. "All 
 violations of God's law are undoubtedly hateful in 
 His eyes, but they are unequal in their effect on his 
 creatures. Of course one would rather be told a
 
 76 THOU SHALT NOT. 
 
 falsehood, or have his property stolen, than to lose 
 his life. Though, to put it plainly, and with no de- 
 sire to speak harshly, if that young lady were a rela- 
 tive of mine, I would rather she fell by a dagger's 
 blow, than to be the mistress of the kindest man 
 alive." 
 
 " Why, you cruel thing !" cried Gabrielle. " You 
 would be just as bad as that horrid Roman which 
 Hector and I saw at the play, who stabbed his daugh- 
 ter because one of the great generals wanted her. I 
 was glad the brute went crazy in the next act and 
 died before the curtain fell." 
 
 " Served him right," added Greyburn, " though to 
 be sure he had some provocation. The triumvir 
 didn't go to work fair to get the girl. It was a shame, 
 though, to shed her innocent blood. That Virginius 
 should have lived some centuries later. He would 
 have made an excellent member of Cromwell's parlia- 
 ment. But it's nearly two o'clock, my charmer, and 
 those bright eyes of yours should be closed. A kiss 
 and good-night." 
 
 Gabrielle kissed him. " I would do as much for 
 you, sir," she said archly to Mr. Reycroft, " if I wasn't 
 afraid you had a dagger or pistol concealed about 
 your clothing. I don't mind anything you said, 
 though, and I hope I didn't speak too sharply, either, 
 I think I will kiss you, after all, just to show that I 
 quite forgive you." 
 
 St. Anthony might have taken the salute from those 
 rosy lips and soothed the years of after penance by 
 the memory of its fleeting bliss. Reycroft felt for at 
 second how much the transgression of Adam has left 
 in his remote descendants. 
 
 " No, I thank you," he found strength to say, at 
 last. 
 
 " Well, it's the first time that ever happened," said 
 Gabrielle, with rnock .pique. " Just wait till you're
 
 THOU SHALT NOT. 77 
 
 offered it again ! Hector, will you not revenge 
 me ?" 
 
 " Yes, by taking what he refuses." said Grey burn, 
 snatching kiss after kiss from her unresisting mouth. 
 It's a revenge which I would take on every man 
 in Christendom if he treated you in like manner." 
 
 " A nice revenge on him, that is !" said the girl. 
 " It seems more like levying tribute on me." 
 
 " Not so," he replied, " for I take no more than I 
 leave. Go, now ; and may Venus watch over and 
 keep you." 
 
 She ran laughing from the room, and Greyburn 
 turned to Reycroft. 
 
 " You are indeed adamant," said he, " if such a 
 creature as that does not charm you." 
 
 " I am not adamant !" cried the minister, his voice 
 trembling slightly. " I almost wish I were. I have 
 the harder task of struggling against temptations and 
 conquering them. Adamant has no such duty." 
 
 "Then you are human?" said Greyburn. "It is 
 really blood and not vinegar which flows in your 
 veins ?" 
 
 " Such blood," responded the minister, " that were 
 I to give way ever so little it would hurl my soul to 
 ruin. Were I to stay here under your roof a month 
 more I know not what would happen. How can the 
 ' livery of the court of heaven ' be given to the mes- 
 sengers of the devil ?" 
 
 " Do you call Gabrielle a messenger of the devil ?" 
 laughed Greyburn. " By Beelzebub ! The fellow 
 has exquisite taste ! And she has affected you, has 
 she ? Pierced your heart through all its coats of 
 orthodox mail? Come! We are friends. There are 
 plenty more for me. You may have her for your own. 
 Shall I call her back ?" 
 
 He laid his hand on the bell rope. 
 
 " No !" cried Reycroft, in a tone so loud as to be
 
 78 THOU SHALT NOT. 
 
 almost ludicrous under the circumstances, and reach- 
 ing out to stop him. 
 
 " You're half inclined," persisted Greyburn, tantaliz- 
 ingly. " Really, you're very welcome if you want 
 her. She won't care. Hadn't you better ?" 
 
 " I beg of you," said the clergyman, excitedly, 
 " don't tempt me further. To-morrow I will leave 
 this city for my country home. I have realized in time 
 the danger of going too close to the edge of the pit, 
 where, in a moment, one may be overcome by its 
 fumes and fall headlong. The moth's wings are 
 singed just when he thinks the light most beautiful 
 I thank you heartily for your generous hospitality, 
 but I must trench on it no longer. I will go home, 
 where, in the atmosphere I am used to, I can inhale a 
 full breath and regain my moral strength." 
 
 " And in the meantime we poor victims of the pes- 
 tilence must care for ourselves?" said Greyburn. 
 "Very well. Only after you get your 'moral 
 strength' let us see you again. To me your visit has 
 been extremely pleasant and I much regret to lose 
 you." 
 
 " There is one thing heavily on my mind," said Rey- 
 croft, changing the subject : " Young Campbell." 
 
 "That little fool?" said Greyburn. "Well, what 
 can I do with him ?" 
 
 " Do you set him the best possible example ?" asked 
 the minister, with a shade of reproach in his manner. 
 
 "Example! He don't follow my example in any- 
 thing. I take a glass of wine or a mug of ale. He 
 takes a dozen and gets drunk. I enjoy a quiet even- 
 ing with a party of friends. He paints the town in a 
 hack, and goes home exhausted with what he is 
 pleased to term ' fun.' I take Gabrielle to the theater, 
 return when it is over, take my little supper and re- 
 tire. He gets a front seat at the ballet, runs around 
 to the stage door, gets an actress whose shape has fas-
 
 THOU SHALT NOT. 79 
 
 cinated him and rushes off to a private dining-room. 
 For goodness sake, Reycroft, 'an' you love me,' don't 
 talk about that young idiot following any example of 
 mine." 
 
 " He is going down hill fast, at any rate," said the 
 minister. 
 
 " I'm sorry, but I don't know what to do about it," 
 replied the other. " He has been placed under my 
 guardianship lately, too. Did you know that ? His 
 sister wrote me a letter asking me to look to his com- 
 panionships and surroundings." 
 
 " Wrote toyvu ?" 
 
 " Yes, why not ? I am a very particular friend of 
 the family, now." 
 
 " And what reply did you make ?" 
 
 " Well, of course I didn't wish to hurt her feelings, 
 and I smoothed things over pretty nicely. She's as 
 innocent as a bird in fact, much more so than some 
 birds and it will do her no good to know the truth. 
 When I go up there again, I'll talk it over with her." 
 
 " You ought not to go there again," said the minis- 
 ter. 
 
 " Oh, I'll do no harm. She's quite captivating, 
 though, in her quaint, country way." 
 
 " Greyburn, have you a female relative in the 
 world ?" 
 
 " Not one," he replied. " I am all the sisters of my 
 father's house and all the brothers, too." 
 
 " If you had a sister like this Miss Campbell, would 
 you like to see her thrown into the company of a man 
 like well like Hector Greyburn ?" 
 
 " My dear fellow, I haven't the slightest idea. I 
 never had a sister, and how I should feel is more than 
 I can tell. I never was what is called jealous, and I 
 hope I should be reasonable. Good night. Don't let 
 Gabrielle's face come between you and slumber." 
 
 Arthur Reycroft tried in vain all the rest of that.
 
 80 THOU SHALT NOT. 
 
 night and late in the morning to sleep, but he could 
 not. The face of Gabrielle did come between him 
 and slumber. The scene of the previous evening was 
 enacted over and over again, and her blue eyes 
 seemed always fixed in softest languor upon him. 
 
 When he rose to dress, late the next day, more 
 tired than when he went to bed, a thought of Clara 
 Campbell came into his mind, and he half resolved to 
 make a visit to Springdale and give her a quiet warn- 
 ing. Upon consideration, he decided that he would 
 seem contemptible as a revealer of secrets, and he 
 changed his mind. Had he not done so this history 
 would never have be^n written. 
 
 CHAPTER VII. 
 
 WINTER has passed and it was summer again. June, 
 the month of roses and of love, is almost ended. 
 Springdale lies in its valley, wearing its dark-green 
 garment like a maiden who is unused to suitors, but 
 who waits patiently the call inevitable whenever it 
 shall please Heaven. The scent of. newly mown hay 
 fills the warm air. The village school is closed. The 
 little village school mistress wanders along the side 
 of the half-mountain which looks on Springdale from 
 the north and she is not alone. 
 
 Their journey was made ostensibly in search of 
 strawberries, but the fruit was not plenty, and their 
 baskets were nearly as empty as when they came. 
 Slowly they walked, pausing often to note some es- 
 pecial object in the scenery, or to mark the sudden 
 uprising of a startled bird, which they had uninten- 
 tionally alarmed. Strangely familiar they seemed for 
 people who had met but once before that week, but 
 the perfect innocence and confidence of the girl, and
 
 THOU SHALT NOT. 8 1 
 
 the well-bred ease of the man, accounted for that. 
 To her brother's kind friend Clara felt that she owed 
 every possible attention. He found at first a novelty 
 in the very naivete of. the child, for so he called her, 
 which charmed and held him. But almost before he 
 was aware of it, there arose a new feeling. He be- 
 gan to think with uneasiness of going home. He 
 liked to hear the voice and to watch the movements 
 of this rustic beauty. 
 
 Early each morning he left his room in the village 
 tavern and strolled down to the old parsonage with 
 some ready excuse for a brief call. Sometimes he 
 caught her at her household duties, and she never 
 seemed a bit ashamed. Not the less charming did he 
 find her when her sleeves were rolled up at the dish- 
 pan or the oven, and the dress of printed muslin fitted 
 loosely about her girlish figure. Every afternoon, as 
 early as he thought it reasonable, he went for his 
 formal call ; and after tea they walked together up 
 the hilly road to see the sun set, and wandered slowly 
 back in the twilight. Very pleasant was all this to the 
 man of thirty-two, this fellow who had seen his cup 
 of life brimming and had almost drained its pleasures 
 dry. 
 
 What they talked of neither could have told an hour 
 after. It was of as much consequence as of what the 
 robins twittered about in the trees overhead. But, 
 on the last day which he was to spend with her, he 
 grew more sober as they walked over the hills. He 
 felt that he must say something more than the ordin- 
 ary simplicities. Again and again he essayed the 
 task, but words failed him. What was the matter 
 with this roue, this man of the world ? 
 
 The knowledge that he was hopelessly entangled 
 had been dawning on him gradually. At first he 
 tried to laugh it off. He ! It was ridiculous ! In 
 love with a girl who had never been ten miles from
 
 82 THOU SHALT NOT. 
 
 her own doorstone ! In love, as novels picture love, 
 with all its elements of fear and doubt and faintheart- 
 edness ! What would Mendall say, and Perkyns and 
 Middleby ? 
 
 He could not throw his snares one by one around 
 this creature and watch with unmoved brain her 
 pretty struggles to escape. He could not dazzle her 
 with the prospect of a gayer life in the city. He 
 could not undermine her womanly virtue by making 
 light of purity in his old, easy way. Those women 
 who capitulated under a week s siege were not at all 
 like Clara Campbell. 
 
 " I go to-night," he said, as he half reclined on the 
 ground near where Clara sat braiding leaves and 
 flowers into a garland. 
 
 " To-night ?" she repeated, with a little start. 
 " Yes. I have been here a week. Does it seem so 
 long ?" 
 
 " Is it a week ?" she answered, incredulously. 
 " Yes, just seven days. I came on Thursday. 
 Friday I called on you the first time. Saturday I 
 came again, Sunday I went to church to hear you sing. 
 
 Monday " 
 
 " You should have gone to church to hear the ser- 
 mon," she interrupted, in a manner that was meant to 
 be impressive. 
 
 " Probably," he replied. " But being a truthful 
 man, I must repeat that I went there to hear you sing. 
 As witness the fact that I recall the words of the 
 hymn very well, while I cannot remember even the 
 text of the sermon." 
 
 " Then you did wrong," said Clara. 
 " 1 fear I do wrong very often," he said. " I have 
 no one to tell me when I stray. It would have suited 
 me better to lie in some shady nook by the little 
 stream which flows through the valley down there, 
 than to have heard the best sermon ever written.
 
 THOU SHALT NOT. 83 
 
 But to hear you sing I endured the close air of the 
 church, once, twice, yes, I really believe, three times 
 that day." 
 
 She was silent. He wondered if he had said too 
 much. He had not meant his words for flattery, but 
 he feared they would sound like it, and hastened to 
 break the stillness. 
 
 " I was born in the country, and it seems very 
 natural to be there again. I feel, while climbing the 
 hills and treading the valleys, like a traveler who 
 comes to his home after many years of wandering. 
 When a boy I liked nothing better than to go alone 
 into the woods and stay there days and nights to- 
 gether. The earth seems to me now as it did then, 
 the kind bosom of a mother, to which we can always 
 fly when the vexations of life oppress or discourage 
 us." 
 
 " And in whose arms we are at last enfolded for an 
 eternal sleep," said Clara, gravely. 
 
 " Have you ever read what Walt Whitman says 
 about that ?" he asked. " He calls grass the uncut 
 hair of graves." 
 
 " I never read it," she said, " but I think the ex- 
 pression is very beautiful." 
 
 " There is one thing I can't understand," he contin- 
 ued, " and that is, while I find the country in one 
 sense as it was in my boyhood, in another there is a 
 great change." 
 
 "In what way?" 
 
 " I can hardly tell. It is as if something had gone out 
 of it. Here it is June. The sun shines hotly. The 
 insects drone sleepily, the grass is green, the sky is 
 blue. But let me lie here a moment and give myself 
 up to reverie and I am transported back to the old 
 days. 1 feel a warmer sun, I hear a louder hum as the 
 insects pass, I see a greener grass and a bluer sky. 
 Then I rouse myself and it disappears. I cannot 1111-
 
 84 THOU SHALT NOT. 
 
 derstand it, but the rivers are not so clear, the birds 
 sing less sweetly and the air of the hills has lost its 
 exhilaration. I suppose it must be because I am 
 growing old." 
 
 The last expression drew from the girl a light 
 laugh. 
 
 " Wrinkled and gray as you are, how can you ex- 
 pect to see and hear ?" she said. " You do very well 
 to walk without a cane." 
 
 " It is no laughing matter," he responded, " to have 
 passed your thirty-second birthday. The fourteen 
 years before you reach that advanced period, Miss 
 Campbell, ought to be worth more than all the rest of 
 your life." 
 
 " Thirteen years," she corrected, " for I am now 
 nineteen. They will soon be gone, and I shall not 
 regret them if they are wisely spent. That is the 
 main thing after all." 
 
 " Supposing that one has passed those thirteen 
 years and cannot look back upon them with satisfac- 
 tion from your point of view," said Greyburn, looking 
 earnestly at her. " Supposing he sees little there but 
 what he ought to regret." 
 
 " Then I should pity him very much," she answered, 
 "and advise him to be careful of what was left the 
 future ?" 
 
 " I wish I were a Roman Catholic !" he burst out. 
 " I should feel easier after a confession." 
 
 " Let me be your priest," she answered, and in- 
 stantly repented having done so, when it was too late. 
 
 " If you only could !" he exclaimed. " And when I 
 had finished, if you could say, ' I absolve thee.' But 
 I fear you would like me less afterward. You do like 
 me a little now Oh, yes ! you needn't deny it and 
 I couldn't afford to lose it, little as it is." 
 
 " I certainly respect you," she said, in some doubt 
 as to whether it was exactly what she ought to say.
 
 THOU SHALT NOT. 85 
 
 " Then I will not give you cause to lessen that re- 
 spect by unveiling my life," said he. 
 
 "You go to-night, remember," she replied, "and 
 whether you will ever see me again is doubtful. Leave 
 me the hope that whatever has been wrong in your 
 life will be amended." 
 
 " Never see you again !" he exclained, starting to 
 his feet. " Do you place a bar on my ever coming to 
 Springdale ?" 
 
 " I thought I only meant " she stammered. 
 
 " Never see you T he went on, wildly. "You, who 
 are all I care for now in the whole world ! Clara, I 
 love you I adore I worship ! Do not let me 
 frighten you. I know it is hopeless. You are too 
 pure, too good, to link your life with mine. My love 
 is beyond control. It has taken my tongue out of my 
 possession. I beg of you, do not weep." Her tears 
 were flowing freely. " I will try and say no more. 
 Why did I throw myself between you and your peace- 
 ful, innocent, happy life ?" 
 
 She looked up through her tears and he saw with 
 inexpressible relief that her features bore no trace of 
 anger. 
 
 " Do you forgive me ?" he entreated, humbly. 
 
 " I have nothing to pardon," she said in a low voicej 
 " but I fear from your words that God has. His 
 smile is much more needed by you than mine. I do 
 not believe you are the greatest offender in the world, 
 but if you were you might go in trust to Him who has 
 said : ' Though your sins be as scarlet they shall be 
 white as snow ; and though they be red like crim- 
 son they shall be as wool.' " 
 
 He uncovered his head in no pretended reverence 
 as she repeated the sacred words. 
 
 " I have heard that before, more than once," said 
 he, in a low tone, " but to me it has no meaning. I 
 have so little spiritual nature. Everything in me has
 
 86 THOU SHALT NOT. 
 
 been subordinated to pleasure. I have lacked nothing 
 that money could procure, and I thought that in- 
 cluded all. Until this week I believed myself the hap- 
 piest man in the world. Now I would give, oh ! so 
 willingly ! everything I possess if I could say, ' Clara 
 Campbell, I am an honest man ; I have lived a life 
 worthy to join with yours ; will you be my wife ?' I 
 cannot say it. Like a man drowning within sight of 
 the harbor, I can only regret the folly it is too late to 
 undo. I am sinking ! sinking ! sinking !" 
 
 There was an agony in his voice that went to her 
 heart. 
 
 " Speak not so hopelessly," she said, gently. " You 
 are yet ) r oung, with long years of life probably before 
 you. What is past cannot be helped, but all in ad- 
 vance is yours." 
 
 " And you will not hate me ?" he cried. 
 
 " Surely I would never do that. You have the 
 ability to win my highest regard, and I hope, I trust, 
 I pray that you will do it." 
 
 " But never your love ?" said Greyburn. " Never, 
 never, whatever happens, your love ?" 
 
 " We will not speak of that," said the girl, a shadow 
 coming over her features, and the tears rising again. 
 " Let us speak rather of the resolutions you are to 
 make and fulfill. You have talents and should find a 
 noble place in the world. But we must be going. 
 As we walk toward home promise me that you will 
 respect my request." 
 
 " When may I come and see you again ?" 
 
 " When you can say, ' I have done as you advised.' 
 But you had better write at first. I will answer, and 
 I may be able to help you in that way." 
 
 " If I had any faith in myself," said he, with a dis- 
 heartened sigh, " I would promise whatever you 
 might ask, but I have no confidence that I shall per- 
 severe when I am away from your influence. I will
 
 THOU SHALT NOT. 8? 
 
 try, however. Yes, I will keep trying, and at least I 
 will write, for that I shall consider a great privilege." 
 
 They walked on, and when they reached the gate 
 of her cottage he said, suddenly : 
 
 " If suffering and regret would blot out recorded 
 transgressions, the page where mine are kept would 
 be virgin white to-day. I am going from all I love 
 back to the place where lies all I have learned to de- 
 spise. I turn from the gates of Paradise to seek again 
 the portals of Hades. Give me some hope, ever so 
 little, and I will rest content. Clara, some day, if I 
 become what you would have me " 
 
 " Hush !" she said, softly. " Say nothing in your 
 present impetuous mood. Remember that I am an 
 orphan, without a protector in the world.- Good-bye ! 
 Write to me when you reach home. And don't for- 
 get !" 
 
 She was gone. He walked back to the hotel and 
 ordered his horse to be saddled at once. The land- 
 lord endeavored to persuade him to eat some supper, 
 but he said he had no appetite. 
 
 " Do you ride far, to-night ?" asked the landlord. 
 
 " To New York," he replied, absently. 
 
 " Forty miles !" exclaimed mine host. " Say, this 
 won't do. Besides, you. are not looking well. You 
 won't take a bite ? Well, at least let me get you a 
 tumbler of brandy. I have some in the cellar thirty 
 years old, that my father bottled. Just one glass. 
 It'll do you lots of good." 
 
 Greyburn turned from the man almost angrily and 
 sprang into the saddle. His intelligent animal set 
 off at a brisk trot, which he soon exchanged for a 
 canter, and horse and rider disappeared down the 
 road in a twinkling. 
 
 " I would like to know what that means," said the 
 tavern-keeper, nodding his head sagely to his wife, 
 who stood in the doorway to witness the guest's de-
 
 88 THOU SHALT NOT. 
 
 parture. "That fellow has been here a week and 
 has spent the most of it at the old parsonage or walk- 
 ing around by-roads with Miss Campbell. They say 
 he's a great friend of Walter's, but I'm thinking he 
 hasn't stayed here a week on his account. Did you 
 see his face ? He looked like a ghost, and I know 
 they was off together all the afternoon. By hokey ! 
 Do you suppose he asked her to marry him and got 
 the mitten. I'd bet that load of hay standing under 
 the shed there that's just what's happened." 
 
 " Bah !" exclaimed his wife. " Don't be a fool, 
 Judson. Do you suppose Clara Campbell is a born 
 idiot ! Without a cent of her own, except that little 
 tumble-down house, do you thing she'd refuse a man 
 who's rolling in money ? No, sir, it's something 
 deeper than that." 
 
 " Weil, perhaps you'd better tell us all about it, if 
 you know so much," said the husband, ironically. 
 " I'm sure of one thing, the fellow looked all broke 
 up, and he'd just left Clara at her gate, for I see 'em 
 myself as I was driving up the road. And I know 
 another thing, he was as bright as he ever was at one 
 o'clock, when he eat his dinner, and went down the 
 lane whistling like a boy. Now he's rode off like a 
 wild man, and if he don't kill that ere hoss before he 
 gets to New York, I miss my guess ; that's a blamed 
 fine hoss, too," he added, regretfully. 
 
 " Don't ye fret about that hoss," remarked the 
 stable boy, who came up just in time to hear his mas- 
 ter's closing words. " Mr. Grey burn thinks more o' 
 that Robin than he would of a child. I'll bet that 
 hoss would go on a canter all the way to York an' not 
 hurt him a bit, an' he'd do it inside o' three hours, 
 too." 
 
 " Probably he thinks more of that hoss, Sam, than 
 he does of the minister's darter," said the landlord,
 
 THOU SHALT NOT. 89 
 
 with the view of ascertaining whether any ideas 
 worth having- could be got out of the boy. 
 
 " I don't know nothin* about that," said Sam, " but 
 if that ere Robin was mine, I wouldn't swap him for 
 all the gals this side o' Kal'mazoo. An' he's the gen- 
 tleman ! See what he chipped me as he was startin' 
 off." 
 
 The boy exhibited a five dollar bill, to the amaze- 
 ment of the innkeeper and his wife. 
 
 " See here ! Part of that belongs to me," said the 
 landlord, advancing suddenly, as if to claim his rights, 
 then and there, vi et armis. 
 
 " Don't ye wish ye may get it," said the youth, deris- 
 ively, springing out of reach. It was as useless to 
 follow him as to try to catch a squirrel. He went 
 down the lane singing, and the landlord sorrowfully 
 followed his wife into the house. 
 
 But Greyburn ! where was he ? 
 
 CHAPTER VIII. 
 
 FAST and faster through the cool evening air sped' 
 Robin and his rider. Greyburn's brain was all in a 
 whirl. For the first few miles his rapid thoughts 
 seemed to be leaving his old life behind him and 
 speeding onward to a new one. Then it changed, and 
 every step seemed taking him back to the scene of all 
 his sin, made doubly hateful by the awakening he had 
 just experienced. Involuntarily he slackened the pace 
 of his beast, until at last, ten miles from Springdale, 
 he came to a walk and then to a dead stop. Indecision 
 took possession of the rider. He dismounted and 
 threw himself on the ground under a tree near the 
 roadside, leaving the horse to crop the rich herbage 
 which grew by the fences. The moon rose early and
 
 90 THOU SHALT NOT. 
 
 found him there. A terrible conflict was going on in 
 his mind. At last a town clock in the distance broke 
 the stillness by sounding twelve strokes. Greyburn 
 stepped slowly and mechanically to where Robin 
 awaited him. Mounting the faithful beast again, he 
 turned his head once more in the direction of Spring- 
 dale. He rode slowly at starting, as if not yet quite 
 decided. Then, suddenly, he burst out with the 
 exclamation : 
 
 " I must do it !" and giving the word and rein to 
 his horse he rode at great speed toward the village 
 he had quitted five hours before. 
 
 Clouds crossed the moon's face. A quick, sharp 
 summer shower came on and drenched him to the 
 skin. His clothing was splashed with mud. 
 
 Entering the village, he reduced his horse's pace to 
 a walk. He turned into a lane and slipped to the 
 earth. 
 
 " Wait there, Robin, till I come," he whispered, and 
 walked slowly across the field until he could see the 
 old parsonage. 
 
 Everything was as still as death, save the soft drip- 
 pings from the trees and the old house as the remains 
 of the shower fell drop by drop to the grass below. 
 The clouds across the moon favored his purpose, and 
 made him less likely to be observed. 
 
 He knew the house well. A giant elm stood close 
 to one side. He climbed the tree as quietly as a cat 
 could have done. When even with the attic window, 
 which stood open, he passed his body from the tree to 
 the inside of the house. 
 
 Was he bent on burglary or murder ? Either might 
 have been suspected from his actions. 
 
 Stealthily he glided along the floor. The house was 
 built with solid oak timbers and no sound betrayed 
 his presence. He reached a stairway. Descending- 
 slowly he came to a door. Until this moment he had
 
 THOU SHALT NOT. 9! 
 
 lost no time. Now he hesitated. Only for a moment, 
 however. Then he turned the knob and without a 
 sound stepped into the room. 
 
 It was Clara Campbell's chamber. The moon steal- 
 ing out from the clouds at the moment, threw its 
 light upon the scene. In her snowy drapery, upon 
 the little cottage bedstead, lay the school-teacher. 
 Her pure, almost angelic face was turned to the light. 
 One white arm hung over the edge of the couch. 
 Her quiet breathing was all that suggested life. 
 Otherwise she might have been a wonderful statue of 
 marble. 
 
 Greyburn stood for some minutes gazing upon the 
 scene. His mind was torn by conflicting emotions. 
 At one moment he wished he had not come. At the 
 next he banished all such thoughts and tried to think 
 how next to proceed. A slight rustle decided him, 
 and with two steps he was at Clara's side. He hastily 
 planted himself upon the edge of the bed, and with a 
 quick motion covered her mouth with one hand, at 
 the same time holding her so that she could not move, 
 and whispering excitedly that it was he that it was 
 Hector, and she must not be afraid. 
 
 Clara Campbell was intensely startled when she 
 awoke and found herself thus clasped in Greyburn's 
 arms. She had always felt as safe in the old house 
 as though a regiment of soldiers guarded her. She 
 knew it contained nothing in worldy wealth to make 
 it a likely place for robbers to attack, and in her 
 pure soul she never dreamed it necessary to have 
 another person on the premises as a protection to her- 
 self. After retiring the previous evening she had 
 lain awake for hours thinking of Greyburn and his 
 strange confessions. Until that day she had never 
 thought of him as an evil being. His goodness or 
 badness, morally, had never entered into the account. 
 She had supposed from the generosity which he had
 
 92 THOU SHALT NOT. 
 
 showed to Walter that he was one of the few, better 
 than the average, and had respected him accordingly. 
 During the visit he had just made to Springdale he 
 had done his best, until the very end, to convey a good 
 impression, and Clara had learned to like him ex- 
 tremely well. Unpleasant as were the events of the 
 day, they had not served to take this " liking" from 
 her heart. After he left her, her whole thought in re- 
 gard to him took the vein of sympathy. He seemed 
 to her like a soul under conviction, as her father 
 would have said, and the religious element was so 
 strong in her that his condition, seen in that light, 
 over-balanced all other considerations. She dropped 
 asleep with his troubles deep upon her mind, and 
 when she awoke it did not seem so strange as it 
 might have been to find him before her eyes. Still 
 the time, the place, and her own unprotected condi- 
 tion served to fill her with instant alarm. She re- 
 flected that he had accused himself of being sinful 
 almost beyond his own control. His present con- 
 duct was not calculated to inspire confidence. Her 
 maidenly modesty joined in the protest made by her 
 fears and even overbalanced them She struggled 
 for a minute, in spite of his repeated protestations 
 that he meant no harm and would release her the in- 
 stant she would consent to hear quietly what he had 
 to say. Finally her reason returned and she lay pas- 
 sive. 
 
 "Clara, darling Clara!" said Greyburn, speaking 
 rapidly, in a tremulous voice, " do not fear me. I 
 would not harm you for a million worlds. I know I 
 should not have come here, and I do not expect you 
 will ever forgive me for it, but my feelings overcame 
 me. I love you so, my dearest, that I could not resist 
 spending one more hour with you an hour that 
 everything seems to tell me will be the last. I rode 
 as fast as I could away, but your face kept calling me
 
 THOU SHALT NOT. 93 
 
 back. To go on was to reach again my old associa- 
 tions, and I did not dare go among them as I felt 
 to-night. Here, under this roof, I knew dwelt purity, 
 innocence ! everything with which life should be 
 adorned. I felt that I must see you. To ring at the 
 door would have been worse than useless at this hour, 
 and I entered like a thief at the attic window. I 
 came not to profane, but to adore. I came to get 
 strength to meet my adversaries on the morrow. Do 
 not drive me away. Forget the hour and your attire, 
 and remember only a distracted fellow-creature, who 
 craves your pity and begs your sympathy. If I seem 
 rude, it is not because I would be so, but to prevent 
 you from alarming the village, and thus bringing a 
 worse fate upon yourself. Darling Clara Miss 
 Campbell say that you will answer me in your 
 ordinary voice and I will gladly let you speak. You 
 will ? Then do so, and let your first words deal as 
 gently with me as they may." 
 
 " Mr. Greyburn," said Clara, her voice trembling in 
 spite of her attempts to force it into calmness, "in 
 the name of all that you hold dear I ask you to leave 
 this house as quickly as possible. Every moment you 
 stay is fraught with the most terrible danger to us 
 both. Were it known that you came here my reputa- 
 tion would be forever blasted. If you care for me as 
 you say you do, lose not an instant in complying with 
 my request." 
 
 She saw his flushed face pale in the moonlight and 
 witnessed his teeth set themselves together. 
 
 " Clara," he said, "if to stay doomed me to the gal- 
 lows I would not could not go. I have forfeited 
 everything now, and I will not be driven away by any 
 such argument as the one you advance." 
 
 " Then," she said, her voice growing stronger as she 
 proceeded, "do at least this thing for me. Go down 
 to the parlor and wait there until I can dress and
 
 94 THOU SHALT NOT. 
 
 join you. If you cannot do that, never let the word 
 ' love' pass your lips again." 
 
 He looked into her face doubtfully. 
 
 "And if I go," he asked, "have I your word of 
 honor that you will join me there ? Will you promise 
 not to make any sound to alarm the neighbors or try 
 to escape ? Pardon me, my best-beloved, if I make 
 conditions. You see I am desperate. If you will 
 give your word to what I ask I will go. If you break 
 it after it is given, God only knows where this will 
 end." 
 
 " I promise," said Clara. " Now hasten go do 
 not delay until some new fancy seizes you." 
 
 " I will go," he replied, " but give me one kiss. I 
 must have that. I " 
 
 "Hector Greyburn /" She tore herself from his 
 arms with extraordinary strength. He quailed be- 
 fore the look she gave him and stole like a guilty 
 creature from the room. 
 
 The instant he closed the door, she sprang and 
 bolted it, and then fell on her knees. Her lips moved 
 a moment in prayer. Then, hastily dressing herself, 
 she sought Greyburn down stairs. 
 
 "I am here as I promised," was her greeting, as 
 he sprang up to receive her. " Now once more I beg 
 I implore you to go." 
 
 "Not until I have talked with you," he said. " Not 
 until you give me some hope. Clara ! If I knew you 
 would be the reward at the end no matter how long 
 or how hard the road I could persevere. But what 
 have I to look to ? This night makes or unmakes me. 
 Clara ! If you knew my life ! I cannot bear the 
 thought of going back to it, and yet without you I 
 must go back. To win you I will do anything. I 
 know that what I said yesterday, and especially what 
 I am doing to-night, cannot raise me in your estima- 
 tion, unless you look beyond appearances into my
 
 THOU SHALT NOT. 95 
 
 heart and see how wholly desolate it is. Say that 
 you will be my wife ! I will never be harsh with you. 
 I will love you as no other woman was ever loved. 
 I will abandon all evil and at your feet learn to do 
 well. Do not say no." 
 
 He turned his white face toward her and she pitied 
 him from the bottom of her heart. If she had felt 
 aversion it was all gone now. 
 
 " Hector," she said, softly, " you should not yield 
 to such tempests of passion as this. I could not have 
 one particle of respect for myself if I answered as 
 you wish under such what shall I call it compul- 
 sion. Think what you are being led to do. Out of 
 what you believe is your love for me, you are pos- 
 sibly inflicting an injury which you can never live 
 long enough to efface. Should it become known to a 
 single person that you were in this house at this hour, 
 I am ruined. Do as I tell you. Go back to the city. 
 Strive to do what is right. Send me letters and I 
 will answer them. Curb your rashness and remem- 
 ber that you are a man ?" 
 
 Greyburn sat like one dazed. She saw that he was 
 yielding and pressed her advantage. 
 
 " Mr. Greyburn Hector for my sake, go at once!" 
 
 He rose mechanically and followed her to the rear 
 door. She unlocked it and he stepped out into the 
 night. Something in his face told her he would not 
 break his resolution. She bade him good-bye in a 
 low voice and turned to close the entrance, when a 
 new sound stayed her. It was a noise as of scuffling 
 on the lawn. She stepped outside again and saw two 
 figures engaged in a passionate struggle. One of 
 them was Greyburn. She sprang to the place where 
 the fighting was going on. Then she saw that the 
 other was John Dinsmore. It was no child's play 
 that was taking place. Two athletes had met and the 
 quarrel was not a light ope.
 
 96 THOU SHALT NOT. 
 
 " Stop /" 
 
 At her voice Greyburn, who had the advantage of 
 hold at that moment, released it, and both men stood 
 confronting each other and her. 
 
 "What does this mean ?" she demanded, looking 
 from one to the other with imperious glances. 
 
 "Ask him," said Greyburn, alluding to the black- 
 smith. "Ask him why he sprang on me like a tiger 
 and tried to strangle me." 
 
 "John Dinsmore, is this true ?" 
 
 The blacksmith disdained to reply directly. "Let 
 it pass," he said. " He and I'll meet ag'in." 
 
 " No, you shall not go," said Clara, stepping in front 
 of him. " I wish to know who gave you authority to 
 assault my guest." 
 
 " Your guest ?" repeated Dinsmore, looking at Clara 
 and then at Greyburn. " Your guest ! At two o'clock 
 in the night ! and you alone ! and with a man o' that 
 character ! Do you own it ?" 
 
 Greyburn did not allow Miss Campbell to reply to 
 this. 
 
 " If it were not for arousing the village and bringing 
 a scandal on this house," he said, " I'd teach you man- 
 ners. I will, as it is, if Miss Campbell will permit me." 
 
 He actually looked at her for consent, as if he half 
 expected it. 
 
 Dinsmore replied by a contemptuous glance. 
 
 " Once more I ask you," said Clara, " why you 
 trouble my guest ? Why do you constitute yourself 
 my guardian ? Why do you spy around my house in 
 the night time ? Answer me, John Dinsmore !" 
 
 " A perfect gentleman !" he ironically muttered. 
 " White hands, diamonds, money. Any hour will do 
 for him" 
 
 He strode off across the fields. 
 
 "You see what trouble you bring to me," said 
 Clara, looking after the retreating form with tears in
 
 THOU SHALT NOT, 97 
 
 her eyes. " Do not waste another instant in going 1 . 
 Get to the city as fast as you can. And another 
 thing," she continued, as she saw him preparing to 
 obey, "lookout for that man. He bears you no good 
 will and I am afraid he is dangerous. He has known 
 Walter and I ever since we were babies and he will 
 not tolerate anything which he thinks will harm us-. 
 Many a night I have known him to get up from his 
 bed and come and watch my house. Had he been 
 early enough to see you enter he might have done you 
 serious in jury. Hector I mean Mr. Greyburn don't 
 treat this matter lightly, but have a thought for your 
 safety." 
 
 " You would care, then, if he killed me ?" said 
 Greyburn, a look of joy stealing over his face. 
 
 " How shocking ! Of course I should care," cried 
 the girl ; and then she added in a sort of sad half- 
 earnest tone, " You must not die until you are better 
 prepared than now." 
 
 "Never so well as when the brightest of all the 
 angels stands ready to receive my soul," he replied, 
 with affected gayety. Then seeing that the levity of 
 his answer pained her, he added : " Farewell, my 
 guardian spirit. I will try to become worthy of you." 
 
 She walked with him to where Robin stood wait- 
 ing, and bade him good-bye as he rode down the lane. 
 
 " Don't forget !" were her last words. " John is a 
 desperate man." 
 
 She ran as far as the high road to see him safely 
 beyond the little bridge at the forge, and returned 
 with her eyes blinded with tears. 
 
 " Wicked as he is wrong as he was to-night," she 
 sobbed, " I would not like any harm to happen to 
 him." And kneeling once more by her bedside, she 
 prayed : 
 
 " O God ! dear God ! bless Hector and keep all evil 
 from bringing him to hurt."
 
 98 THOU SHALT NOT. 
 
 CHAPTER IX 
 
 GREYBURN rode until sunrise, and then, bethinking 
 himself that his horse had gone quite far enough 
 since yestereve, he stopped at a country hotel for rest. 
 The day which followed was very warm, and he kept 
 indoors until evening, when he remounted and 
 finished the journey to his city home. His mind was 
 in a tangle. He almost wondered as he ascended the 
 high steps of his residence whether this was the man 
 who used to occupy that house or some stranger who 
 looked enough like him to pass the doorkeeper. He 
 went to his room, vouchsafing the briefest answers to 
 the " Good-evenings " of the servants. Throwing 
 himself heavily into a cushioned arm-chair, he sat for 
 a long time in silence. 
 
 " A week ago," so his thoughts ran " I left this 
 house a happy, careless, contented being, for a run 
 into the country. I was going to have a little visit 
 with a girl who was nothing to me, and whom I did 
 not expect I should ever wish to be anything. I in- 
 tended to pass a week in the fresh air, with country 
 living, good scenerj, and a cheerful, pretty compan- 
 ion. Now I return, dispirited, unhappy. Something 
 without a name has taken control of me. I have 
 avowed the possession of a pure love I, Hector 
 Greyburn, the libertine, the practiced seducer, who 
 have always boasted a contempt for everything called 
 virtuous. I have promised a little, unpracticed 
 country girl to leave all my former habits, and em- 
 brace others which I have hither to despised, all in 
 exchange for her love. Am I mad ? Is this myself ? 
 Is this my house ? Am I the man I was, or has some- 
 thing changed me into another ? Give up wealth 
 ease, all for one pair of bright eyes ! Impossible !
 
 THOU SHALT NOT. 99 
 
 And yet, I do love her. Clara Campbell, deny it as I 
 may, it is true. I love you ! I love you !" 
 
 A knock came at the door and Nettie's face peeped 
 in. 
 
 " Mr. Walter Campbell is here, sir. Will you see 
 him ?" 
 
 " No ! No ! Wait ! Let me think. Walter here ? 
 What time is it ? My watch has not been wound to- 
 day." 
 
 " It is about one o'clock, sir. Mr. Campbell wished 
 particularly to see you." 
 
 " Shall I ?" muttered Greyburn to himself. Then 
 raising his head he said, " Show him into the back 
 parlor and say I will be there presently." 
 
 He turned up several of the burners in the dimly- 
 lighted chandelier and took a survey of himself in 
 the pier-glass. He was white, tired-looking, almost 
 haggard. His raiment still showed the marks of the 
 muddy ride, for in his rest at the hotel his mind had 
 been too busily occupied to think of his personal ap- 
 pearance. 
 
 " I look more like an escaped lunatic than a city 
 gentleman," he mused, and proceeded to make the 
 necessary alterations in his attire, stopping at the end 
 to apply cologne to his face, and especially to his eye- 
 lids, in an endeavor to take away the weary expres- 
 sion. He also essayed a brighter look, and practised a 
 smile of two before the mirror ere he turned away. 
 
 " Ah ! Walter," he said, cordially greeting the 
 young man as he entered the room where he waited, 
 " I did not expect a caller to-night, but I am glad to 
 see you always." 
 
 " I rang and found that you had returned," re- 
 sponded Walter, " and thought a brief call would not 
 be out of place. I'd been to the theatre and after 
 that had a game of billiards with some fellows. 
 Come to start home I felt confoundedly dull, and
 
 IOO THOU SHALT NOT. 
 
 thought you might cheer me up a bit. You're always 
 so full of spirits, you know." 
 
 " Yes," said Greyburn, absently, and hardly bear- 
 ing out the description. How much the lad looked 
 like Clara ! 
 
 " Where did you go?" queried Walter, after wait- 
 ing in vain for his companion to say more. 
 
 " Where ?" repeated Greyburn, with a slight start. 
 " Oh, into the country. Up among the hills. Just for 
 a run. Nothing special." His voice would have be- 
 trayed him with a more experienced judge than 
 young Campbell. 
 
 How much Walter looked like his sister ! 
 
 " I wish I had been with you," said the other. 
 " Terribly dull here. The theatres are positivel)' 
 awful. Nothing on but trash, you know ! I've run 
 down to Long Branch, but there's no fun there. The 
 beaches around here are insufferable. The country 
 would do for a change, but I probably sha'n't go any- 
 where this year for long. I wish winter was here 
 again. There's always something in the winter." 
 
 " Yes," assented Greyburn, again. It was Clara's 
 face, but not her voice. Their eyes were very nearly 
 alike. He was considerably the taller. 
 
 " Come, what's up, old fellow ?" said Walter, with 
 the familiarity which boon companionship had taught 
 him. " You're not as cheerful as usual to-night. 
 One would think ha ! ha ! that you'd fallen in love ?" 
 
 " I have," said Greyburn, desperately. 
 
 He spoke with such a peculiar intonation that the 
 young man ceased to smile and looked deeply inter- 
 ested instead. 
 
 " You !" he exclaimed. " You in love ! And sober 
 as a church deacon over it, too ! What's the matter, 
 old man ? You haven't met your match at last, have 
 you ? Don't tell me that the girl has sent you flying.
 
 THOU SHALT NOT. 1 01 
 
 What would the boys say if I should bring them such 
 a story. No, I don't believe it myself." 
 
 " You will oblige me, if you please, by telling them 
 nothing. It's not their business." 
 
 " Probably it's not mine, either," said Walter, hotly. 
 So Clara's eyes had flashed when he asked her to kiss 
 him ! 
 
 "Walter, my boy," he said, very gently, "I only 
 meant the others, not you. If I had not wanted you 
 to know, would I have told you ?" 
 
 The young man was mollified instantly. 
 
 " I was too quick !" he said. " I always am. No 
 one but you would bear with my temper. But I am 
 all curiosity. Tell me about it. It seems so incredible. 
 She is handsome, of course." 
 
 " The fairest creature earth ever beheld," said 
 Greyburn, reverently. 
 
 " To be sure. And young, of course. Virtuous to 
 the core and lovely to distraction. All this goes with- 
 out saying when she has captivated you. But how 
 was it that j^our arts didn't work ? Did your magic 
 power lose its efficacy ? Did the evil genii steal your 
 fairy wand ? Or was she protected by bands of bright 
 spirits, who came in just at the wrong moment and 
 overcame your charms ? You see, I have been to a 
 spectacular play to-night and these things suggest 
 themselves perforce." 
 
 Greyburn heard this ironical speech with strange 
 feelings. What would Walter say if he knew of 
 whom they were speaking ? 
 
 "You jest almost too much," he said, presently. 
 "You see lam not in your mood." 
 
 " I see it has hit you hard," replied Walter, " but it 
 will be sure to come out all right in time. When you 
 get over your blueness a little you will go to the 
 attack with renewed courage. It will be hard for me
 
 IO2 THOU SHALT NOT. 
 
 to believe a woman lives who can withstand yon, 
 when you really try. Tell me more about her." 
 
 " She is nineteen," said Greyburn, looking the lad 
 in the eyes like one fascinated. 
 
 "Just the age." 
 
 " Fair-haired." 
 
 " The sweetest kind." 
 
 " An orphan." 
 
 " Excellent !" 
 
 " Poor." 
 
 " Best of all." 
 
 " And very beautiful." 
 
 " So you said before. Well, Hector Greyburn, if 
 you can't win a girl of that description to your will, 
 you ought never to show your head at the Club again. 
 An orphan, did you say ? Any old uncle or guardian 
 about ?" 
 
 " Not a soul," said Greyburn, with startling dis- 
 tinctness. " Not a protector in the world. Nothing 
 but her own strong sense and innate purity to guard 
 her." 
 
 Would not Walter understand ? It seemed as if 
 they had almost spoken the name. 
 
 " It's your lucky star !" cried the visitor. " Such 
 chances only fall to those who are under the guidance 
 of the beneficent planets. And you can't bend this 
 girl ! You give her up ? You ?" 
 
 Could it be that this man was her brother ? 
 
 "Supposing," said Greyburn, very deliberately, 
 " that I had fallen so deeply in love that I could not 
 bear to think of profaning my idol ! Supposing that 
 I had decided to offer her marriage !" 
 
 Walter burst into a wild laugh. 
 
 " I beg your pardon," he stammered, as soon as he 
 could control himself. " It was d d impolite, but if 
 I was to die I couldn't help it." 
 
 "What would you say were I to tell you in sober
 
 THOU SHALT NOT. 103 
 
 earnest that I shall do exactly that ?" pursued Grey- 
 burn, entirely unruffled by the outburst. 
 
 "Why, what everybody would say !" cried Walter, 
 "if you'll excuse the expression; that you were a 
 fool !" He laughed again. 
 
 " Why !" persisted Grey burn. 
 
 " Haven't you told us a hundred times why ? Must 
 I go on and reiterate to you your own arguments? 
 Marriage, the grave of love ! The cursed compact 
 which ties two souls in lingering agony until blessed 
 death cuts the hated cord ! The humdrum-life which 
 only idiots will consent to lead ! Or shall I draw the 
 contrast, as you so often have done for me, between 
 that state and the blissful, ecstatic, etherealized loves 
 of the unwedded ? Loves which can be broken at 
 will and resumed at pleasure ! Loves like those of 
 the feathered songsters of the air, the variegated 
 flowers on the hillside, or the evening dews which 
 greet the summer grasses at sunset and hie away at 
 daybreak ! Marriage, the miserable dregs of the 
 tapster's ale-barrel ! Love, the champagne spark- 
 ling from the vaults of the Widow Cliquot ! Why, 
 indeed !" 
 
 Greyburn recognized each of the expressions thrown 
 at him with such reckless audacity. 
 
 "Do you deny the truth of the lessons you have 
 taught your pupils ?" laughed Walter, with a mock- 
 serious air. " Will the teacher tell his class that he 
 was wrong when he said that the earth was round, 
 and that it went every year of its life on a pleasure- 
 trip about the sun ?" 
 
 Greyburn scarcely heard him. He was thinking 
 how much there was like Clara in the way he carried 
 his head. The eyes were the same. The hair a little 
 darker. The mouth yes, there was the difference. 
 When Walter ceased to speak, his challenging words
 
 104 THOU SHALT NOT. 
 
 seemed to come back like a dim echo, and the burden 
 of them penetrated Greyburn's mind at last. 
 
 " You will perhaps admit," he said, " that if I have 
 taught you wrongly, I ought to set you right now. 
 Not by precept only but by example." 
 
 "And do you really seriously think of getting 
 married ?" asked Walter. 
 
 "If the woman I love will marry me." 
 
 " Oh, that's in doubt, is it ?" 
 
 "Yes." 
 
 " She is poor, you say ?" 
 
 "She is." 
 
 "With no expectations ?" 
 
 " None." 
 
 " Does she know you have money ?" 
 
 " She knows it all." 
 
 " Then she doesn't think you are in earnest," said 
 Walter. 
 
 " She knows I am fearfully in earnest ; that I 
 would marry her to-night if she would let me." 
 
 " She hasn't refused you ?" 
 
 " She has done just that." 
 
 " She will repent and change her mind." 
 
 " If I thought she wouldn't " began Greyburn ; 
 and then added, with a look and tone which removed 
 the last trace of doubt in Walter's mind, " No matter 
 what I've said in the past, I mean what I say now. I 
 shall quit entirely, absolutely and forever the life 
 I have been leading." 
 
 Walter hesitated. 
 
 " Will you leave this house ?" 
 
 " Most certainly." 
 
 "Bat Nettie Susan ne Gabrielle." 
 
 " I will think of those things by-and-bye. I am re- 
 solved to go. The detail I can arrange later." 
 
 " It quite startles me," said Walter. " I can't com- 
 prehend it. I only wish I was able to step in when
 
 THOU SHALT NOT. 10$ 
 
 you step out. If you sell the furnishings, save me a 
 piece or two of bric-a-brac. By Jove ! A happy 
 thought ! Commend me to Gabrielle." He broke 
 into a snatch of song : 
 
 " I'm dying for some one to love me !" 
 
 " Are you ever serious ?" said Greyburn, looking at 
 the young man with something indescribable in his 
 eyes. 
 
 " Oh, don't you begin to preach !" cried Walter, 
 with a little laugh. " Don't enter the pulpit just yet. 
 If you're determined past all remedy to go to the dogs 
 yourself, don't scold your friends quite so soon for 
 following your old ways. Well, it's after two, and I 
 must be going. Good-night." 
 
 "Good-night," replied Greyburn. He held the ex- 
 tended hand an instant longer than usual. 
 
 " I'll not speak to any one about what you've told 
 me," said Walter. "You may let it out when you 
 please. I shall still hope for your recovery. There 
 is to be a meeting of the club next Thursday, you 
 know. Don't throw that up as your parting act. It 
 wouldn't leave a good impression. Think this matter 
 all over candidly and prayerfully, as they say and, 
 if you're still of the same mind, break it to us dra- 
 matically at the dinner. Put out your best wine and 
 let us take leave of you in the correct style. And 
 say ! Don't forget to speak to Gabrielle. I'm first, 
 you know." 
 
 Greyburn went to his room, threw himself on a sofa 
 and burst into tears. 
 
 Yes. He couldn't help it. It seemed so much as if 
 Clara had been there there in that house which 
 the gold of the Orient would not have induced him to, 
 let her enter even for a moment.
 
 IO6 THOU SHALT NOT. 
 
 CHAPTER X. 
 
 WHEN Greyburn awoke the next morning he lay 
 for an hour or more in bed, thinking-. His intentions 
 of reform were still strong in his mind and made the 
 basis of his calculations ; but now more than a day 
 had passed since he left Clara, and her influence was 
 not quite so strong as yesterday. He still meant to 
 leave his old associations, but there seemed no need 
 of undue haste. He thought, on reflection, that he 
 had better not be rash about it. Last night he would 
 have sacrificed every dollar he had and have been 
 quite content with an empty pocket and Clara Camp- 
 bell's love. This morning it seemed to him that 
 money was not so undesirable a thing after all, and 
 that a fellow to whom fortune had given a share of 
 it, ought to treat the gift with becoming respect. All 
 his plans still centered in Clara, all his hopes were in 
 her coming to like him after he had made himself 
 what she would have him be. The difference in his 
 mood was this. He was less under the control of ex- 
 citement and more under that of ordinary reason. 
 
 He ate the eggs and coffee which Nettie brought 
 him, and went down the street for a walk. Passing 
 near his banker's he bethought himself of an errand 
 there. Taking a check-book from his pocket he in- 
 serted figures for a small amount and passed the 
 paper in to the cashier. That functionary turned to 
 his ledger, then said : 
 
 tf Your account is already overdrawn, sir, more than 
 a thousand dollars." 
 
 " Impossible !" ejaculated Greyburn. 
 
 "There is no mistake, sir. See June 20, four 
 hundred and eighty dollars June 26, eight hundred 
 and seventy-six dollars July i, one thousand six 
 hundred and twenty-five dollars "
 
 THOU SHALT NOT. IO/ 
 
 " Let me see the checks," said Greyburn. The 
 cashier brought them to him. 
 
 "Here they are, sir. You see they are all right, 
 ' Pay to order of self 480-876.' " 
 
 Greyburn looked a good deal puzzled as he surve) T ed 
 the checks and saw his signature so plainly written at 
 the end of each. He could not remember ever having 
 drawn or signed them, and the last two were dated 
 while he was in the country, when he knew he had 
 drawn no money. 
 
 " You see they are all right," repeated the cashier, 
 for want of something else to say. It was quite 
 evident from Greyburn's look that they were not all 
 right. 
 
 " They all seem to be here," he said. " I must 
 have forgotten some of them. Let me see who came 
 for the money ?" 
 
 " A young man about twenty-one or twenty-two, 
 who has been here for you before, drew some of them. 
 Mr. Johnson ! You know that young man who drew 
 the money on the check for Mr. Greyburn the other 
 day. You spoke to him, you remember." 
 
 " Mr. Campbell ?" queried the person addressed. 
 
 "Yes, Mr. Campbell. He's a clerk at City Hall, I 
 believe. Of course it's all right, sir." 
 
 " Oh, certainly !" said Greyburn, with perfect calm- 
 ness. " I recollect now. It's not like me to overdraw. 
 How much am I short ?" 
 
 " Just one thousand and thirty-seven dollars and 
 twenty-six cents, sir." 
 
 "Very well. I'll turn some stocks and cover it in a 
 day or two. I must have lost my reckoning." 
 
 It's no matter, I assure you," said the president of 
 the bank, who had overheard the conversation from 
 an adjacent desk, and now came forward with a 
 smiling countenance. " Don't incommode yourself, I
 
 IOS THOU SHALT NOT. 
 
 beg. Take your time, Mr. Greyburn ; take your 
 time." 
 
 " Thank you," 'said Greyburn. He walked out on 
 the street, with the checks in his hand. Hailing a 
 passing carriage, he drove straight to City Hall and 
 entered the office where Walter Campbell sat writ- 
 ing. 
 
 " Can I see you alone for a few minutes ?" he asked. 
 
 " Certainly," said Walter. " Here, step in this 
 way." Then, when the door was closed, " You're 
 looking better than )*ou were last night, old fellow. 
 I knew sleep would bring you around. Have you 
 given up the crazy scheme you unfolded to me, or 
 are you still determined to wreck your life on matri- 
 monial shoals ?" 
 
 "Do you see those checks?" demanded Greyburn, 
 paying no attention to the young man's speech. 
 
 " Do I see them ? I see something ; yes, they are 
 checks. Paid checks. Been through the bank," said 
 Walter, taking them and eying them quizzically. 
 " Like squeezed lemons. You couldn't raise much on 
 them now." 
 
 " Who filled them out ? Who wrote that name at 
 the end ? Who collected the amounts specified in the 
 corners ?" demanded Greyburn, getting out of temper. 
 
 " Well, I should say," said Walter, turning and hold- 
 ing one of the checks to the light, that the name at 
 the end was ' H. Greyburn.' Not very clear, and yet 
 tolerably distinct. I presume he could tell you all 
 about them." 
 
 Greyburn gave a gesture of impatience. 
 
 "I've just come from the bank," he said, with ris- 
 ing voice, " and the cashier tells me you drew this 
 money, two thousand eight hundred and twenty-five 
 dollars. Do you deny it ?" 
 
 " Does he say so ?" queried Walter. " The cashier ? 
 What's his name, oh, yes ! Mr. Stedman, He says
 
 THOU SHALT NOT. 109 
 
 that I drew this money, does he ? Well, I would not 
 like to dispute him if he is sure of it. These cashiers 
 are pretty good at remembering, you know." 
 
 Greyburn was rather taken aback at this tacit confes- 
 sion, and still more so at the cool, unconcerned way 
 in which young Campbell made it. 
 
 " Drop your nonsense, Walter," he said, " and tell 
 me what this means. You have forged my name for 
 two thousand eight hundred and twenty-five dollars 
 and drawn the cash. Why did you do it ? You knew 
 I would have lent you money if you had asked for it, 
 as I have so often done before. Why take and steal 
 it behind my back? I did not think you were a 
 thief," he added, becoming exasperated to see that 
 Walter gave no sign of appreciating his position. 
 
 " Didn't you ?" said Campbell, with a mocking 
 smile. "Thanks for your good opinion, I'm sure. 
 Wish I could return the compliment." 
 
 " What do you mean by that ?" demanded Grey- 
 burn, advancing toward his companion. " Is it not 
 enough to rob me without adding insult to it ?" 
 
 Walter looked perfectly unmoved. 
 
 " No hard expressions, my friend, if you please. 
 They won't settle a thing like this. If they would I 
 could meet words with words. The place we are in is 
 not the best one in the world, either, in which to come 
 to an understanding. I called at your house last night 
 on purpose to tell you about these checks and save 
 you trouble at the bank. You were not feeling well, 
 and so I passed it for the time. Let it go now until 
 this evening and I will call up and explain it to your 
 satisfaction." 
 
 " You will explain it, as you call it, now and here," 
 said Greyburn, "or you will explain it to the Tombs 
 judge. Say what you have to say quickly or I shall 
 call an officer." 
 
 Walter laughed discordantly.
 
 IIO THOU SHALT NOT. 
 
 " If he takes me he'll take you, too," he said. 
 " There'll be a pair of us. I'll take pot luck with you." 
 
 Greyburn hesitated. 
 
 ' Arrest me, would they ?" he queried. " You for 
 the forgery and me for being victimized, I suppose." 
 
 "Bah !" cried Walter, throwing off his mock levity. 
 " Do you want me to talk ? Shall I tell you why you 
 don't dare have me arrested ? Do you think I don't 
 know all about you how you've made your money 
 how you and Mendall have grown rich ? Did you 
 suppose I would be blind forever, a mere mole toiling 
 in the earth to make it produce for you, and I get 
 nothing ?" 
 
 " I don't understand you," said Greyburn, coldly. 
 
 " No, I suppose not," replied Walter, ironically. 
 " You wouldn't like to understand me. It would have 
 suited you better if I had never understood you, either. 
 But I have the secret now. I know as well as you or 
 Mendall how to coin money at my will. I know more 
 than either of you, for I now have both ends of the 
 puzzle, and you will have neither unless I choose to 
 give it to you. And to think that I have been drudg- 
 ing here at fifty dollars a week while you have spent 
 your twenty thousand a year ! You the prince I 
 the serf. You the giver of the feast I the humble 
 recipient of the crumbs that fall from your table. 
 Have me arrested, will you ? Try it on ! By turn- 
 ing State's evidence against you I should be bailed, 
 pardoned, and feted like a king. Don't I know ? A 
 petty forgery of three thousand dollars against frauds 
 of millions. Ha ! ha ! Why don't you call your 
 officer ?" 
 
 The angry look on Greyburn's face changed. to an 
 expressionless one as his companion continued his 
 speech. He evidently did not know exactly what 
 reply to make. 
 
 " You would have a nice time convicting me of
 
 THOU SHALT NOT, III 
 
 fraud," he said, after a pause. " I'm not the fool you 
 do me the honor to think. No one can lay a finger on 
 anything criminal in my career. Possibly I've taken 
 advantage of situations, but never in a compromising 
 way. However, Walter, we won't quarrel. Let the 
 checks go. Only don't repeat it." 
 
 " You'd better call the officer," jeered Campbell. 
 " You'll be sorry if you don't. It would be so excit- 
 ing ! Think of the newspapers to-morrow, with big 
 head-lines, ' Hector Greyburn Arrested Frauds in 
 the Millions!'" 
 
 " One would think I had been your worst enemy," 
 cried Greyburn, the perspiration breaking out all at 
 once on his forehead, " instead of a steadfast friend, 
 always trying to get you advanced in position and 
 ready to bear with every caprice. Walter, what has 
 come over you lately ?" 
 
 "You'd better call the officer," repeated Campbell. 
 " You said you'd call him. Why don't you ?" 
 
 " Enough of that !" said Greyburn. " I've said 
 you are welcome to the value of the checks. Of 
 course we must part after what has passed, but we'll 
 part as friends. Go your own way and I'll go mine. 
 If you were in the mood to listen to advice, I would 
 give you some ; but you are not. Let me say only 
 this there are ways of doing certain things, and there 
 are other ways. One way is safe, the other dangerous. 
 In one way, a man may go on to fortune and never 
 risk his liberty. In the other, the slighest misstep 
 will send him behind the bars. I wish you well, Wal- 
 ter, upon my word I do. And all I have to say to 
 you in parting is, ' Be cautious.' " 
 
 " Never you fear," replied the young man. " I 
 understand the ropes now as well as the next one. 
 I'll take my turn at ease and luxury. Fine houses, 
 fast horses, rich wines and pretty women will suit me 
 as well as another. I've been stifling in boarding-
 
 112 THOU SHALT NOT. 
 
 house quarters long enough. I've counted my cash 
 for the last time to see whether I could afford an 
 opera box or a petit souper for two. Now I am made. 
 The doors of fortune are open to me. It is just as 
 easy as saying it. On the whole, I'd just as lief you 
 wouldn't call an officer. My liberty even for a week 
 would be worth too much to me now." 
 
 " Walter," said Greyburn, whose mind became lost 
 on Clara again, " I wish I might talk to you a little 
 before I go." 
 
 " Say what you please," said Walter, very much 
 mollified. " I'll listen." 
 
 " I've trod the path you are entering," pursued 
 Greyburn, "for fourteen years. I entered it a boy 
 and I am now almost thirty-three years old. I have 
 had all that money could bestow. I need not tell you 
 the life I have led. What I wish to say is, I would 
 give half the days I have left to blot out those which 
 I have wasted worse than wasted since fortune 
 found me. Pleasure is not everything. Gratification 
 of each desire is not all that a man wants to make 
 him happy. There will come a time, my boy, when 
 an unquiet conscience will make all your pleasures 
 seem as naught. That time has come for me. Wal- 
 ter, you are young. The world is before you. You 
 have talents. Let me advise you to live in such a 
 way that you will never look back upon any act with 
 shame and sorrow." 
 
 Walter closed his eyes in mock solemnity. 
 
 " We will close with the benediction," he said, 
 laughing. " Greyburn, it is quite providential. You 
 have lived this gay life, and now wish to step out of 
 it. I haven't lived it, and I wish very much to step in. 
 You got your funds in a way which your conscience 
 will not allow you to continue to practice. I will get 
 mine in the same way, having no conscience to trouble 
 me. It is excellent, You will dispose of your house,
 
 THOU SHALT NOT. 1 13 
 
 because it is associated with deeds which you desire 
 to efface from your memory. I will buy it, because I 
 purpose entering the same road that you are leaving- 
 You would throw Annie, Nettie, Susanne, and that 
 seraphic Gabrielle out on the cold, cold world. Tres 
 bien! I will take them all. If there were a hundred 
 I would take them. Your taste has never been im- 
 peached. Pass everything over to me for so much 
 cash all in a lump, as it were. Pull down the old 
 sign, put up the new : " Walter Campbell successor 
 to Hector Greyburn. Business Carried on as Usual 
 at the Old Stand.' " 
 
 Walter paused to break into a laugh which lasted 
 for nearly a minute. 
 
 " Greyburn," he went on, when he could catch his 
 breath, " I forgive you. Upon my soul I do ! Every- 
 thing that threat to call the officer, and all. I will 
 be magnanimous with my predecessor. You say 
 you've tried it and it has palled on you. Well, I'll try it 
 too. As you sa}% we won't quarrel. That little matter 
 of the checks was not strictly en regie, but it was all 
 right, after all. We had been business partners 
 Mendall, you and I and you didn't divide fair with 
 me. The little amount I raised on your credit doesn't 
 settle it, either, but we'll let it go at that. I shall 
 soon have enough to supply all my wants. There is 
 a big scheme on foot the biggest yet and I am solid 
 on every detail of it from beginning to end. I could 
 sell the information outright for enough to buy your 
 house and furniture and put a deposit into the bank 
 big enough to keep me going a year. It's a regular 
 bonanza. I don't mind telling you, as you are going 
 out of the trade, but I don't say where it is, and no- 
 body else who could tell would tell. Oh ! I'll fix my- 
 self up in a few months, old fellow ! I'm going to live 
 for a little while live like a lord !" 
 
 It was of no use talking to him, Greyburn felt that,
 
 114 THOU SHALT NOT. 
 
 and they parted. One all elation, the other more de- 
 pressed than ever. 
 
 Crossing the square, Greyburn met Jacob Mendall. 
 He drew that individual into a neighboring restau- 
 rant, and sought a private room upstairs. 
 
 "The game's up with young Campbell," he said, 
 the moment the door was closed. " He's got the 
 whole thing through his head and proposes to go it 
 alone or at least independent of us hereafter. I 
 don't care for myself, as I had determined to quit 
 anyhow, but the boy will certainly go to the devil if 
 he follows the ideas which he has got, and I wish 
 something might be done to stop him." 
 
 Mr. Mendall received this intelligence in blank dis- 
 may. 
 
 " How the mischief did he get on to it ?" he said, 
 after a stupid pause. 
 
 " I don't know, but he's got on, sure. The worst 
 thing likely to happen is, that with his juvenile im- 
 petuosity he will give the whole thing away in a 
 short time and make trouble for you. You'd better 
 see him, Jacob, and try what influence you have on 
 him. I think you might scare him out. But you'd 
 better do just as I shall, drop the business from now 
 on. You've made money enough and so far you've 
 been safe." 
 
 Mr. Mendall's cunning face did not brighten much 
 at this proposition. 
 
 " I shall have to give it up, if it is as you say," he 
 said. " That boy is a perfect mule, and if he's got it 
 into his head that he can get along without us, noth- 
 ing will turn him." 
 
 They talked for half an hour longer upon the sub- 
 ject, and when they separated, Mr. Mendall said, " I 
 think I won't go near him. It would do no good. 
 Cuss the luck ! Whoever thought he would tumble 
 on to it !"
 
 THOU SHALT NOT. 11$ 
 
 Greyburn took a carriage for home, and Jacob 
 Mendall went out and met Walter as he left the City 
 Hall for his two-o'clock lunch. In the same room 
 where he had talked with Greyburn, Mendall set 
 himself to convincing Campbell that their interests 
 were identical. For a while Walter proved obstinate, 
 but at last he made a partial concession : 
 
 " I tell you what I will do, Jacob, rather than have 
 any falling out with you. I'll give you one-third and 
 keep two-thirds myself. I could make better terms 
 with plenty of men about town, but there may be an 
 advantage in keeping things as quiet as possible. 
 You must not forget one thing I've had nothing out 
 of all that's been made in the last three years. It's 
 my turn now for a while." 
 
 Mendall assented to this with not a very good grace, 
 and both rose to go. 
 
 " Don't forget the dinner Thursday night, probably 
 the last we'll get at Greyburn's," added Walter. " I 
 suppose he told you he was going to become virtuous. 
 Speak to any of the fellows you see, for we want a 
 nice party." 
 
 " All right ; good-day," said Mendall, graciously. 
 But he felt like a man outwitted, and did not intend 
 to let this boy beat him to the end without a struggle. 
 
 CHAPTER XI. 
 
 THURSDAY night came ; that Thursday night when 
 the final dinner given by Hector Greyburn to his 
 jolly companions was to be celebrated ; that Thurs- 
 day night which was to witness his closing hours as 
 a man of the world, and immediately precede his 
 entering upon a career of virtue and uprightness. 
 
 Greyburn stood in his reception room and welcomed
 
 Il6 THOU SHALT NOT. 
 
 the guests as they arrived. He bore their good- 
 natured railleries as a host should do ; he smiled at 
 each sally of alleged wit, and joined mayhap a little 
 absently in each laugh which was raised. But his 
 mind was elsewhere. He played his part, but his 
 heart was away out in the little village of Springdale, 
 where, under a humble cottage roof, reposed the one 
 in all this world who had charm for him now. 
 
 All were finally gathered at the table. The dinner 
 never better was disposed of. The wines and cigars 
 were brought. 
 
 "Gentlemen," said Greyburn, when it became time 
 for him to speak, " this is probably the last time we 
 shall ever sit at dinner together. I expect to sell this 
 house and move away from New York. The reasons 
 which actuate me are known to some of you, arid / 
 have no scruples in telling them to the others who 
 do not know. For almost fourteen years I have lived 
 what is called a life of pleasure. It has lost its charms 
 forme within the past two weeks. I shall retire into 
 the country and devote the balance of my days to 
 undoing what I have done during the previous part 
 of my life." 
 
 Walter Campbell burst into one of his long and 
 irresistible laughs. The rest of the company tried to 
 frown him down at first, but peal followed peal until 
 it became contagious, and in a few moments the drol- 
 lery of the affair seemed to possess all present. 
 
 " I beg ten million pardons." gasped Walter, with 
 his first breath, " but it'sso dreadfully funny, you know. 
 So like a prayer meeting. It's hard to believe that 
 he's in earnest. I expect every minute to have him 
 own up that it's all a sell and that he's only been play- 
 ing a trick on us. The idea of him preaching ! The 
 idea of it's being him who is going to repent and be 
 saved, and we minor sinners who are left to destruc- 
 tion ! It's really quite too comical '"
 
 THOU SHALT NOT. 1 1/ 
 
 Greyburn's brow contracted a little. Had he not 
 been playing the part of a host he might have replied 
 angrily. The occurrence of the forgery was too 
 recent to have lost much of its insolence. Things 
 which Greyburn would not ordinarily have noticed 
 grated on him at this time. 
 
 " Mr. Campbell is disposed to be humorous," was 
 all he said. 
 
 " But there is an odd side to it, you know," put in 
 Mendall, who was inclined, for business reasons, to 
 keep on the right side of Walter. 
 
 " In what way ?" asked Greyburn. 
 
 "Why, it's a love disappointment, of course, that's 
 at the bottom of it all. Nothing else would set you 
 so agog. Now it would be my way, in a case like that, 
 to let the matter drop and try elsewhere. That is, if 
 I were sure I could not succeed in the first place. 
 This going to the dogs for one woman, more or less, 
 is not what I should expect of you, Mr. Greyburn." 
 
 " I'm not going to the dogs," said Greyburn, a little 
 irritated. " I shall quit ' going to the dogs.' That's 
 the difference." 
 
 " Depends on how you figure it, I suppose," said 
 Mr. Middleby. " When I was a young fellow I got 
 into a faro bank one evening and lost all I had ; only 
 a few hundred dollars, but a good deal to me. What 
 did I do ? I waited until I got another hundred and 
 tried it again. I lost that too. The third time I had 
 a change of luck and broke the bank, coming out with 
 fifteen thousand dollars in my pocket. Did I go back 
 to faro playing after that ? Not I. The time to quit 
 is when you've won. Now, if it were a case like that 
 which Mendall hints at, I wouldn't quit until I had 
 succeeded. That's the true policy. Stop when your 
 luck is at the full, and not when it is at the ebb, 
 and may be just turning. Luck is like the tides it 
 will flow both ways, only give it time enough."
 
 Il8 THOU SHALT NOT. 
 
 Walter Campbell nodded, with a wise air. 
 
 " He's right, Grey burn. 'There is a tide in the af- 
 fairs of men,' you know. But, after all, you've had 
 your share of life. Why should you go on absorbing- 
 all the good things forever ? It's better that you step 
 out in this magnanimous way and give some other 
 poor fellow a chance. When you are gone the field 
 will be open, and we can all try for the prizes/' 
 
 Greyburn sipped a goblet of wine and did not look 
 toward his voluble and over-free guest. He really 
 had begun to hate him. 
 
 " Come, gentlemen," broke in Mr. Clarence Perkyns, 
 " this is dull music. We are not here to criticise our 
 friend. As Bolton would say, ' We come to bury 
 Caesar, not to praise him.' However we may feel in 
 our minds regarding his intentions, it is not the part of 
 courtesy to air our opinions here. We ought rather 
 to make a jolly ending of an association which has 
 been so pleasant to us all. This good wine should be 
 supplemented with bright sayings and good stories." 
 
 "Bravo! Bravo!" cried several guests from the 
 lower end of the table. 
 
 " My idea exactly," chimed in Walter Campbell. 
 " I never did go in for serious things. That is why 
 Greyburn's first speech this evening set me off into a 
 roar. I know him so well, you see. He could tell us 
 the tales, if he would. All the Decamerons and Hep- 
 tamerons together would not parallel his adventures. 
 He ought to write an autobiography. It would sell 
 like wildfire. Do it, Greyburn ! Put in places, 
 names and everything. Then give me the copyright, 
 and, by the memory of De Montespan, I'll never ask 
 a cent while I live, beyond the profits of it." 
 
 The room rang with plaudits, and the glasses rang 
 with the blows showered upon them. 
 
 " No doubt I could write some interesting things," 
 said Greyburn, with a muffled sneer in his tone, " but
 
 THOU SHALT NOT. 1 19 
 
 perhaps the suits for libel would make a hole in the 
 receipts. Some very respectable names might get 
 tangled into the narration." 
 
 " By Gad !" cried Walter, " there ought to be a law 
 against libels in such a case. Every one should take 
 his own risk and the devil the rearmost, say I. ' Let 
 the galled jade wince,' you know. What a country 
 this is ! There are laws giving a man the right to 
 hunt every kind of game during certain seasons, ex- 
 cept the most entrancing of all. That is barred the 
 year round. It's a d d shame." 
 
 The speaker dashed a glass of brandy into his 
 throat as if to take out the unpleasant taste, and 
 Greyburn felt his detestation growing stronger than 
 ever. 
 
 " I'm still of my opinion," said Mr. Middleby. " A 
 man ought not to quit anything when his luck is 
 against him. It must turn. ' Back to the charge,' is 
 the motto to be followed. But perhaps I am wrong, 
 Mr. Greyburn, in supposing that you are quitting 
 under such circumstances." 
 
 " No, you're not wrong," put in Walter, before 
 Greyburn could open his mouth to reply. The 
 brandy was telling upon his tongue as usual. " He's 
 told me all about it. The fact is, he met his match 
 during his last visit into the country. It broke him 
 all up. He never'll try again. He's going as a mis- 
 sionary to China now. All the money he's got he'll 
 put in the conscience fund. By Gad ! if I had a 
 mind, gentlemen 
 
 " Will you shut up !" whispered Jacob Mendall in 
 his ear. " Don't you see you are going too far ?" 
 
 " Why, what am I afraid of ?" cried Walter, rising. 
 " Of him ? Do you think you can muzzle me ? You'd 
 better have a care, Jacob. By Gad, I'll let you out 
 too, the next thing you know." 
 
 Everybody looked at Greyburn, who forced a
 
 120 THOU SHALT NOT. 
 
 cheerful expression through the dark clouds which 
 had gathered upon his face. 
 
 " Please be seated all," he said, noticing that nearly 
 every guest was upon his feet in anticipation of im- 
 minent hostilities. "Our impetuous young friend 
 doubtless forgets the time and place." 
 
 " So I did," ejaculated Walter, pausing a moment to 
 catch the idea. "And you're the prince of fellows, 
 Greyburn, to put it in that way. I'm a fool, and only 
 such a man as you would ever have got along with 
 me. Gentlemen, I drink his health." 
 
 The health was drunk in silence. The proceedings 
 had not added to the festivities of the evening. To 
 Greyburn the apology was, if anything, more dis- 
 agreeable than the affront. The familiar air with 
 which the young man treated him had become par- 
 ticularly distasteful. Still he sacrificed everything to 
 his duty as a host, inwardly thankful that this could 
 never occur again. 
 
 " But do you really intend to live 'a life of perfect 
 virtue ?' " queried Middleby, with a smile. 
 
 " I do," said Greyburn, soberly. 
 
 " And pardon me is this at the end of a career 
 during which you have never been disappointed in 
 achieving the woman you sought ? I don't wish to be 
 too personal, but you know there are privileges which 
 we always take with each other around this board." 
 
 " I never attempted to win any woman from virtue 
 and failed, if that is what you mean," replied Grey- 
 burn. "Mr. Campbell seems to have misunderstood 
 me, but, be that as it may, I am the one now asked 
 the question and I have answered it." 
 
 The whole tenor of the conversation disturbed him, 
 and he longed for the hour when his guests would 
 depart. 
 
 " You have offered a wager, often, we all know," 
 put in Mendall, who had recovered his serenity since
 
 THOU SHALT NOT. 121 
 
 Campbell had relapsed into silence, " that we could 
 not name a woman whom you could not win." 
 
 " Time and again," said Greyburn, wearily. " In 
 any sum you pleased." 
 
 " Has that offer ever been withdrawn ?" asked 
 Middleby, cautiously. 
 
 " Withdrawn !" echoed Greyburn, a little of the old 
 light coming into his eyes. "Withdrawn? It were 
 not well hinted, Mr. Middleby, that Hector Greyburn 
 made offers and then withdrew them. No, the offer 
 has always stood, these eight years past. Why did 
 you ask if it were ever withdrawn ?" 
 
 "Because," said Mr. Middleby, slowly, and weigh- 
 ing each word as he spoke, " because I wish to take it 
 up." 
 
 " You jest !" cried Greyburn. " In another hour all 
 such thoughts are to be banished from me. You are 
 not serious." 
 
 " He has taken your offer, Greyburn," put in Men- 
 dall, "and is entitled to fair usage. If you decline to 
 accept, there is no law to compel you, but it is not 
 like you to do a thing of that sort. Mr. Middleby 
 states that he is ready. I really do not see how you 
 can escape." 
 
 Greyburn looked at Mendall sharply. He then 
 glanced up and down the lines of men at his table, 
 and saw that all held the same opinion. "At the 
 worst," he thought to himself, "it is only to lose a 
 little money. Probably the sum to be wagered will 
 not be large." 
 
 " Oh," he said, haughtily, as Mendall finished, " I 
 don't wish to escape. I thought it odd to propose a 
 thing like this an hour before the time when you knew 
 I had decided to change the whole course of my life. 
 There are strong reasons, which I cannot explain, 
 why I object to altering my plans, but my last act
 
 122 THOU SHALT NOT. 
 
 with you shall not be a craven one. Prepare your 
 papers. In what sum do you wish the wager made ?" 
 
 " Fifty thousand dollars," said Mr. Middleby. 
 
 Greyburn was visibly startled at the figure. He 
 saw in an instant that more than the broker were in 
 the affair, and the blood began to rise to his brain. 
 It was a plot, then, was it, to fleece him out of a large 
 sum of money while sitting at his table and enjoying 
 his hospitality ? His resolutions, his love, his inten- 
 tions for the morrow, vanished with the rapidity of 
 thought. The Greyburn of the last few days was 
 gone. The Greyburn of the ten preceding years had 
 returned. He turned to Mr. Middleby with an air 
 that was almost gay. 
 
 " I accept your proposal, sir, and will take care that 
 you never see your money again. I am sorry to say 
 that I shall be obliged, however, to ask your indul- 
 gence for a couple of days, as I have not the sum you 
 mention in bank. It will, in fact, compel me to part 
 with some of my real estate, as my method of living 
 has never allowed me to accumulate a large fortune. 
 I do not speak of this with regret, as I intend to sell 
 everything I own in New York within a short time. 
 If you desire, I will put up five thousand dollars in 
 city bonds to-night as a pledge of the rest. I assure 
 you I am only too desirous to complete the wager." 
 
 " I am very sorry," said Middleby, " but I had ar- 
 ranged to start to-morrow for a six-months' trip to 
 Europe. Unless the matter can be arranged to-night, 
 I do not see what I can do about it." 
 
 Greyburn thought he saw in these words an inten- 
 tion of withdrawal, and became more and more deter- 
 mined to revenge himself on those who had tried to 
 take this large sum from him. 
 
 " When did you decide upon this European trip ?" 
 he inquired, with a touch of irony in his tone,"
 
 THOU SHALT NOT. 123 
 
 " More than a week ago," replied Middleby. " Do 
 you doubt me ? Here, I will show you the tickets." 
 
 " No, no !" interposed Greyburn, refusing to ex- 
 amine them. " Of course I believe you. We are all 
 of good intent, but what can we do ?" 
 
 "What is this house worth ?" inquired Mendall, as 
 if the matter had just occurred to him. 
 
 " I suppose about thirty thousand dollars," said 
 Greyburn. " Why ?" 
 
 " And the contents ?" 
 
 "You mean the furniture," cried Walter Campbell. 
 " You forget Gabrielle. She is part of the contents. 
 Don't include her. I want a chance to bid on that 
 article, myself." 
 
 " Perhaps ten thousand dollars more," said Grey- 
 burn, paying no attention to this interpolation. 
 " That is, they cost me that. They wouldn't bring 
 so much, now, probably." 
 
 " If you would take thirty-five thousand dollars for 
 the whole," said Mendall, " I will send out for a con- 
 veyancer and you can transfer them to me at once 
 for cash. That would enable you to close the wager 
 to-night. I don't see any other way." 
 
 Greyburn looked around the room, and his thoughts 
 traveled rapidly over the house. It had been his 
 home so long. Hours he had then esteemed the 
 brightest of his life, he had passed there. As he saw 
 them going from him, the walls took on a new beauty. 
 Then he looked again at Middleby, at Mendall and at 
 Campbell. There was no escape. They had hedged 
 him in. 
 
 " Call your conveyancer," he said. " Excuse me 
 till he comes." And he left the room. 
 
 The wager became the subject of conversation 
 among the little knots which gathered in corners, the 
 table being abandoned by everybody. " Middleby's 
 a fool." " No, he isn't, he knows what he's about,"
 
 124 THOU SHALT NOT. 
 
 " Greyburn will win," and similar remarks were heard 
 in all directions. 
 
 Jacob Mendall took Walter Campbell by the arm 
 and led him to a window opening upon a balcony. 
 They stepped outside. 
 
 "In half an hour," said the older man, "these 
 premises will be mine." 
 
 " What's that to me ?" cried Walter, impetuously. 
 "You know it has been the desire of my heart to own 
 this place myself. It is just what I want. Just the 
 cage for the birds I mean to have, and half full now 
 of the sweetest ones imaginable. The place is of no 
 use to you, while to me it would be worth everything." 
 
 "Would you really care so much for it?" said Men- 
 dall, with affected surprise. " Well, that's easily ar- 
 ranged. Only use me fair in the business we are in 
 and I will make this crib over to you the first minute 
 you get the money to take it." 
 
 " Will you?" cried Walter, in ecstacy. 
 
 " To be sure. I'll even do more than that. I'll in- 
 stall you at once as a free tenant until you are able to 
 buy it, or as long as our relations are amicable. I 
 only took the house to help Greyburn out of his diffi- 
 culty. I don't want it for myself, and if you "do, it's 
 the best thing in the world that I've got hold of it." 
 
 Vowing that Mendall should never lose anything by 
 his kindness, Walter proceeded with him to the 
 library, where a well-known real estate lawyer was 
 examining a lot of old deeds and papers. 
 
 "Everything seems to be all right here," he said, 
 as Mendall entered. " Mr. Greyburn gets his deed 
 from old Marples, whose titles were perfection itself. 
 I can't say, of course, whether there have been any 
 mortgages or attachments on the premises since Mr. 
 Greyburn bought them, but otherwise they are all 
 sound and right." 
 
 " Oh ? I'll risk the mortgages," smiled Mendall.
 
 THOU SHALT NOT, 125 
 
 " Mr. Greyburn is too honorable a man to leave any 
 doubt on that score." Then, turning to Middleby, he 
 whispered, " I had it looked up to-day." 
 
 The deed of the real estate and a bill of sale of the 
 furnishings were signed and witnessed, and Mr. Men- 
 dall paid over his check for them as agreed. This 
 being done, the conveyancer withdrew. 
 
 " And now," said Mr. Middleby, " for the referee, 
 and the writings. Have you any choice for referee, 
 Mr. Greyburn ?" 
 
 " Mr. Perkyns will be agreeable to me," was the 
 reply. 
 
 " The very name I should have proposed," said 
 Middleby, not a little vexed, nevertheless, that he 
 could not find an excuse to change the name to that 
 of Jacob Mendall, whom he had supposed would of 
 course be selected. " Mr. Perkyns, will you please 
 take these writing materials and draw up the docu- 
 ment ?" 
 
 Mr. Perkyns had done this sort of thing before, 
 and proceeded to his task without hesitation. 
 
 " Let us understand everything before I begin to 
 write," said he. " The wager is to be for fifty thou- 
 sand dollars a side." 
 
 " Yes," assented Middleby. 
 
 " And that sum from each of you is to be put into 
 my hands, the joint amount to be paid by me to 
 whichever I shall decide is entitled to it under the 
 terms of the contract." 
 
 " Exactly." 
 
 "The wager really runs from you, Mr. Middleby, 
 as you are placed in the position of betting that Mr. 
 Greyburn cannot win over a certain woman whom 
 you will name, within a given length of time. Now, 
 what shall be the time allowed ? That is very import- 
 ant." 
 
 Mr. Middleby hesitated to reply. Greyburn hesi-
 
 126 THOU SHALT NOT. 
 
 tated also. The referee turned to the assembled 
 guests. 
 
 " What do you say, gentlemen ? What would be a 
 fair time ?" 
 
 " Half an hour ?" ventured Walter Campbell. 
 
 Everybody laughed. 
 
 " Shall we call it a year ?" said Mr. Perkyns. 
 
 " A year ?" cried Walter. " To win over one 
 woman ! How long was the Son of the Morning, 
 when he drew after him the seventh part of the chil- 
 dren of light ? No woman who lives could withstand 
 Hector Greyburn a year. Give Middleby some 
 chance." 
 
 "Mr. Middleby is to stay in Europe six months," 
 suggested Greyburn, impatient at Walter's interrup- 
 tions. " Let that be the time. Then, when he re- 
 turns, he can call for the amount in your hands that 
 is, if he wins it." 
 
 The sarcasm in the last few words decided Mr. 
 Middleby, who said that six months would suit him 
 very well if it was satisfactory to his opponent. 
 
 " There is but one thing more, then," said the 
 referee, " and that is the proof." 
 
 " The proof ?" repeated Greyburn. 
 
 " Precisely." 
 
 " I do not understand you." 
 
 " Why, how am I to be satisfied at the end of the 
 six months who has won the bet ? How shall I know 
 to whom to pay this money ?" 
 
 " I supposed," Greyburn replied, haughtily, " that 
 my word would answer for that." 
 
 " Well, hardly," replied Mr. Perkyns, while Mid- 
 dleby and Mendall shook their heads decidedly. 
 
 " Quite out of the question," said Mendall. 
 
 " What is it to you ?" said Greyburn, rather warmly. 
 " It's not your bet. Mr. Middleby won't say, I'll 
 venture, that he'll dispute my word,"
 
 THOU SHALT NOT. I2/ 
 
 " But this is not the way bets are decided," inter- 
 posed the referee. "There must be some proof, 
 outside of the word of either of the parties interested, 
 be they ever so honorable. Mine will be a delicate 
 position. There will be no appeal from my decision. 
 It is most important, therefore, that the proof shall be 
 complete. You gentlemen must agree on that point, 
 as I do not care to decide it for you, possibly to your 
 subsequent dissatisfaction." 
 
 There was a pause, and then Mr. Middleby ventured 
 " If the referee is satisfied that the parties have passed 
 the night together in the same chamber with the 
 consent of the lady, that will satisfy me. I realize 
 the unreasonableness of asking for more." 
 
 " Will that suit Mr. Greyburn ?" asked Perkyns. 
 
 Greyburn thought a moment and then said, " Yes." 
 
 Mr. Perkyns took his pen, and in a few minutes 
 produced the following : 
 
 " The undersigned, residents of the city and county 
 of New York, do each deposit with Clarence Perkyns, 
 Esq., the sum of fifty thousand dollars, upon the fol- 
 lowing conditions : 
 
 " If, on or before the sixth day of January, 18 , at 
 twelve o'clock, noon, the undersigned, Hector Grey- 
 burn, shall satisfy the said Perkyns that he, the said 
 Greyburn, has occupied during one night the same 
 
 chamber with , by the free and full consent of the 
 
 said , then the said Perkyns shall pay to the said 
 
 Greyburn the joint sums so deposited with him, viz.: 
 the sum of one hundred thousand dollars. In case 
 the said Greyburn shall not so satisfy the said Perkyns, 
 then the said sum of one hundred thousand dollars 
 shall be paid to the undersigned, Otis W. Middleby. 
 
 " To all these stipulations the undersigned set their 
 hands and seals, and also agree that the decision of 
 the said Perkyns in the matter described shall be
 
 128 THOU SHALT NOT. 
 
 final, and that this shall be his release from all claims 
 whatsoever arising out of his actions in the premises." 
 
 " Is that satisfactory ?" asked Mr. Perkyns. 
 
 Both gentlemen assented and signed their names. 
 
 " Now, when you have placed the money in my 
 hands," he continued, " I will insert the name which 
 Mr. Middleby will give me. But first, for the wit- 
 nesses." 
 
 " Mr. Mendall can witness for me if he pleases," 
 said Middleby. 
 
 " And Mr. Campbell ?" asked Mr. Perkyns, turning 
 to Greyburn. 
 
 " No, not he !" cried Middleby, almost with a 
 scream. 
 
 " Why not?" said Walter, turning black in the face. 
 " Why not, I'd like to know ?" 
 
 " Let him sign !" whispered Mendall in Middleby's 
 ear. " What are you thinking of to interrupt like 
 that ! You'll spoil all." 
 
 " I consent," said Mr. Middleby, paling under the 
 fire of the eyes which were turned on him. 
 
 " I will pay you for this," said Campbell, as he 
 finished writing his name. " There will be a place 
 where I can do so, if not here. My blood is not the 
 kind which allows insult heaped upon it. I will see 
 you elsewhere, Mr. Otis Middleby." 
 
 The broker did not reply, though he was visibly 
 disturbed. Mendall tried in vain to rally him, but he 
 grew no better, and presently muttering that he was 
 a trifle faint, he walked to one of the open windows. 
 In a moment he was recalled by the voice of the 
 referee asking for the name of the lady with which to 
 fill the vacancy. 
 
 Middleby's hand shook like an aspen when he drew 
 the name from his pocket, written on a piece of white
 
 THOU SHALT NOT. I2Q 
 
 cardboard. He looked at Mendall for help, and that 
 gentleman said : 
 
 " Of course the name must be known only to the 
 parties in interest. That is reasonable. I would 
 suggest that even the referee had better not know it 
 at present. Let Mr. Middleby write it in the blank 
 space and show it to Mr. Greyburn. Then Mr. Perkyns 
 can seal it up without inspecting it and will not need 
 to examine the document until one party calls on him 
 to claim a forfeit." 
 
 " I am satisfied," said Perkyns. " I have no curi- 
 osity in the matter, and, in fact, would rather not 
 know who the lady is. What say you, Mr. Greyburn ?" 
 
 Greyburn would have objected to the plan had any 
 ground for so doing presented itself, merely because 
 Mendall proposed it. Within the last two hours he 
 had learned to hate him as well as the rest of them. 
 It seemed incredible that he could ever have liked the 
 society of such creatures. He consented to Mendall's 
 proposition. 
 
 Middleby took a pen and went across the room to 
 put the document on another table. It was only with 
 the greatest difficulty that he could hold his hand 
 steady enough to write. After a little, however, he 
 inserted the name, and leaving it there for Greyburn 
 to see, crossed to the opposite side of the room. 
 
 Greyburn sauntered carelessly to where the docu- 
 ment lay. He had little curiosity about the name. 
 What did it matter to him what particular form of 
 combined consonants and vowels might be there 
 written out. But when he glanced at the writing, he 
 turned whiter than the marble on which it rested. 
 For an instant lights danced before his eyes and he 
 respired with difficulty. He grasped the paper in 
 one hand, closing his fingers upon it with a dim idea 
 that he could hold his secret from the rest if he be- 
 came unconscious. It was but an instant, however.
 
 !30 THOU SHALT NOT. 
 
 In a second more he recovered and turned to his 
 guests, most of whom had been astonished witnesses 
 of his emotion. 
 
 " I have signed," he said, huskily, " and I shall win 
 the wager. Good-night, gentlemen." 
 
 Slowly the guests departed. 
 
 The name on the paper was, " CLARA CAMP- 
 BELL." 
 
 CHAPTER XII. 
 
 A WEEK after the events narrated in the preced- 
 ing chapter Walter Campbell was sole master of 
 Hector Greyburn's late city residence. The property 
 stood on the books of the registry of deeds in the 
 name of Mr. Jacob Mendall, but that honest gentle- 
 man had installed Walter upon the premises in the 
 character of lessee, and had also furnished him with a 
 reasonable, and even liberal allowance of pocket money 
 with which to support his new dignity. Mr. Mendall 
 was at first well satisfied with the course affairs were 
 taking. The potent springs under whose touch gold 
 had been wont to flow so plentifully were now in his 
 hands. Walter had been only too willing to ex- 
 change the information which he possessed for the 
 pottage of a temporary lease of the house and the 
 sum requisite to keep it up. There was a sort of un- 
 derstanding that the profits were to be equitably di- 
 vided in the end, but Mendall determined to put the 
 day of reckoning far off into the future. As long as 
 he could keep Walter amused with baubles and 
 trinkets the young man would not be likely to make 
 trouble. 
 
 The wager with Greyburn added also to his satis- 
 faction. As has doubtless been, suspected, Mendall 
 had the heaviest share in the venture of which Mr.
 
 THOU SHALT NOT. 131 
 
 Middleby was apparently the sole owner. By an ac- 
 cidental meeting with the landlord of the Spring-dale 
 House, who was an old acquaintance of his, Mendall 
 had learned that Greyburn had visited Miss Campbell, 
 and had left the village in the deepest despond- 
 ency. Further investigation into the young lady's 
 character convinced him that here lay the opportu- 
 nity which he had long sought to make a wager with 
 Greyburn. Not liking to have it appear that he was 
 seeking to make money out of his quondam partner, 
 Mendall made use of Middleby as a cat to save his 
 chestnuts from burning. The crafty banker believed 
 that he had made sure of his wager. That Clara was 
 of a high order of purity he had made sure by the 
 testimony of several persons who had known her 
 from infancy. Then, she was Walter's sister ; Walter, 
 the impetuous, whose fiery temper would stand as a 
 menace to Greyburn, he knowing well that in case of 
 harm happening to the sister, the brother would more 
 than likely require his life in answer. Besides this, 
 Mendall was convinced that Greyburn was sincere in 
 his intention to leave all his old habits and associa- 
 tions. Fourteen years of acquaintance with him had 
 convinced the banker that his word was to be relied 
 upon. There seemed every reason to believe that 
 even for the sum of fifty thousand dollars Hector 
 Greyburn would not turn back from any path upon 
 which he had determined to enter. 
 
 Of the half-dozen fair creatures whom Walter found 
 in the house, only one of them Gabrielle could be 
 persuaded to remain after he took possession. This 
 gushing young creature seemed to transfer her affec- 
 tions from Greyburn to Campbell as easily as Grey- 
 burn transferred the real estate to Mendall. 
 
 " You loved Hector yesterday," said Walter, with a 
 look of mock reproachfulness. 
 
 "Ah, yes !" sighed Gabrielle, winding her fair arms
 
 132 THOU SHALT NOT. 
 
 around his neck, " but that was so long ago ! i love 
 you now you and you alone." 
 
 And he believed her. 
 
 In some respects Gabrielle was pleased at the 
 change. Walter was more easily managed than 
 Hector. Almost every hour, when not compelled to 
 be at his desk at City Hall, he was by her side. He 
 came home at four every day. Generally they went 
 for a ride in the Park. Evenings were often spent at 
 the theatre, followed by supper at Delmonico's or in 
 their own cosy apartments. 
 
 Hector had been a cold lover of late. Walter was 
 devotion itself. As for the rest, Gabrielle was not of 
 a nature to mind the difference. 
 
 " I would be quite content now," said Walter to 
 Mendall, " but for the slavery of six hours a day at 
 that miserable desk. I wonder if we could not find 
 the right sort of a man to put there and relieve me." 
 
 " Impossible !" was Kendall's very positive re- 
 joinder. " There is a thorn to every rose, my boy, 
 arid this is yours. If we were to put some one else 
 there provided we succeeded in doing: it, which is not 
 certain we should run the risk of wrong information 
 and perhaps get ruined in one operation. Or, again, 
 our clerk might get a notion into his head that he 
 could run the business on his own hook as another 
 one did and I should have to get him a house and 
 sweetheart. So we might go on, with never a rest. 
 No, my dear boy, you must bear the few hours of 
 treadmill and trust to Gabrielle's smiles to repay you 
 when you reach home." 
 
 Gabrielle's smiles were all right, but they began 
 before long to cost Mendall a good deal of money. 
 She developed a penchant for diamonds and other 
 jewels, which kept Walter busy calling upon his 
 patron for funds. Walter would not have questioned 
 her right to the Koh-i-nor, had she demanded it, but
 
 THOU SHALT NOT. 133 
 
 Mendall felt obliged to protest. This led to some 
 scenes, Walter declaring that he would have more 
 money or dissolve the partnership, and Mendall ex- 
 postulating, only to make a whole or partial conces- 
 sion at last. Gabrielle put out her lily-white hand for 
 all the money she could get Walter to give her, and it 
 disappeared with magic swiftness. 
 
 " My angel," he would say, " where is the thou- 
 sand dollars which I gave you last week ?" 
 
 "I don't know, pet," she would respond. "Only 
 I'm sure it's all gone. I can't spend the same money 
 twice, you know." 
 
 And Jacob would have to find another thousand, 
 which would go as rapidly as the first. 
 
 It was not long before the banker himself began to 
 fall under the witching powers of the fair girl. Under 
 the pretense of business, he got to calling upon her 
 in the morning after Walter left the house, and soon 
 found it hard to leave much before it was time for the 
 young man to return in the afternoon. Williams, 
 the observant colored man who officiated as steward- 
 of-the-household, remarked that the same lovely crea- 
 ture who tripped to the hall door at nine o'clock in 
 her white breakfast wrapper and showered her pas- 
 sionate kisses on the lips of her younger lover, met 
 the elder one half-an-hour later at the head of the 
 stairs and permitted him, not unwillingly^ to touch 
 her soft cheek with his bearded mouth. It was not 
 the steward's business, and he was wisely content 
 to notice but not comment. 
 
 There was soon a very good understanding between 
 Gabriel and Mendall. She knew that he was the 
 source from whence the money came, and deemed it 
 best to be on the right side in case there should ever 
 be a crash. 
 
 One day when they sat tete-a-tete in Gabrielle's 
 boudoir, Williams knocked at the door.
 
 134 THOU SHALT NOT. 
 
 "There's a man down below," he said, as she re- 
 sponded, " who is determined to see Mr. Greyburn, 
 whom he will not believe has left here. What can I 
 do about it ? I don't like to call a policeman, as he 
 looks honest enough." 
 
 " What kind of man ?" 
 
 " Well, a rough fellow, a laborer or something of 
 that sort. He won't do any harm, but he is set on 
 staying until he can see Mr. Greyburn, and all I can 
 say won't move him." 
 
 " I'll go," said Gabrielle, and like a bird she flew 
 down the steps to where the man stood waiting. 
 
 " You wish to see Mr. Greyburn ?" she asked, eying 
 the man with interest. 
 
 "Yes," said the stranger, "an* I sha'n't leave till I 
 do see him." This was spoken earnesly, but with 
 perfect politeness of manner. 
 
 "But he has left here." 
 
 " Excuse me," said the visitor. " I must see him." 
 
 "You look like a sane man," said Gabrielle, "and 
 should exercise reason. Mr. Greyburn has sold this 
 house and removed from the city. Where he has gone 
 I do not know. If you doubt me you can go to Mr. 
 Brown, the grocer, or Mr. Jones, the provision dealer, 
 whx> used to supply him with goods, and they will tell 
 you the same thing." 
 
 The man colored a bit. 
 
 " Excuse me ag'in, he said, " if I doubt ye. I know 
 Mr. Greyburn. I know he lives here. I know yer 
 face, too ; I've seen ye out ridin' together." 
 
 " But not for several months," said the girl, nowise 
 abashed. " Not since last June." 
 
 " My name's John Diusmore," said the stranger. 
 " Mr. Greyburn has seen me afore. I've only a few 
 words to say to him. I'm not an eddicated man not 
 a polished one I don't claim to be what they call a 
 gentleman. Fer all that, I know there's respect due
 
 THOU SHALT NOT. 133 
 
 to a woman, an' I'm tryin' to show that respect to 
 you. But I can tell ye, if ye'll let me, why I'm sure 
 that Mr. Greyburn hasn't moved from this house." 
 
 " Why ?" said Gabriel. 
 
 " Because you're here." 
 
 " That is a strange reason," said Gabrielle. " I 
 was not his servant." 
 
 " No," said Dinsmore, looking her full in the eye, 
 " you are his I beg pardon at least, if he'd gone 
 ye'd 'a' gone with him." 
 
 "Are you ready to go now?" said Gabrielle, smil- 
 ingly. 
 
 " Not till I've seen the man I asked fer." 
 
 " Well, Mr. Dinsmore," said the fair creature, with 
 a laugh like the trill of a robin, " if you are deter- 
 mined to stay, please step upstairs and make your- 
 self at home. William ! Open the shutters in the 
 parlor, please." She added in a lower tone, " Tell 
 Mr. Mendall to wait in the boudoir, and if he hears 
 any disturbance to come to my rescue." Then, 
 laughing all the way, she led Dinsmore to the parlor 
 and offered him a chair. 
 
 " You are a curious man," she said, as he refused 
 to take it. " Can't you accept the word of a lady, or 
 would you rather search the house ? 1 tell you again, 
 Mr. Greyburn has sold this place and gone away." 
 
 " If he's gone," said the blacksmith, measuring his 
 words slowly, " why do ye remain ? If he's sold this 
 house, why are ye in it ? Surely you were his 
 
 " Sweetheart ?" suggested Gabrielle, as he seemed 
 to pause. 
 
 "Yes. He was your lover. Isn't it so?" 
 
 " Certainly," said the girl. " He was my lover, as 
 you say. But that was two months ago. He is gone 
 now, and it is unlikely that I shall ever see him 
 again." 
 
 She smiled and showed her pearly teeth.
 
 136 THOU SHALT NOT. 
 
 " Is that the way city folks love ?" said Dinsmore, 
 rather to himself than to her. " If you stick to it 
 that he isn't here, I must go. But let me leave a 
 message for him, and it's this : ' If he harms a hair 
 o' Clara Campbell's head I'll kill him the first time 
 we meet as I would a wolf !' " 
 
 The man's voice was not raised above his usual 
 tone nor was he unduly excited. But he seemed very 
 much in earnest, and she had no doubt that he meant 
 every word he said. 
 
 "Who is this Clara Campbell ?" inquired Gabrielle, 
 with suddenly aroused interest. 
 
 " He knows," said Dinsmore, doggedly. An' he 
 knows her brother Walter. One he's ruined, or will 
 ruin, but he sha'n't touch the other. If he does, God 
 witness fer me, it'll be his death !" 
 
 " How do you know these people ?" asked the girl, 
 " and what is your interest in them ?" 
 
 " How do I know 'em, miss ? Why, ever sence 
 they was little bits o' babies I've knowed 'em. I've 
 seen 'em grow up, hansum an' strong. I've seen 
 Walter start off to York with the bloom o' innocence 
 on his cheek. I've seen him sence with the flush o' 
 liquor on him, reelin' into a carriage at midnight. 
 I've seen Clara go her way singin' to her school, loved 
 by every child an' every man an' woman in Spring- 
 dale. I've seen this Greyburn there, bewitchin' her 
 with his di'monds, horses an' fine clothes, an' his 
 smooth tongue. Her father died long ago. Her 
 mother sleeps beside him in the little churchyard. 
 Who is thar to look arter her, miss ? I owe it to the 
 DEAD to see that no harm comes to her, an' I mean 
 to do it." 
 
 Gabrielle could not help being affected by the sad- 
 ness of the speaker's manner. 
 
 " Do you think this girl is in danger from Mr. 
 Greyburn ?" she said.
 
 THOU SHALT NOT. 137 
 
 "Do I think ?" he began. "What do you think? 
 Is he a fit companion fer a virtuous woman ? For- 
 give me, miss, if my words seem to reflect on ye ; 
 but tell me, is that man the sort you'd like to see 
 with yer sister, if ye have one ?" 
 
 Gabrielle's lips formed themselves into a little pout. 
 
 " Every woman must judge for herself in such 
 things," she said. " If your Miss Campbell is not able 
 to take care of herself, I fear your kind guardianship 
 over her will be wasted." 
 
 " Oh, he'll never ruin her in any fair way," said 
 Dinsmore. " She was too well taught by her mother 
 for that. What I fear is that she'll let him get on 
 such terms that he can take her at a disadvantage." 
 Then he added, pleadingly : " But surely, miss, ye 
 wouldn't wish Mr. Greyburn to ruin this young lady. 
 Ye'd help me in gettin' him to quit her acquaintance." 
 
 Gabrielle tapped her dainty foot inpatiently on the 
 hassock where it rested. 
 
 " You really forget," she said, " what I have told 
 you. I have not seen Mr. Greyburn for many weeks, 
 and never expect to again." 
 
 " You quarrelled then ?" 
 
 " We did not." 
 
 " Why did ye part ?" 
 
 " Because he was going away." 
 
 "And wouldn't take you?" 
 
 " I didn't ask him to. I stayed with the house. 
 Went with the furniture. The new owner took me at 
 an appraisal. Don't you see ?" 
 
 Gabrielle laughed sweetly and softly,'and Dinsmore, 
 partially convinced, turned to go. 
 
 "God forbid!" he said, lifting his eyes toward 
 heaven, " that she should ever come to be like this !" 
 And without even saying good bye, he went down the 
 stairs and into the street. 
 
 Jacob Mendall came out of the boudoir where he
 
 138 TIIOU SHALT NOT. 
 
 had been a most interested listener to the whole con- 
 versation. He had written down in his diary a name 
 which he meant to use some time, if necessary : "John 
 Dinsmore." He was in excellent spirits ; so much so, 
 that when the fair Gabrielle sat on his knee, and with 
 her cheek to his, told of a set of jewelry at Tiffany's 
 worth fifteen hundred dollars, which she was dying to 
 possess, and which Walter declared that he could not 
 afford, the worthy banker drew his check for the 
 amount, without a word of protest. 
 
 CHAPTER XIII. 
 
 WHERE was Greyburn all this time ? 
 
 He was riding 1 from town to town and from city to 
 city, vainly seeking in change of scene relief from the 
 torrents which swept over his soul. Writing long 
 letters to Clara Campbell, tearing up nine out of every 
 ten, and sending the tenth one in fear and trepidation, 
 lest something in it should be taken amiss. Clara 
 had written to him once, giving him leave to continue 
 writing, but saying that she could not promise regular 
 answers until she saw the tenor of his communica- 
 tions. The first letter that she received read as fol- 
 lows : 
 
 ON THE ROAD, July 10, 18 . 
 MY GUARDIAN ANGEL : 
 
 Yesterday I sold every article which I owned in 
 New York city and shook off forever the dust of the 
 place where the most regretable part of my life has 
 been spent. 
 
 From this hour I exist because I love you. All else 
 is gone. If it is your will that I should die, write that 
 you can never care for me, and it is done.
 
 THOU SHALT NOT. 139 
 
 To-night I am at a miserable little country hotel. 
 Robin is stabled in the barn, which I can see from 
 my window. He is the only friend upon whose 
 perennial affection I can now rely. 
 
 Where is this to end ? I am perishing for your 
 presence ; may I not come to you ? 
 
 If you could love me, what a life might open up be- 
 fore me ! I would take you where you willed and 
 learn from your dear lips the way I ought to live. 
 
 Do you know, Clara, it seems to me that if I had 
 never told you of my sins you might have been at this 
 moment my true and loving wife, with your sweet 
 face pressing the pillow I find so sad and lonely now. 
 I could have undeceived you after the ceremony, little 
 by little, when your love had grown so strong that 
 you could bear it. Must I suffer because I was too 
 honest with you ? 
 
 My dearest one, you must let me come to you ! I 
 have so much to say that pen and paper will not tell. 
 
 If I grow desperate, my love, and do some terrible 
 act, you will be all to blame. You can mould me as 
 you will. 
 
 Clara, my angel, write that I may come, and I will 
 fly on the wings of the wind to your side. 
 
 HECTOR. 
 
 Letter after letter of the same tenor did he write 
 and send. Very few answers came, and these were 
 very brief. He travelled on. At times it seemed to 
 him that he must fly to Springdale and put himself 
 again upon her mercy, but before he could put this 
 scheme into execution, he realized that to go without 
 her permission would probably prove fatal to his suc- 
 cess. Not to go was terrible ; to go was madness ; 
 what could he do ? Each day the separation became 
 more and more unbearable.
 
 140 THOU SHALT NOT. 
 
 One day he picked up a city paper and read the 
 following item : 
 
 " The Manhattan Island Improvement Company 
 sold a large tract of land recently to Mr. Jacob Men- 
 dall. Mr. Mendall disposed of the entire lot yester- 
 day at an advance of ninety-two thousand dollars. 
 The lucky financier is one of our most successful 
 business men." 
 
 This apparently innocent paragraph was enough 
 to fan the nearly dead embers into a blaze. 
 
 " So," said Grey burn to himself, " our friend Jacob 
 is making fortunes, and I am to lose everything. The 
 money I was inveigled into risking, is probably most 
 of it to fall to him. He shall not win it! And yet, 
 how can I prevent it ?" 
 
 Three hours of brown study followed, and then 
 Greyburn started to his feet with an oath. 
 
 " By all the gods ! I have it. I might as well make 
 a trial for my life as to endure this any longer. If 
 all works right, I shall win the wager. The rest will 
 take care of itself." 
 
 The next express for New York bore him toward 
 the metropolis. Reaching the city, he went quietly 
 to a hotel and wrote a letter to Mr. Stedman, cashier 
 of the bank where he had been used to deposit, ask- 
 ing that gentleman to call upon him in the evening, 
 at nine o'clock. 
 
 Punctual to the hour, came Mr. Stedman. The re- 
 sult of their conversation was such that early the 
 next morning a warrant was in the hands of a Tombs 
 officer, authorizing him to take the body of one 
 Walter Campbell, clerk, and convey him before some 
 competent magistrate, that he might be committed to 
 jail on the charge of forgery. No mention of Grey-
 
 THOU SHALT NOT. 14! 
 
 burn's name as prosecutor appeared in the document, 
 as Mr. Sted man had agreed to let the bank take the 
 entire honor upon itself. 
 
 The officer who was to serve the warrant was given 
 careful instructions and knew his business well. He 
 broke in upon Walter's osculatory exercise at the 
 door of his residence by giving a vigorous pull at the 
 bell just as the master of the house was getting 
 ready to leave it. The young man paled a good deal 
 when he learned the nature of the officer's errand, 
 but he kept up a reasonably good front, after all. 
 
 " It is damnable," he said " but I know better than 
 to make any trouble im you. It will get my name in 
 print, I suppose, and all that sort of thing, and prob- 
 ably make me no end of annoyance. But that doesn't 
 interest you. Where am I to go ?" 
 
 " Just down to Jefferson Market," said Mr. Bilks, 
 the officer. " I suppose you'll waive examination and 
 get committed for the next term of the upper court. 
 This court can only bind you over. It's a ticklish 
 thing this forging. The judges are getting very 
 severe on it lately. The highest penalty is twenty 
 years at Sing Sing." 
 
 With such enlivening conversation did Mr. Bilks 
 beguile the trip down town, made in a carriage which 
 he had brought for the purpose. When his thoughts 
 began to run in normal channels again, Walter in- 
 quired if he could not see a friend a very particular 
 friend who would probably become surety for him, 
 before they went to the court. Receiving an affirma- 
 tive reply, he directed Bilks to drive to the office of 
 Mr. Jacob Mendall. 
 
 Mendall was a good deal disturbed when he learned 
 of the course affairs had taken. Walter's reputation 
 was a very delicate piece of mechanism just now, and 
 very valuable to him. He knew- enough of the law to 
 keep on the blind side of the woman who holds the
 
 142 THOU SHALT NOT. 
 
 scales, but he was not sanguine as to the success 
 which his young friend might have. If conviction 
 followed, the term in state prison would be long 
 enough to put all prospects of any immediate return 
 from their financial partnership out of the question ; 
 unless, indeed, Walter purchased his pardon by re- 
 vealing, as he could, the deeper rascalities of others. 
 At all events, a published announcement of his arrest 
 would entail endless complications. 
 
 " My good fellow," said Mendall to the officer, "is 
 there any way in which you can help my friend in 
 this matter ? If so, I shall not forget it." 
 
 " There is something that could be done," said 
 Bilks, all primed as he was at the instigation of Grey- 
 burn, " in this way: I could get Mr. Campbell ar- 
 raigned on the quiet and a few dollars would prevent 
 the papers in the case getting within reach of any of 
 the newspaper reporters." 
 
 " That would be immense !" cried Walter. " But 
 they would get it all sooner or later," he added, with 
 an uncomfortable shrug. 
 
 " Then," said Bilks, " after arraignment, if the gen- 
 tleman would pay liberally for the privilege, I could 
 take him in charge in his own house, instead of lock- 
 ing him up in Ludlow street. It's a little irregular, 
 of course, but it has been done and can be again. It 
 would have to be a real watch, you see, no fooling 
 about it, as I should have to bring him into court 
 whenever the case was assigned. It would take a day 
 and night watch; my partner, Mr. Haney, half the day 
 and I the rest. I don't suggest anything, but things 
 have been done like that." 
 
 Walter looked at Mendall. 
 
 " You could bail me, I suppose, and save all that 
 trouble," he said. 
 
 Mendall was thinking. He had expected this very 
 question, and it worried him not a little. If the batJ
 
 THOU SHALT NOT. 143 
 
 was high, the fear of sentence would be proportion- 
 ate, and the accused might be hard to find when 
 wanted. He was wondering what answer to make 
 when Bilks came to his rescue. 
 
 " Bailing makes publicity," he said. " You can't 
 avoid it. There must be two sureties on the bond 
 and a notary to witness it. That makes three or four 
 people to keep quiet, and it would be next to impos- 
 sible to stop the thing from getting known." 
 
 " I was thinking of that, Walter," said Mendall, 
 much relieved. " Your best way is to let this gentle- 
 man exercise a watch over you at your house until we 
 can see what to do. Send word to City Hall that you 
 are sick and cannot be there for a few days. In the 
 meantime I will get a good lawyer and do the best I 
 can for you." 
 
 Walter acquiesced in this arrangement and was 
 driven to the court-house, where, in the most quiet and 
 confidential way, the judge put him under bonds for 
 his appearance at the next term of the upper court, 
 and committed him into the hands of the sheriff for 
 safe keeping. Half-an-hour later he was with Ga- 
 brielle, telling her the story, while Bilks sat at a 
 respectful distance keeping guard. 
 
 "Isn't it funny!" was Gabrielle's comment. "A 
 real policeman and a real judge ! Do you think they 
 will send you to Sing Sing ? It must be awfully ro- 
 mantic there ! I've seen the place from the steamer. 
 Can I call on you and bring you bouquets and books ?" 
 
 Toward evening came a note by a messenger. 
 Walter opened it and read : 
 
 CITY, Aug. 13, 18 . 
 MY DEAR BOY : 
 
 I have just learned in the most accidental way of 
 your trouble. I do not see what possessed the bank 
 officers to prosecute the case when they knew I should
 
 144 THOU SHALT NOT. 
 
 not, and they had not lost a cent out of it. I hope, 
 however, through my acquaintance with influential 
 parties, to relieve you of your embarrassment. It 
 will not be wise for me to call, but if there is anything 
 I can do, write, and you may rely on my efforts. 
 Truly, 
 
 H. GREYBURN. 
 
 P. S. You need have no fear that others will learn 
 of the matter. I am sure no one in the world but 
 myself would have heard what I did. It was the 
 purest accident. 
 
 H. G. 
 
 Walter took his pen and wrote hastily and impul- 
 sively 
 
 IN BONDAGE, Aug. 13, 18 . 
 MY KIND FRIEND : 
 
 Your generous letter fills me with gratitude. I was 
 as much astonished as you could have been when the 
 officer called at my house this morning and took me 
 into custody. You may imagine my feelings. The 
 sentence is twenty years, which would in my case 
 mean death, as I neither could nor would serve it out. 
 You have placed me under repeated obligations, 
 which I have ill repaid. Save me this time, and if I 
 ever treat you unkindly again may that act be my last. 
 Yours ever, 
 
 W. CAMPBELL. 
 
 Greyburn received this letter with unbounded de- 
 light. " It is perfection itself !" he cried. " Now 
 let me try the other." And he wrote :
 
 THOU SHALT NOT. 145 
 
 CITY, Aug. 13, 1 8 . 
 MY DEAR SIR : 
 
 A young friend of mine, Mr. Walter Campbell, has 
 been held in the Jefferson Market Police Court to-day 
 on a very serious charge that of forgery. The 
 offense, if any there is (which I dispute), is against 
 me, and not against the Bank which enters the com- 
 plaint. It will be easy for you to nol. pros, the case 
 and throw it out of the files without publicity. This 
 you can well do, as the accused is a mere boy, and the 
 alleged crime merely, at the worst, a too free use of 
 the permissions which I gave him. Do this in the 
 name of Mercy. What say you ? 
 
 H. GREYBURN. 
 
 H. R. SPAULDING, Esq. 
 
 The next day came this answer : 
 
 CITY, Aug. 14, 1 8 . 
 DEAR FRIEND : 
 
 Your good temper has led you to ask too much in 
 the case of young Campbell. Unpleasant as it may 
 be to your feelings, he will have to take his trial. 
 If convicted, the court will deal harshly with him, as 
 the judges are all determined to make an example. 
 These things are not pleasant to me, but I am an offi- 
 cer of the law. The young man is only an acquaint- 
 ance of yours, after all. Were he a relation, so that 
 the injury to his name would hurt yours, I would do 
 my best. ,As it is, with great regret I say it, I can do 
 nothing. 
 
 HENRY R. SPAULDING. 
 
 P. S. Come up and play a game of whist with me 
 some evening. I am at home nearly always.
 
 146 THOU SHALT NOT. 
 
 As Greyburn read these lines the joy they gave 
 him showed in every lineament of his face. 
 
 " Fate smiles on me at last !" he said, half aloud. 
 " Spaulding has worded his letter in a way which I 
 could not have equalled even in imagination. It will 
 remove the necessity that I should appear harsh with 
 Clara, demanding her sacrifice in return for saving 
 her brother's life. With this letter in my hand I can 
 offer myself as the door through which she can assist 
 him to escape. Capital ! Excellent ! If this fails I 
 am no prophet. Hector Greyburn, you are in luck ! 
 You will outwit your Mendalls and your Middlebys 
 after all !" 
 
 Springdale in not on the line of the railroad. Six 
 miles from the village is the railway station at Brews- 
 ter. Toward dark Greyburn alighted at Brewster 
 and ordered the first carriage he met to convey him 
 with all speed to Springdale. Arriving on the out- 
 skirts of the village he told the driver to wait there 
 for him, no matter how long he was gone. In ten 
 minutes more Clara Campbell opened the door of her 
 cottage and, to her intense surprise, beheld him 
 standing on the threshold. 
 
 A half indignant feeling rose in the breast of the 
 maiden that he should have ventured to come with- 
 out leave, but mingled with it was a deep sense of joy 
 that he was there. All the time that Clara had been 
 writing to him in the curtest of letters that he must 
 stay away, she had longed for the hour when he 
 would be again at her side. Her heart was persuaded, 
 if not her reason. As she opened the door and bade 
 him enter, she experienced a mixture of sensations 
 which brought the high color to her cheek. She 
 motioned him to a chair and sat down without speak- 
 ing. 
 
 Greyburn stood with hat in hand, not less excited 
 than was his hostess. He was the first to find words ;
 
 THOU SHALT NOT. 147 
 
 " Have you no better welcome than this for me, 
 Clara ? After all these weeks, when one glimpse of 
 your face would have been worth all the rest of the 
 earth ?" 
 
 A forced smile came into her flushed face. There 
 was no cynicism nor anger in its expression, and it 
 flashed upon him that her astonishment at his unex- 
 pected advent was the cause of her reticence. He 
 sprang to her side and addressed her again : 
 
 " My life ! my angel ! you are not sorry I came ? 
 You have a thrill for the poor wanderer, have you 
 not ? You will not send me away without a word of 
 comfort ? I frightened you by appearing so sud- 
 denly. I was inconsiderate. Pray forgive me." 
 
 She smiled into his eyes in a way which set his 
 heart to beating rapidly, and motioned him to be 
 seated. 
 
 " I do forgive you," she said. " But you should 
 have let me know. I don't think I am quite well to- 
 day." 
 
 "I would not have come," he replied, "if I could 
 have helped it. I have an errand for you." 
 
 "From Walter?" she almost screamed. 
 
 " From Walter." 
 
 " Is he ill ? Let me fly to him !" cried the girl, 
 rising. " He is not dead !" she cried again, as a new 
 and freezing horror came over her. 
 
 " Not dead not even ill," said Greyburn, with 
 great solemnity. "Calm yourself and I will tell you." 
 
 Clara stood before him with her lips quivering and 
 her eyes distended. 
 
 " Tell me instantly !" she said, unconsciously tak- 
 ing hold of his sleeve. " Instantly ! He is my only 
 brother ! I love him as I love no other earthly thing ! 
 What has he done ?" 
 
 " He is under arrest for forgery," said Greyburn,
 
 148 THOU SHALT NOT. 
 
 despairing of finding words to make the statement 
 easier. 
 
 It seemed as if she would faint then, but she did 
 not. vShe staggered a little, and he willingly lent her 
 the strength of his arm until he could persuade her 
 to sit down again. 
 
 "Poor boy! poor boy!" she moaned, while the 
 beaded drops rose on her fair forehead. " It seems 
 as if even death would have been better. Our name 
 was never tarnished before." She was silent a mo- 
 ment and then asked, " Where is he now in jail ?" 
 
 Then he told her the story : flow it was his own 
 name that had been forged, and how after he had 
 passed it over, the bank officials had procured the 
 warrant ; how Walter was under guard in a private 
 house ; how he had tried to save him and how the 
 friendship which he had relied upon with Spaulding 
 had proved insufficient. The stricken sister blamed 
 herself during this recital for her harshness to this 
 kind benefactor of her brother, and when he had 
 finished she expressed her thanks with great warmth 
 of manner. 
 
 " I have Walter's letter here," said Greyburn. 
 " Would you like to see it ?" 
 
 The young girl kissed the missive and read it 
 through several times. 
 
 " He would do it !" she said, musingly. " Walter 
 would never stand the disgrace of a felon's sentence. 
 As he says, when they send him to Sing Sing they 
 send him to the grave." 
 
 Her feelings overcame her and she sobbed for 
 several minutes. Greyburn did not interrupt her. 
 Not now could he kiss those tears away ! Not now ! 
 
 " He speaks so kindly of you," she said, presently, 
 " that he almost accuses me." 
 
 " Not a word of that," interposed Greyburn. " I 
 am your slave. Do not reproach yourself for any-
 
 THOU SHALT NOT. 149 
 
 thing that is past. We have enough to do in think- 
 ing of the future. Would you like to read Mr. Spauld- 
 ing's letter ? It may not give much comfort, but you 
 might like to see it." 
 
 " I will not believe that the case is hopeless," said 
 Clara, when she had perused the note which he 
 handed her. " It is evident that he would like to 
 oblige you. See what he says : ' Were he a relation, 
 so that the injury to his name would hurt yours, I 
 would do my best.' Surely the man who wrote that 
 has a kind heart. You can move him. I know you 
 can !" 
 
 Greyburn shook his head. 
 
 " I know him thoroughly," said he. " He is, as he 
 says, an officer. The conviction of felons is his daily 
 avocation. He would go far to oblige me if the case 
 were the one he cites, but to him my interest in this 
 matter seems purely sentimental, and he would not 
 interfere. Look at the postscript : ' Come up and play 
 a game of whist ?' You see it is all business with him." 
 
 "You could try," said Clara. 
 
 " Yes, and I will try try all I can with every argu- 
 ment I can bring, rest assured of that. I shall try 
 for your sake, Clara, as under other circumstances 
 Spaulding would try for mine." 
 
 For an hour more they talked together, and then 
 Greyburn said that he must start for Brewster in order 
 to get the night train for home. It was agreed that 
 Miss Campbell had better remain in Springdale, as 
 she could do nothing in the city, and Greyburn 
 promised to send her daily bulletins of the latest 
 news in the matter which concerned her so deeply. 
 When he left he did not offer to kiss or even caress 
 her, but lifted his hat in the old-time fashion. The 
 grief which rested on the little house would not admit 
 of anything lighter. 
 
 Every day, after his return, he wrote a letter to
 
 150 THOU SHALT NOT. 
 
 Clara. With all the skill of which he was capable he 
 continued to present the disheartening features of the 
 case in their full light. When a week had passed, 
 believing that the time was ripe for the next move, 
 he sent the following letter : 
 
 NEW YORK, Aug. 22, 18 . 
 DEAR Miss CAMPBELL: 
 
 Within a few days your brother will be called for 
 trial unless a miracle interposes in his behalf. That 
 miracle, strange as it may seem, it is in your power to 
 bring about. 
 
 The more I have worked upon your brother's case r 
 the more discouraged I have become. I can see but 
 one way to save him, and that, I fear, will require too 
 much sacrifice on your part. 
 
 You will remember that Mr. Spaulding wrote me 
 that were Walter " a relation" of mine, he would in- 
 terpose. Despairing of any other argument, at the 
 close of a long conversation to-day, I told him that 
 Walter's sister was dearer to me than life itself, and 
 that his fate was therefore as much to me as if he 
 were really my kin. Mr. Spaulding said : " I will 
 keep my word. The day he becomes your relation I 
 will save him." 
 
 Clara, as my wife's brother, Walter would be easily 
 freed. 
 
 I have no more to say. Your answer must decide. 
 With love and regard, 
 
 Clara's answer was to immediately make arrange- 
 ments for an indefinite stay from home and take an early 
 train for New York city. Apprised by a telegram of 
 her action, Greyburn met her at the station. He 
 found her very pale but calm. 
 
 " Has anything transpired since you wrote ?" she 
 asked.
 
 THOU SHALT NOT. 151 
 
 " Nothing." 
 
 " Then I am ready." 
 
 "To be my wife !" he cried. 
 
 " To save my brother," she said. " There is no 
 time for preparation. You must take me as I am. I 
 feel as though Walter was in the quicksands and 
 every hour's delay dangerous." 
 
 They entered a carriage. 
 
 " To the Hampden !" was the direction which Grey- 
 burn gave. 
 
 The girl's face was fixed immovably at one of the 
 windows. He knew better than to disturb her, and 
 when they reached the hotel he quietly escorted her 
 to her room. It was in the early evening, and as he 
 whispered to her to await his return, she hardly 
 seemed to notice what he said. 
 
 In an hour he came back, accompanied by another 
 gentleman. 
 
 "The clergyman," he explained, briefly. 
 
 Clara rose and said the necessary words, and then 
 sat down again. He whispered to her that he must 
 again be absent for a few minutes, and departed 
 this time to the residence of Clarence Perky ns, Esq. 
 
 " I've come to say that to-morrow morning I shall 
 claim the amount of the wager," he said, as Mr. Per- 
 kyns showed his smiling face in the drawing-room. 
 
 " Indeed ! and the proofs ?" said Mr. Perkyns. 
 
 "Are for you to be satisfied of. In the first place, 
 here is this telegram from Brewster, stating that Miss 
 Clara Campbell would leave thereon the three o'clock 
 train and meet me at the Grand Central Depot. 
 Next is hackman No. 1826, who brought us to the 
 Hampden, where we are now staying. Thirdly, 
 Miss Campbell's trunks, marked with her name and 
 address, which I am going to show you. And 
 fourthly, the young lady herself, a glimpse of whom
 
 152 THOU SHALT NOT. 
 
 I suppose it is necessary you should take. Can you 
 go over with me now ?" 
 
 " At once," said Mr. Perkyns, taking out from his 
 safe the document which Greyburnand Middlebyhad 
 signed, and glancing through its contents. Let me 
 see the telegram again. That's all right. Now let us 
 
 go-" 
 
 The hackman and trunks were inspected, and Mr. 
 Perkyns ascended the hotel stairs and saw with his 
 own eyes that a very charming young lady occupied 
 the room into which Mr. Greyburn passed and locked 
 the door. 
 
 But he was a careful fellow, was Perkyns. So it 
 happened that he sent a dispatch to Brewster, within 
 the next hour, asking the telegraph operator at that 
 place for a description of Miss Clara Campbell of 
 Springdale, and whether she had left there on the 
 southern train that day. Both replies being satisfac- 
 tory, Clarence Perkyns, Esq., took a turn or two up 
 and down the street, muttered a few words to the ef- 
 fect that Greyburn was d d lucky, and went to his 
 club and played billiards till past midnight. 
 
 CHAPTER XIV. 
 
 WHEN Hector Greyburn passed into his room and 
 locked the door behind him, Clara sat at a window, 
 pressing her face against the pane, with her eye fixed 
 on the evening sky, which was lit up by thousands 
 of those spheres of light which may be, for all we 
 know, the homes of beings with their own joys and 
 sorrows, hopes and disappointments. She was 
 wrapped in thought. Walter, her only brother, was 
 the subject which agitated her mind. She forgot all 
 about herself ; forgot where she was ; forgot the vows
 
 THOU SHALT NOT. 153 
 
 she had just taken ; forgot everything- but Walter. 
 So completely was she lost in thought that Greyburn 
 had been in the room for some minutes before she 
 noticed his presence. He stood gazing upon her with 
 a strange look on his handsome countenance, for 
 handsome it was still, though sorely distraught on 
 this memorable night of his life, long before he broke 
 the silence and recalled her to herself. 
 
 "Clara!" 
 
 She turned with a start, and for the briefest possible 
 moment seemed not to realize where they were. Then 
 the knowledge came like a flood, and the color rose to 
 her pure white cheeks 
 
 " Clara !" 
 
 " Yes, Mr. Greyburn." 
 
 " Not Hector, Clara ? Not even now ?" 
 
 He said it reproachfully, and the look which she 
 gave satisfied him, though she spoke no word. 
 
 " Do you remember where we are ?" 
 
 She bowed her head mutely, and he saw that she 
 understood. 
 
 " This is the Hampden." 
 
 " Yes." Her lips silently formed the words. 
 
 "You are my wife. It is our wedding night. This 
 is our bridal chamber." 
 
 " Mr. Greyburn Hector spare me !" she cried. 
 " It is the saddest hour of my life. My brother my 
 darling brother is in prison. His release, while 
 probable, is not certain. I am alone with you in a 
 strange city, almost for the first time in my life out of 
 sight of the home-roof." 
 
 He looked at her almost coldly. 
 
 " Not a loving word ?" he said. " Not a fond look ? 
 Not one kiss ?" 
 
 The conscientious little Clara was upon her feet in 
 an instant. 
 
 " I was wrong. Say no more. I am your wife."
 
 154 THOU SHALT NOT. 
 
 She had never looked so beautiful to him as at that 
 moment. Still attired in her traveling garments, 
 with no ornament to add to her charms, she seemed 
 like an angelic being. It was her action, her words, 
 and the bright flashing of her blue eyes. All seemed 
 to say, " Here I am, my husband. Take me." 
 
 " Will you obey all my commands ?" Greyburn 
 asked, fixing his eyes searchingly upon her face. 
 
 She glanced for an instant about the room as if to 
 collect her thoughts. 
 
 " I must yes I will obey you." 
 
 " You have not removed either your bonnet or your 
 cloak," he said. 
 
 " I forgot," she stammered, making a movement 
 to untie the strings of her bonnet. 
 
 " Stop /" cried Greyburn. 
 
 She ceased at once. 
 
 " Not for the world !" he cried, with passionate 
 vehemence. " for a thousand worlds would I permit 
 you to finish that ?" 
 
 She looked startled. His manner was so at 
 variance with the apparent unimportance of the sub- 
 ject discussed, that she had a momentary fear that 
 she was locked into a room with a madman. 
 
 " Clara !" he continued, " listen ! You have 
 promised to obey me. It is my desire nay, my com- 
 mandthat you will sit here all night long without 
 removing one article of clothing. Not a button of 
 your cloak must be touched. Not a glove on your 
 hand." 
 
 She regarded him with wonder, but the suspicion 
 of insanity faded away. And there came another 
 feeling to this guileless child a feeling that perhaps 
 she was somehow to blame, and that, however foreign 
 it might be to her mood, she owed him a better recep- 
 tion. 
 
 " Hector," she said, moving towajd him, "forgive
 
 THOU SHALT NOT. 1 55 
 
 me if I have done wrong. I am not quite myself to- 
 night." 
 
 He started and moved further away. 
 
 " Will you obey me ?" 
 
 " I have promised to do that !" 
 
 " You promised, also, to love and honor me," he 
 said with suppressed bitterness, " two things you can 
 never do. Why should you obey a man whom you 
 neither love nor honor ?" 
 
 " Obeying is an easy thing," said Clara. " I will 
 obey you from the first. I will honor you as fast as 
 as you will make it possible for me. And I will love 
 you at least so much as this, that no other man shall 
 ever touch my heart. Hector, let us be honest with 
 each other." 
 
 He renewed that searching look, and then like a 
 despairing man he broke out : 
 
 " Don't you love me at all, Clara ? Not even a 
 little ? Am I wholly hateful to you ?" 
 
 " Hush !" she said, soothingly. " Do not make my 
 position harder than it need to be. You are a man 
 and should be magnanimous." 
 
 " You will obey me ?" he asked the third time. 
 
 " Assuredly," she answered. 
 
 " Then resume your seat." 
 
 How strange he was ! She was almost frightened 
 again. 
 
 " Listen to me," he said. " To-night you must not 
 for your life remove one article which you wear. 
 You must not touch me. If you are tired, you may 
 iie on that sofa. If you are not tired, we will sit 
 where we are. I have something I do not know 
 how much to say to you. When I am ready I will 
 tell you." 
 
 It was an hour before he spoke again. 
 
 " Do you remember what I said that day we were 
 walking on the hillside at Springdale that I was
 
 1 56 THOU SHALT NOT. 
 
 the greatest villain the sun in heaven saw in all his 
 rounds ?" 
 
 " I remember it," she said. " I also remember that 
 I told you I thought you were much too severe on 
 your own follies when you made so extravagant a 
 statement." 
 
 " After you have heard the story of my life," he re- 
 plied, " you will say that I have described my char- 
 acter mildly. You have heard of sea-pirates who 
 rob ships of merchandise and throw the passengers 
 into the ocean ?" 
 
 Clara gave a little scream of horror. 
 
 "Don't tell me," she cried, clasping her hands over 
 her eyes, " that you were ever one of those !" 
 
 " No," said Greyburn, " not I. They are gentle- 
 men honest, Christian gentlemen compared to 
 what I have been." 
 
 He spoke so earnestly that she instinctively drew 
 her chair further away. 
 
 " Worse than sea-pirates, yes ! And, until within 
 this ) T ear, Clara, I never dreamed that I was doing 
 anything wrong. Shall I tell you what I have been ?" 
 
 " If you desire, I will hear," she answerd, " but if I 
 become too much affected give me time. I am very 
 nervous." 
 
 " Oh, it's not a tale of blood and knives, pistols and 
 cutlasses," he said. " I am no murderer. But listen : 
 
 " My mother died when I was born, my father not 
 much later. A guardian undertook to expend on my 
 board and education the little sum which was left to 
 me. As a boy I went to school when I pleased, and 
 stayed away when I liked. I had only to look at a les- 
 son to know it. In the hands of a careful tutor I might 
 have learned anything. Reading was my main diver- 
 sion when indoors. Everything in print fascinated me. 
 I read all kinds of books, devouring them with a rav- 
 enous appetite,
 
 THOU SHALT NOT. 157 
 
 "At eighteen I was a handsome boy. I have a 
 right to say it, for every one said it for me. A lady 
 who came to stay that summer in the town where I 
 lived, told me so, among others. She was a beauti- 
 ful woman in all that goes to make up physical 
 perfection. Only twenty-five years of age, she was 
 tied to a man of seventy, a rich old fellow who 
 was almost, if not quite in his dotage. Riding 
 through a lovely bit of woods on horseback alone one 
 day, she met me. I was not too young to notice her 
 charming face, and the red lips, dark eyes and rosy 
 cheeks flashed on me like a vision. The lady stopped 
 and made some trivial inquiries, and in a few min- 
 utes we were fast friends. She asked me if I often 
 walked on that road, and I told her that I should al- 
 ways do so if I knew that I could meet her there. 
 She replied that she might be there at the same hour 
 any day. The next afternoon I wandered to the 
 place and found her before me. 
 
 " I can tell little of what we said. I remember 
 that she asked me why I stayed in that Tittle country 
 village, and that I, feeling piqued, retorted by asking 
 why she had married that little old man whom I had 
 seen with her at the hotel. She laughed, and asked 
 me if I would leave the village if she would leave the 
 old man. 
 
 '"Why, you goose !' she said, looking me boldly 
 in the face, 'he's not my husband. His money is all 
 that keeps us together, and I'm tired of him. Go 
 with me. Let us fly the town to-night while every 
 one is asleep.' 
 
 " The idea of an elopement fascinated me. When 
 morning came we were here in New York. Our life 
 together lasted a month. I suspect she tired of me 
 even sooner. As for me, I was charmed both with 
 her and the gayeties of the metropolis. One morning 
 she left me a note, saying, ' Dearest, we must part ;
 
 158 THOU SHALT NOT. 
 
 enclosed is one hundred dollars ; I have a new lover 
 with plenty of money. Good-bye.' I went away with 
 a feeling as if I had been violently struck upon the 
 head. 
 
 " I wandered about the suburbs and then further 
 away into the country. It was autumn. My friends, 
 the squirrels, were putting- in their winter's store of 
 food. The trees I loved had arrayed their forms in 
 darker shades. I spent my days clambering over the 
 hills, and my evenings talking nonsense to a young 
 feminine creature in a farm-house where I slept. 
 Tiring at last of the solitude, I began to long to see 
 the city again. I told her I must go and she begged 
 me to take her. She has told the story often, and 
 much better than I can. When we reached here our 
 money was nearly gone. In an attic, on Eighth avenue, 
 we starved for a week. I knew no more how to earn 
 a dime than how to reach the moon. She did, how- 
 ever. One night, very late, she came in and gave me 
 a ten-dollar bill. A man had exchanged it for a few 
 hours of her company. It lasted us a week, and then 
 she got more." 
 
 Clara's lips formed the word " Horrible !" but she 
 spoke not. 
 
 " One day I met my lady-love's masculine friend. 
 He was twice my age, in sin as well as years. Find- 
 ing that I was penniless, he made me an offer. 
 ' Leave the girl to me,' he said, ' and I will give you a 
 thousand dollars.' I closed the bargain." 
 
 " Hector !" cried Clara, " tell me no more to-night. I 
 .cannot bear it." 
 
 " If it is hard for you to hear, what must it be for 
 me to repeat," said Greyburn, with a shade of tender- 
 ness. " I look upon the record as you do, and exten- 
 uate nothing. The Evil One himself has always stood 
 my counsellor, and I have listened to him, never sus-
 
 THOU SHALT NOT. 159 
 
 pecting whose was the siren voice, until I can no 
 longer say him nay." 
 
 " Not now, Hector ! " said Clara. " Not now ! You 
 have repented these things and will never sin again." 
 
 Greyburn shook his head. 
 
 " Now, more than ever," he said. " I am growing 
 worse every day. Because, even when I know how 
 bad is my course I cannot turn from it. With my 
 eyes wide open I am walking straight on toward the 
 yawning chasm." 
 
 " But you will stop," she said. " With your own 
 strength of will ; and with my help and God's !" 
 
 " Hear me to the end," he said, "and then you will 
 see whether even you will predict a better life for me." 
 
 u I took the thousand dollars which I got from that 
 man, and put it carefully away. I began to see that I 
 must look out for myself. I had a fair education and 
 was an excellent penman. In a few weeks I obtained 
 a good situation. The business of the company which 
 employed me was one of many millions a year. I 
 found that men high in the confidence of the com- 
 pany had banded together to rob it of large sums. A 
 way developed by which I could make money for my- 
 self out of this fact, and still run no risk of punish- 
 ment if detected. I needed a partner with means, 
 and I sought out the man who had taken my old 
 sweetheart. He was unscrupulous, and we soon 
 struck a bargain. Sums undreamed of a few years 
 before fell into my hands, and you will understand 
 that in order to get this money I was allowing my 
 employers to lose a hundred times as much. I could 
 have convicted all the thieves on my evidence and 
 stopped the fraud, but I would not. In fact, the 
 swindling goes on even to-day. 
 
 " I told you, Clara, that I did not know the taste of 
 honest bread, but it did not seem to me then that I 
 was doing wrong. I was merely taking advantage of
 
 l6o THOU SHALT NOT. 
 
 an opportunity. I was not a detective, a spy. What 
 had I to do with prosecuting people ? All around 
 me I saw men high in social position doing as I was. 
 It seemed as right as breathing. 
 
 " My money came, and with it the desire for free- 
 dom. The work at the office tired me. I was on 
 good terms with the officials, and when I gave up my 
 desk I was allowed to name my successor. Through 
 my previous knowledge, and the information which 
 the new clerk gave me from time to time, I kept up 
 my operations. The clerk was not so bright as he 
 might have been, and never dreamed of the import- 
 ance of the questions which I used to put to him over 
 our coffee. One day a Broadway omnibus ran over 
 and killed him. Then I secured another for his 
 place. A bright, talented young fellow from the 
 country." 
 
 "That was my brother Walter?" cried Clara, 
 tremulously. " John was right, then. Oh ! Hector, 
 is there no bright spot in this history ? Is all as 
 black as the part you have related ?" 
 
 " Blacker," he replied. " The density of its dark- 
 ness increases as we come nearer and nearer to this 
 moment." 
 
 " But you have had better thoughts," protested the 
 girl. " Your talks to me at Springdale ; your letters 
 when you first went home ; surely those were 
 genuine." 
 
 Grey burn drew a long breath. 
 
 " My resolutions have been good enough, but the 
 fates have drawn me on. I am in the hands of a re- 
 sistless force which allows me no volition. But 
 listen ! With plenty of money and my time on my 
 hands, what should I do but seek for pleasure? I 
 had already my third love, a girl I met soon after se- 
 curing my clerkship. I got a fine house uptown, and 
 took her there. Later I brought home a young
 
 THOU SHALT NOT. l6l 
 
 creature whom I had met on a trip into the country. 
 Love No. Three rebelled at the entrance of Love No. 
 Four, and there was a pretty noise for a while. 
 Finally Love No. Three left the house suddenly, and 
 I never heard of her or her child afterwards." 
 
 "Her child!" 
 
 " Yes, her child and mine." 
 
 " Oh, Hector, could you see the mother of your 
 child turned out into the world like that ! A woman 
 who had loved you and trusted in your honor !" 
 
 " I did not know that she was going, and I could not 
 tell where she had gone. I remember being angry at 
 first, and then rather glad. Lena that was her name 
 was not the sort of woman I then liked best. She 
 was sweet, trusting, shy not stylish or showy. She 
 preferred the solitude of our room, when the baby 
 and I were there, to all the world. Her successor 
 gave me little opportunity to think of the lost one, 
 and she soon passed from my mind. I can see this 
 now as you do, and it seems dreadful. For two 
 weeks 1 have advertised daily in the Herald personal 
 columns, offering a reward for information concern- 
 Lena or the child, but have heard nothing ; and I feel 
 sure I never shall." 
 
 " The rest is a mere repetition of what I have re- 
 lated. The devil seems to have taken care of my 
 health remarkably well, probably with an eye to his 
 own purposes." 
 
 " Don't, Hector, don't !" said Clara, shuddering. 
 
 "Well, I won't. If I were to go into details it 
 would last forever. You know better than you did 
 yesterday what sort of a man it is you are to try to 
 love and honor. But good-night. That is all I have 
 to tell you now." 
 
 "You know," he said, suddenly, after an hour's 
 pause, " that there is no barrier between us that I 
 have not climbed in at any attic window this time."
 
 1 62 THOU SHALT NOT. 
 
 " Hector, please!" she murmured, in tones of entreaty. 
 He walked the room in silence after that until 
 morning. At seven o'clock he rang for breakfast, 
 which was brought to the room and spread on one of 
 the tables. With difficulty he persuaded Clara to 
 touch it. She had no heart for food or anything else. 
 Walter ! Walter ! was the only theme on which her 
 mind could rest for long. Greyburn did not eat very 
 heartily. The desperate game he was playing did 
 not add to his appetite. 
 
 " I am going now," he said, as he rose from his 
 slight repast. " I cannot tell how long I shall be ab- 
 sent, but rest assured I shall return as soon as pos- 
 sible." 
 
 " Wrll my brother be set at liberty to-day ?" asked 
 Clara, raising her tired eyes to his. 
 
 " If my efforts can accomplish it," he answered. 
 " And if not to-day, to-morrow." 
 
 " Can I see him as soon as he is free ?" she inquired. 
 "Well no, hardly. Not just yet. We must see 
 how he takes our new relation. All will come right 
 in time." 
 
 Proceeding immediate!) 7 to the residence of Clarence 
 Perkyns, Esq., Greyburn found that gentleman ready 
 to accompany him to the National Security Bank and 
 to hand over the amount of the wager entrusted to 
 him. 
 
 " Do you know, old fellow," said Perkyns, as he 
 grasped his companion's arm, " I couldn't sleep a 
 wink for thinking of you? After your protestations 
 that night it seems impossible to me that you could 
 have done this. I know that fifty thousand dollars 
 is a snug sum to lose, but really, man of the world 
 as I am, this looks almost wicked." 
 
 Greyburn stopped short in his walk and released 
 himself from his companion. He had a look of gen-
 
 THOU SHALT NOT. 163 
 
 nine pain in his countenance and he spoke impres- 
 sively. 
 
 " Perkyns, you have been my friend for years, and 
 I ask you not to say another word. Promise that 
 neither to me nor to others will you make any further 
 reference to this matter, not absolutely necessary." 
 
 " I promise certainly," said Mr. Perkyns, and they 
 resumed their walk. 
 
 " My tongue is tied now," added Greyburn, " but 
 some time you will understand this better. When 
 you do, you may excuse me or you may not, but you 
 will see the matter in a different light." 
 
 At the bank, the check of Mr. Perkyns produced 
 one hundred one thousand dollar bills as soon as pre- 
 sented. Greyburn counted out five of these and 
 offered them to his friend, but they were firmly 
 though politely refused. He then took the entire 
 amount and put it into his pocket, bade his companion 
 adieu and took a carriage for the bank where he 
 made his own deposits. In a few minutes he was 
 closeted with the affable cashier, Mr. Stedman. 
 
 " I am ready," said Greyburn, when the door was 
 closed, " to have young Campbell released. You 
 understand the methods. I will see that his counsel 
 applies for a habeas and gets him before a judge. You 
 must be ready to acknowledge satisfaction and with- 
 draw your charge." 
 
 "Very well," said Mr. Stedman. And with a little 
 further talk in the same direction they separated. 
 Greyburn then wrote the following missive : 
 
 CITY, Aug. 24, 1 8 . 
 WALTER CAMPBELL, ESQ. 
 
 DEAR FRIEND : I have succeeded in persuading the 
 officers of the bank that you are not legally guilty in 
 the case they have brought against you. I shall now 
 see that Bird & Bird, the attorneys, apply for a habeas.
 
 164 THOU SHALT NOT. 
 
 You must be ready to go at any moment to court, 
 where you will undoubtedly get discharged without 
 further delay. 
 
 With best wishes, your friend, 
 
 H. G. 
 
 Calling a messenger, he dispatched him to Walter's 
 residence. Two hours later, Mr. John Bird came into 
 his office, where Greyburn awaited him, with the 
 news that Walter was free. 
 
 " His first words after leaving the court-house were 
 an inquiry for you," said Mr. Bird. " As you in- 
 structed me that he was not to see you on any ac- 
 count I gave an evasive answer. The last I saw of 
 him he was in a carriage with a remarkably handsome 
 young woman, going up Broadway." 
 
 " Good !" cried Greyburn. " Now write me a 
 letter." 
 
 " Write you ?" exclaimed the lawyer. 
 
 " It is for other eyes," replied Greyburn. " Just 
 follow my dictation." 
 
 In a few minutes he had in possession the follow- 
 ing : 
 
 CITY, Aug. 24, 1 8 . 
 DEAR MR. GREYBURN .- 
 
 As you directed, we applied this morning to the 
 superior court for a writ of habeas corpus in the case 
 of the State of New York vs. Walter Campbell. The 
 defendant was brought as soon as possible before the 
 court, and we secured the dismissal of the court 
 against him. Mr. Campbell was set at liberty and will 
 not hear of the matter again. Our bill for service 
 (one hundred dollars) is enclosed, receipted. 
 Very truly, 
 
 BIRD & BIRD, Atty's. 
 
 The client took the letter and hastily withdrew.
 
 THOU SHALT NOT. 165 
 
 CHAPTER XV. 
 
 AT four o'clock Greyburn knocked at the door of 
 his room at the Hampden. Almost instantly Clara 
 opened it. 
 
 "My brother?" she cried. 
 
 " Is free," said Greyburn. Then, seeing that she 
 swayed a little under the excitement, he assisted her 
 to an easy chair. 
 
 " You will not deceive me," she said. " He is really 
 free?" 
 
 " Read," said Greyburn, tossing Mr. Bird's letter to 
 her. She devoured it word by word. 
 
 "You are so good !" she cried, smiling through the 
 tears which filled her eyes. 
 
 " I ?" he cried, starting. " Good ? No act of mine 
 should ever be given that appellation. Clara, I am a 
 villain !" 
 
 " No, no !" she cried. " I'll not believe it ! At 
 heart, Hector, you are a noble and true man." 
 
 He gazed at her with passionate longing. 
 
 " Must I tell you ? " he sighed. "Cannot I let you go 
 on without tearing down even the flimsy fabric of re- 
 spect which you are trying to raise about me ? No, I 
 am resolved. You must hear all," 
 
 She looked up in helpless amazement. 
 
 " Hector, what is it ? Tell me, is not my brother 
 free?" 
 
 " Always her brother ! " he murmured. " Never me. 
 And never will be." 
 
 "Yes, Walter is free," he said, " but that is a slight 
 thing compared with what I have to tell you. Have
 
 1 66 THOU SHALT NOT. 
 
 you the strength to listen to a story, worse far worse 
 than anything I detailed to you last night?" 
 
 The girl roused herself and put on a look of deter- 
 mination. 
 
 " I will hear anything everything 1 ," she said. "I 
 can and will endure it. Whatever it is, the uncer- 
 tainty is worse." 
 
 " I am not like a prisoner who confesses under the 
 hope of pardon," said he. "You will never forgive 
 me when you know all. But even if it robs me of 
 everything I have hoped and prayed for, I will con- 
 fess. 
 
 " When I first found that I loved you, Clara, I could 
 not understand the feeling. I had thought I loved a 
 hundred times before, but this was not like the sen- 
 timents I remembered. I conceived a reverence for 
 you, almost a fear. In your presence I was happy, 
 out of it inconsolably miserable. When you came in- 
 to my life you made all the rest of it seem hateful. 
 At last I revealed my heart to you. I told you how 
 perfectly unworthy I was of your love, and you, like 
 an angel, counseled me to make myself better. I re- 
 solved to do so, but it was a new experience, and 
 though I tried hard I succeeded badly. I gave up 
 my house and companions, but just when I was ap- 
 parently the most determined to reform, I made the 
 worst step of all. Of that I will tell you later on. 
 
 " For two months I wandered over the country, until 
 I could bear it no longer. I must see you. I must 
 have an errand sufficiently important to obtain me an 
 audience. I returned to New York and procured the 
 arrest of your brother Clara ! don't look at me like 
 that ?" 
 
 " Go on !" she said, breathlessly. " Walter was not 
 jruilty, then ?' 
 
 " Yes, he was guilty. Let me have that to ex- 
 tenuate my fault, if it is worth anything. He did
 
 THOU SHALT NOT. 1 67 
 
 forge checks for some three thousand dollars and get 
 the money at my bank, while I was in Springdale, in 
 June. I should not have prosecuted him, however, 
 except as a means of obtaining you. It was the 
 remedy of a wicked and desperate man. 
 
 " I got the bank officers to procure his arrest, and 
 arranged it so that he could stay in his own room, 
 guarded by a sheriff. I have kept the affair carefully 
 out of the newspapers, and, so far as Walter is con- 
 cerned, he goes back to his desk at City Hall no worse 
 for his brief vacation, and perhaps even better for the 
 lesson it gives him." 
 
 "And I came here and married you to save him 
 from the net which you yourself had set ?" said Clara, 
 her voice trembling. 
 
 " Show me some pity !" he replied. " Remember 
 that all there is wrong in this I have freely confessed 
 to you. Had I could I have sealed my tongue, you 
 would never have known." 
 
 " Hector Greyburn," said Clara, shaking her head 
 sadly, " you are indeed a terrible man. I believe in a 
 merciful God, who overrules all human affairs for our 
 best good. If I did not, it seems as though my reason 
 would fail me. Perhaps Heaven has some great work 
 for us to do and is preparing us for it by a trial of 
 fire." 
 
 Greyburn eyed her with the old, passionate longing 
 as she spoke. 
 
 " Do you hate me ?" he said. 
 
 " Hate you, no. In spite of all, you are my hus- 
 band." 
 
 "And if I were not !" he cried. "If by some 
 magic power our union were dissolved if it could be 
 that we had never been married would you wed me 
 after this ? Would you not thank God for your re- 
 lease."
 
 1 68 THOU SHALT NOf. 
 
 " What do you mean ?" exclaimed the girl. " There 
 is something in your words which frightens me." 
 
 " Would you like to be freed from the bonds which 
 hold us together? Tell me that, before I say more." 
 
 " Why do you ask ?" she replied, evasively. 
 
 " Because," he said, " a pistol, a rope, a jump from 
 a steamer " 
 
 " Hush !" cried Clara, with horror in her tones. 
 " That would be awful ! Think of rushing in your 
 state into the presence of your Maker !" 
 
 " Then you do not wish I were dead ?" 
 
 " No ! No !" she cried, making a gesture to stop 
 him. 
 
 " But you do wish be honest with me now that 
 you were not my wife ?" 
 
 " Again I say," she answered, " why do you ask me 
 that ?" 
 
 " Because," he said, his face turning the hue of 
 ashes, " you can find release at any moment if you 
 seek it." 
 
 " How ?" She said it almost with a shriek. 
 
 " By walking out of that door and taking the next 
 train for Springdale." 
 
 " But I should still be your wife," she faltered. 
 " Separate living would not sever the tie." 
 
 " You do not understand, Clara. You can go when 
 and where you please and I cannot follow you. The 
 ceremony was a sham. The clergyman was a myth. 
 We are not married at all." 
 
 She looked then as if in doubt of her own sanity. 
 It was more than she could comprehend. 
 
 " It is my last confession," he stammered, " and, as 
 I told you, the worst. Are you glad or sorry ?" 
 
 She was too dazed to reply. Her strength seemed 
 hardly greater than an infant's. 
 
 "You desire it explained," said Greyburn, seeing 
 the wish in her face. " You came here with me last
 
 THOU SHALT NOT. jgg 
 
 evening. Your outer garments, your bonnet, were not 
 removed, your gloves are still on your hands. Give 
 me at least this credit, you are not dishonored." 
 
 " But why am I here ?" she gasped. 
 
 " I will tell you all," he said. " A combination of 
 men who had cause to be my friends, led by one 
 whom I had helped to many thousands of dollars, set 
 a trap for my financial ruin. At table with a crowd 
 of men as foolish as myself, I had offered to wager 
 any amount that no one present could name a girl 
 whom I could not betray. After I left you in June I 
 resolved to have a farewell dinner with my old com- 
 panions and advise them of the fact that they would 
 see me no more. At that dinner I was artfully drawn 
 into making a bet in the way I have described, 
 through appeals to my pride and ideas of honor. 
 When I agreed to make the wager I supposed the 
 sum would be small and the person named some 
 woman unknown to me, and I secretly resolved to for- 
 feit the stakes without a contest. But when my 
 friends proposed fifty thousand dollars as the sum 
 each should deposit, and I saw that there was a plot 
 to swindle me out of the greater part of all I had in 
 the world, the devil in me came to the surface and I 
 determined that they should not succeed. 
 
 " I signed the bond and put up the money before I 
 learned the name of the woman I was to ruin. Judge 
 of my horror when I found that the blank space con- 
 tained your name. But my blood was up. The ref- 
 eree had my money and I determined to get it again. 
 This morning he paid me the amount." 
 
 "And my name," cried Clara, indignantly, "my 
 name, which you profess to love so much, has been 
 bandied about among ) T onr friends like that of the 
 lowest common creature who walks the streets ! 
 Men know that I have passed the night here with 
 you and we unmarried. I will stay to hear no more.
 
 I/O THOU SHALT NOT. 
 
 I never wish to see or hear of you again. I did have 
 a regard for you and I pitied you even in the midst 
 of your crimes, but that is ended. For your wicked- 
 ness toward me, may God forgive you." 
 
 She started for the door, but he placed himself be- 
 fore it. 
 
 "Let me pass /" 
 
 " Clara," he said, softly, " listen to me a little longer 
 and then you shall pass if you wish. I will enter no 
 plea for myself, for that would be useless. Now you 
 must think of your&clj "." 
 
 " Myself ?" she repeated, vaguely. 
 
 " Yes, yourself. If you go from that door, what 
 next ? To Springdale ? What then ? Back to your 
 old life ? Impossible ! You have left all that behind 
 you. Last night, in the presence of that God in 
 whom you believe, you vowed your life to me. True, 
 the man who asked you those questions had no legal 
 right to marry us, but was not the ceremony binding 
 nevertheless in the sight of Heaven ?" 
 
 "God will not ask me to carry out a fraud," said 
 Clara. " He will know how honest was my purpose 
 and how basely I was betrayed." 
 
 " But think," continued Greybarn. " There are 
 people who know you have been here and with me. 
 More will inevitably learn of it, and when Springdale 
 hears the story you can no longer live happily within 
 its borders. My reputation will be enough to ruin 
 yours wherever our names are coupled together in 
 that way. Clara, it is a very serions thing. It is too 
 late to turn back now. You could not leave me if 
 you would." 
 
 She gazed at him for a moment and then recoiled 
 as if stung by a serpent. 
 
 " What would you have of me ? Must I become 
 the very lowest of human creatures to avoid being 
 thought one? Never.'"
 
 THOU SHALT NOT. I /I 
 
 " Not at all," he said, in the same soft tones, 
 though with an added sadness. " What I now pro- 
 pose to you is an honorable marriage. I have injured 
 you all I ever can, and I ask leave to make a slight 
 reparation." 
 
 " It is some new deceit," said the girl. " I will not 
 trust you." 
 
 " I do not blame you," he replied, " but you shall 
 ' make assurance doubly sure ' next time. Do you 
 know a single clergyman whom you would trust, who 
 could be sent for ?" 
 
 " I know one," she replied. " He and my poor papa 
 were old friends." 
 
 "Clara, will you marry me? I have bared my 
 heart to you as I never did to another. I love you 
 with all my soul." 
 
 " Let me think. Give me a little time for consid- 
 eration. Whichever way I turn I can see no light. 
 Oh, Hector Greyburn, how much evil one man can 
 accomplish !" 
 
 She sat down and cried a little to herself. Grey- 
 burn paced the room like a convict waiting to hear 
 whether his doom is to be death or pardon. At last 
 she lifted her head. 
 
 He paused before her chair. 
 
 " Hector, I will marry you. There is no other way. 
 Become as good a man as you are capable of being, 
 and I will learn to honor, perhaps even to love you." 
 
 He knelt at her feet, but she raised him up. 
 
 " Not to me, Hector, not to me. Kneel to God, who 
 alone deserves our adoration." 
 
 " I kneel to Him when I kneel to you," he said, 
 with profound reverence. " For if ever He makes 
 Himself incarnate it is in such creatures as you are." 
 
 She chid him gently. 
 
 At eleven o'clock that night a gentleman and lady 
 rode out of the Jersey City station toward the west,
 
 1 72 THOU SHALT NOT. 
 
 in one of the compartments of a. Pullman car. The 
 conductor remarked to the porter that they were the 
 strangest couple he had seen for a long time. 
 
 " There they sit like they was no relation at all, and 
 as though there was a funeral going on," he remarked. 
 '' But I'd bet they're new-married, just the same." 
 
 The next morning the papers had this announce- 
 ment, under the head of " Marriages :" 
 
 GREYBURN CAMPBELL. 2 6th inst., at the 
 residence of the Rev. Stephen Marsden, in Brook- 
 lyn, Hector Greyburn, Esq., of New York city, and 
 Clara, only daughter of the late Rev. Duncan Camp- 
 bell, of Springdale, Conn. 
 
 CHAPTER XVI. 
 
 THE appearance of Greyburn's marriage in the 
 morning papers caused a wide sensation. He was 
 known very well, and his escapades had been the 
 theme of conversation at many clubs. 
 
 One of the first to have the paragraph called to his 
 attention was Mr. Jacob Mendall. A friend dropped 
 in upon him while still at breakfast and pointed out 
 the announcement. Mr. Mendall was shaken for the 
 moment from his accustomed serenity. He rose 
 hastily, leaving the viands untouched, and summon- 
 ing a carriage directed the driver to take him with all 
 speed to the residence of Clarence Perkyns, Esq. 
 
 " Mr. Perkyns," he began, as soon as that gentle- 
 man came into his presence, " have you seen Mr. 
 Greyburn lately ? Ah ! yon have," he added, receiv- 
 ing a bow of assent. "Well, do you know about this
 
 THOU SHALT NOT. 173 
 
 paragraph in the morning paper his marriage with 
 Miss Campbell ?" 
 
 "With Miss Campbell Miss Clara Campbell?" re- 
 sponded Perkyns, in undisguised astonishment. 
 
 " The same," said Mr. Mendall, as he read with a 
 shaking voice the announcement from the paper which 
 he held in his hand. 
 
 " I am much astonished," responded Mr. Perkyns. 
 "This is the first intimation I have had of such an in- 
 tention on his part." 
 
 " But," said Mr. Mendall, coming in haste to the 
 main object of his questionings, " what about the 
 money the wager, you know which he made with 
 Middleby ? Has he have you the money. You 
 haven't paid it over ?" 
 
 " Why, certainly I have," said Mr. Perkyns. " He 
 drew the whole amount yesterday morning, after 
 proving to me that he was entitled to it under the 
 terms of the contract." 
 
 " It was this same Miss Campbell who was named !" 
 raved Mendall. 
 
 " To be sure. I don't know how you found it 
 out, but you've guessed rightly." 
 
 " And he's got the money ?" 
 
 " Every dollar." 
 
 " But it's a swindle, a clear fraud !" cried the banker. 
 "The wager did not provide for a Mrs. Greyburn. It 
 said 'Miss Clara Campbell.' After her marriage she 
 was no longer the party named in the paper. You 
 should have taken pains not to be duped." 
 
 " That is between myself and Mr. Middleby," re- 
 plied Perkyns, bridling. He took up the newspaper. 
 "You will see," he added, "if you look at this, that 
 they were not married till yesterday, the 26th. It was 
 the day before the night of the 25th that they 
 passed together with my knowledge. They had 
 rooms at the Hampden."
 
 1/4 THOU SHALT NOT. 
 
 " Then it was under promise of marriage," saidMen- 
 dall. It was a cheat, any way you fix it. There 
 should be some honor in a bet made between gentle- 
 men." 
 
 " It is my opinion that there was not much honor 
 in the whole transaction," said Mr. Perkyns, boldly. 
 " The most honorable thing done yet is this mar- 
 riage. I wouldn't take part in another such affair 
 for the whole amount of the stakes. Honor, indeed !" 
 
 " Do you mean to insult me ?" asked Mendall, 
 savagely. 
 
 " I fail to understand 'your question," responded 
 Mr. Perkyns. " The only parties to this affair whom 
 I know are Messrs. Hector Greyburn and Otis W. 
 Middleby. What is your interest in it ?" 
 
 " Perhaps greater than you know," said Mendall, 
 driven out of his senses by the discoveries he was 
 making. " Let me give you one piece of advice, 
 Don't let Walter Campbell know that you are con- 
 cerned in this. He'd as lief kill you as eat his 
 supper." 
 
 " Walter ?" ejaculated Mr. Perkyns. " Why, the 
 young woman is no relation of his, is she !" 
 
 " Only his sister !" Mendall said, with ill-suppressed 
 fury." 
 
 " Surely you jest," said Perkyns, recoiling. " His 
 name was down as a witness." 
 
 " Certainly !" raved Mendall. " He didn't know 
 whom we were betting on." 
 
 " Whom we were betting on !" repeated Perkyns. 
 " It seems to me, Mr. Mendall, that it \syou who had 
 best look out. 1 was perfectly innocent in the matter. 
 This is the first time I ever imagined that Walter was 
 related to the party upon whom you and your friend 
 were betting. You knew it all the time, it seems." 
 
 " It matters little what I knew or didn't know," 
 snarled Mendall, taking up his hat to depart. " The
 
 THOU SHALT NOT. 1/5 
 
 money is lost, that's the main point." He strolled 
 moodily out of doors and took his carriage for down- 
 town. His next act was to send the following letter : 
 
 To OTIS W. MIDDLEBY, 
 
 Care Baring Bros., London, Eng : 
 Don't think of starting home until you hear again 
 from me. Greyburn has got the money from Perkyns 
 and has married and gone away with Miss C. lex-, 
 pect Walter will be raving and that the deuce will be 
 to pay everywhere. Will send you word as fast as 
 things develop. 
 
 In haste, 
 
 JACOB MENDALL. 
 
 Another man to see the marriage notice early in 
 the day was John Dinsmore. Taking his frugal 
 breakfast at a cheap restaurant in the Bowery his eye 
 fell accidentally upon the paragraph in the newspa- 
 per which the waiter handed him. He put down his 
 knife and fork with a noise which attracted the atten- 
 tion of every one in the room and rose from his seat 
 like a madman. 
 
 "Whar's that place, the house whar that minister 
 lives ?" he shouted to everybody in general, flourishing 
 the newspaper. " For God's sake, gentlemen, some of 
 you show me the way thar !" 
 
 The patrons of the place, as well as the waiters and 
 proprietor, shrank away from him. In the intensity 
 of his feeling he had every symptom of being de- 
 ranged. A policeman was called in and before the 
 blacksmith knew it, the officer's hand was on his 
 shoulder. 
 
 " My man, come with me." 
 
 Dinsmore looked at him and then at the frightened 
 faces around the room. 
 
 " Don't stop me !" he cried. " I fear thar's been
 
 176 THOU SHALT NOT, 
 
 wrong committed. A minute's delay may make it too 
 late. Whar does this Mr. Marsden live ? See, in 
 the marriage notices ! I'm afeard, sir, thar's been 
 fraud practiced." 
 
 The officer looked at the paper. 
 
 " That's all right enough," he said. "What are you 
 making such a blessed row about ? Greyburn-Camp- 
 bell. I know the man. Hasn't he got a right to get 
 married if he wants to ?" 
 
 "But if thar's deception !" cried Dinsmore. "If 
 this item ain't right an' the girl's been deceived ! I 
 must go to Mr. Marsden at once and see what he 
 says. If it's a fraud the harm may be prevented. If 
 it's a real marriage, all I say is, God pity her !" 
 
 There seemed no reason to stop the man, and the 
 policeman directed him as well as he was able how to 
 find Brooklyn and Mr. Marsden's residence. Arriv- 
 ing there, he learned from the lips of the reverend 
 gentleman himself that the marriage in question was 
 a legal one, and his last hope was dashed to the 
 ground. 
 
 Returning to New York, he was walking up from 
 the ferry, when an elderly man accosted him. 
 
 " Are you the man who was inquiring the way to 
 Rev. Mr. Marsden's ?" 
 
 " I am," replied Dinsmore, somewhat astonished. 
 " How did ye know that ?" 
 
 " An officer who directed you gave me your descrip- 
 tion. I will tell you something about that matter 
 that will interest you if you will meet me at five 
 o'clock at the Astor House." 
 
 " I'll come," said Dinsmore. " Whar shall I find 
 ye ?" 
 
 " Go to parlor B. I shall be there before you, 
 probably. If not, wait till I come." 
 
 When the blacksmith arrived at the Astor House 
 he found Mr. Mendall awaiting him." -
 
 THOU SHALT NOT. 1 77 
 
 "Your name," said Mendall, handing him a chair, 
 " is John Dinsmore." 
 
 " The policeman didn't tell ye that," said the black- 
 smith, quickly, " but I don't dispute ye. My name's 
 an honest one, an' I never yet hesitated to own it." 
 
 " You know Hector Greyburn," pursued Mr. Men- 
 dall. Seeing the look of hate which came into his com- 
 panion's face he added, " and you do not like him." 
 
 The blacksmith looked at Mr. Mendall for a second. 
 
 "You're right again, stranger. I don't like him. 
 I never did from the first minute I saw him. Less 
 than ever do I like him this mornin'." 
 
 "You also know the girl he has married," said 
 Mendall, "Miss Campbell." 
 
 Dinsmore's eyes flashed. 
 
 "Wait, now !" said he. "What gives ye the right 
 to pronounce her name ? Who are ye and what are 
 ye comin' at ?" 
 
 " Can I trust you never to mention me in connec- 
 tion with what I am going to say ?" asked the careful 
 banker. " Swear that, and I will tell you why I asked 
 you to meet me here.' 
 
 " I swear," said Dinsmore. " But be careful. The 
 name o' that lady is sacred to me." 
 
 "I shall not offend you," said Mendall, "unless it 
 be by speaking unpleasant truths. First, let me ask 
 you another question or two. How long have you 
 known these people ?" 
 
 " Miss Clara from a baby up. The man fer a year 
 or two." 
 
 " Are they legally married ?" 
 
 " Yes, Mr. Marsden says so." 
 
 " Had they not been, what would have been your 
 next course ?" 
 
 Dinsmore had risen in his impatience and com- 
 menced to pace the floor. 
 
 " Had he betrayed an' disgraced her, do ye mean ?"
 
 1 78 THOU SHALT NOT. 
 
 he said. " Why, I'd 'a' follered him to the end o' the 
 earth but what I'd 'a' had his heart's blood." 
 
 Even Mendall in his revengeful mood quailed a 
 little before the fiery temper of the man. 
 
 " I could tell you something, but you are too ex- 
 cited. You would act rashly." 
 
 " About Miss Clara ?" demanded Dinsmore, stopping 
 short in his walk. 
 
 " About Greyburn's treatment of her." 
 
 l< Tell me !" cried the blacksmith. "I'll be calm as 
 I can. If ye know anythin', tell me." 
 
 He seated himself at the opposite side of a table 
 which stood in front of Mendall's chair, and clasped his 
 hands nervously over the marble. 
 
 " Hear me, then," said the banker, " but at the first 
 intimation that you are getting excited I shall stop. 
 You need a cool head at this time." 
 
 " Go on," said Dinsmore, striving to master his emo- 
 tion. 
 
 " Two months ago," said Mendall, " this man 
 Greyburn met with a party of friends at dinner. 
 Over their wine one of them offered him a bet of a 
 large sum of money that a certain lady could be 
 named, whom Greyburn could not bend to his will 
 within a given time. Greyburn took the wager and 
 the stakes were placed in the hands of a referee. The 
 name of the lady was " 
 
 " No, no !" cried Dinsmore. " Not her ! not her !" 
 
 " The same." 
 
 " Before a crowd o' men ! Impossible !" 
 
 " Hear me out," said Mendall. " Last Tuesday 
 Greyburn went to the referee and said that he should 
 demand the money the next morning. He proved 
 that he had the lady at the hotel Hampden." 
 
 " But they were married !" said Dinsmore, his lips 
 blanching. 
 
 " Not at all," replied Mendall. " That was Tues-
 
 THOU SHALT NOT. 1/9 
 
 day. They remained there that night and were not 
 married till twenty-four hours later. To win the bet 
 he must remain with her when she was ' Miss ' and 
 not ' Mrs.' Do you see how cunning he was ?" 
 
 " I see," repeated Dinsmore, like one waking from 
 a hideous nightmare. 
 
 " In all the clubs of this city," said Mendall, mark- 
 ing the terrible effect his story was having, " they 
 are discussing what I am telling you. The name of 
 Miss Campbell is a theme for laughter. Her subse- 
 quent marriage will not wash out the stain on her 
 fame. Wherever she goes the story will follow her." 
 
 " Say no more !" cried Dinsmore, in a passion. " Let 
 me out into the air or I shall stifle !" 
 
 " And whence go you ?" inquired Mendall. 
 
 " First, to see her brother Walter. We'll go to- 
 gether to find this man, an' when we do find him, let 
 him beware." 
 
 " I would not go near Walter were I in your place," 
 said Mendall, in a meaning tone. 
 
 " Why not ?" cried Dinsmore. " Who should re- 
 venge a sister if not her brother ?" 
 
 " Not in this case. He cannot aid you. He made 
 one of the dinner party where the wager was made. 
 His name is signed as one of the witnesses to the 
 compact." 
 
 " Walter's name signed to the paper which makes 
 his sister's shame !" cried the blacksmith. " That's 
 too much to believe. Prove it to me if you can !" 
 
 " I could prove it easily enough if necessary, but it 
 would take time. What motive could I have to de- 
 ceive you ? It is signed there, I pledge you my word. 
 So you see he is the last person you ought to go to 
 now." 
 
 "Then I will hunt for the villain alone," said Dins- 
 more. " Do you know whar he's gone ?" 
 
 " He left the Jersey City station on a Pennsylvania
 
 180 THOU SHALT NOT. 
 
 train at eleven last evening with tickets for Cleve- 
 land. Beyond that I know nothing, but you could 
 trace him. Or, if you are in no hurry, you can wait 
 for a few months, when he will probably return from 
 his bridal trip and boast over the achievement." 
 
 " I shall start to-night," said Dinsmore. " I'm all 
 in a fever. I can't rest until I'm going toward him. 
 Let him travel whar he likes, I'll find him. Fur or 
 near, I'll come upon his trail at last." 
 
 " Do you need any money for traveling expenses ?" 
 
 " Not a penny. I've enough to go round the globe 
 if need be. Do you see these hands ? They're not 
 hansum, not the hands of a gentleman, but they've 
 earned many an honest dollar, and I'm willin' to 
 spend every one. Poor little Clara ! No one can un- 
 do the ong that's done ye, but some one can see 
 that it's avenged." 
 
 The last words were spoken more to himself than 
 Mendall. 
 
 The eleven o'clock train on Wednesday night bore 
 out of the Jersey City station a newly-made bride- 
 groom. The eleven o'clock train on Thursday night 
 bore after him a would-be assassin, eager for his 
 death. 
 
 CHAPTER XVII. 
 
 IN a little hamlet of northern Georgia, Hector 
 Greyburn and his wife passed those few weeks after 
 marriage usually called the honeymoon. With the 
 design of keeping their whereabouts from the knowl- 
 edge of possible pursuers, he had bought tickets for 
 Cleveland, and then left the train at Philadelphia and 
 crossed by a circuitous route into the southern states.
 
 THOU SHALT NOT. l8t 
 
 He was without definite plans for the future, but at 
 present he wanted no intrusion, and it seemed very 
 unlikely that any one would trace him to this un- 
 frequented section. 
 
 He was not happy. What was the trouble ? The 
 dream of his life was realized ; the woman he loved 
 was securely in his possession ; but nevertheless, a 
 sense of uneasiness penetrated his heart, and he be- 
 gan to question whether the result he had achieved 
 was worth what it had cost to obtain. 
 
 Sweet little Clara obeyed his every suggestion 
 without a word. He had respected her scruples in 
 all things, resolving that he would try to win her re- 
 gard ere he sought to gain her love. But something 
 was lacking everywhere. 
 
 " My dear," he said, one morning, as he met her 
 coming from her chamber, " shall we take a walk up 
 the hills yonder ? The landlord says the scenery is 
 something remarkable from the summit of the cliff." 
 
 In a few minutes she was ready with hat and sun- 
 shade to take the arm he offered her. 
 
 " Perhaps you would rather not go," he said, paus- 
 ing, " or would rather wait until another time." 
 
 " Just as you please," Clara responded. It was al- 
 ways left to him. She seemed to have no desire nor 
 opinion of her own now. 
 
 " Isn't this grand !" he exclaimed, a half hour later, 
 as they stood gazing down the long line of the valley, 
 bathed in the brightness of the morning sun. " Look 
 at the river there in the distance ! See the farms 
 with their regular lines of varying color ! Is it not 
 worth the climb ! 
 
 " It is very beautiful," she said, but it sounded like 
 an echo of his own words. 
 
 Another day they took a long drive among the 
 hills, stopping for dinner at a quaint old farmhouse 
 filled with antique furniture. Whatever Hector
 
 1 82 THOU SHALT NOT. 
 
 noticed Clara saw too. Whatever he did not see es- 
 caped her observation. He tried it over and over 
 and the result was always the same. 
 
 " My darling," he said, as they were driving slowly 
 along the homeward road, " you are getting tired of 
 Georgia. I should not have brought you here. The 
 city is a better place for you, where there is some 
 variation in the sights. These hills, valleys, rivers 
 and sunsets tire one after the first few days. Where 
 would you like to go ? Name the place, and, whether 
 it be on this continent or the other, we will hasten 
 there at once." 
 
 " I am quite content here," she responded, but her 
 voice did not endorse the assertion. 
 
 Greyburn gave a despairing cry. 
 
 "As well here as elsewhere, you would say," he 
 said. " I can never make you happy never ! never !" 
 
 Clara looked at him and a sob rose in her throat. 
 
 " You are very kind to me," she ventured. 
 
 " Because I repress the manifestations of my love," 
 he said. " Because I forget that you are my wife and 
 treat you as if you were my companion merely, my 
 sister. Let me assert my rights, let me even demand 
 a lover's kiss, and you would shrink from me with 
 horror." 
 
 " Don't, Hector, don't !" she exclaimed. But he 
 went on : 
 
 " To gain you I have ventured everything, and now 
 that I have you, I have not your love. I never can 
 have it. I mig*ht have known better. How could a 
 pure, innocent girl love a man whose whole life has 
 been contrary to her convictions of right, one who 
 has gained her by the basest of fabrications ? I will 
 not keep up this sham any longer. We must separate. 
 You to go to some place where you can live as you 
 have always done, and I, Heaven knows where ! to 
 live and die as I began."
 
 THOU SHALT NOT. 183 
 
 The tears flowed down the girl's cheeks as she 
 listened to this declaration, made with such evident 
 earnestness, and her active conscience dictated her 
 answer. 
 
 " No, Hector, we cannot separate. We must not 
 think of it. ' Whom God hath joined,' you know. In 
 a few weeks I shall feel better. I confess I have been 
 affected by the strange combination of circumstances 
 which has brought me to this spot, but I shall soon 
 become used to my changed life. Somewhere in the 
 future there must be happiness for us yet." 
 
 He threw his arms impulsively around her and 
 was about to imprint a kiss upon her lips when an 
 indefinable something told him that she shrank from 
 the ordeal. He withdrew his clasp and, gathering 
 up the reins, drove at increased speed down the 
 mountain road, his brow darkening more and more 
 as they proceeded. Clara, who knew all that was 
 passing in his mind, felt herself powerless to say any- 
 thing to relieve him. Within a mile of their destin- 
 ation he checked the horse suddenly and spoke again : 
 
 " I have decided. There is no help for it. I realize 
 all that you would say. You feel that you have a 
 duty to perform toward me. I release you from it. 
 You think that you ought to try and save me from 
 evil courses. Had you loved me with all your heart 
 and soul you might have done even that, though I 
 cannot tell. You will never be happy as my wife, 
 and I will not consent to make you more miserable 
 than need be. For the injury I have already done 
 you, forgive me if you can, but in the future we must 
 be strangers to each other." 
 
 " No, no !" cried Clara, with a feeling of desolation 
 creeping over her heart. l< Not so suddenly. Think 
 of it longer." 
 
 " What need," he asked, ''when after a fortnight's 
 marriage 1 cannot even offer you a kiss without your
 
 1 84 THOU SHALT NOT. 
 
 repugnance making itself clearly manifest ? It is 
 folly to wait. Separation is the only thing. You can 
 live where you please. I will make over to you any 
 part of my fortune which you desire. It would not 
 do for you to go to Springdale. You must travel to 
 some place where our history will not get abroad. I 
 shall leave here to-inorro\v. You may go as far with 
 me as you please and proceed onward where you will. 
 The money I can leave subject to your order." 
 
 A flush almost of anger mantled Clara Greyburn's 
 cheek. 
 
 " Do you imagine," she said, " that I would touch a 
 cent of yours under those circumstances ? How would 
 that look ? ' Wedded two weeks and then separated 
 with a liberal allowance.' I have earned no rights by 
 my marriage with you, and if you desert me I will 
 take nothing. When you think of me in the future, 
 you may dislike, but you shall at least respect me. 
 You shall not have it to say that I was a fortune 
 hunter. Money ! I despise it. My little school, with 
 its ten dollars a week, would have satisfied me for- 
 ever. Somewhere, away from those who have known 
 me, I can get employment again. But as for your 
 money, never speak of it." 
 
 Greyburn looked at his wife with increasing aston- 
 ishment as she proceeded. 
 
 " You do me an injustice," he said, " to suppose that 
 I could ever have an unkind thought of you or doubt 
 the extremest purity of your motives. I can see noth- 
 ing wrong in my proposal. Unpleasant to you as it 
 may be, you are my wife, and are entitled to a certain 
 share of all that is mine. We are human beings and 
 cannot live on air. You could not even travel north 
 without the means of paying your way, and you might 
 be months in getting such a situation as you desire. 
 You must have money not mine, but your own of
 
 THOU SHALT NOT. 185 
 
 which I am the legal custodian. Be reasonable, 
 Clara." 
 
 The girl shook her head as decidedly as ever. " I 
 could not touch it," she said. " It would seem like a 
 price." 
 
 " At least," suggested Greyburn, " you will accept a 
 loan. Put it in that light. You can repay me by 
 sending to my banker in New York whenever you 
 desire. Will you do that ?" 
 
 " You might buy me a ticket back to Springdale," 
 said Clara, doubtfully. " When I get there I could 
 sell my home and that would give me all I should 
 need. Half of it is Walter's, but I could settle that 
 with him. So much I would be willing to accept until 
 I could repay it, but positively no more." 
 
 " Then I will not leave you !" cried Greyburn. 
 " You are not fit to go out into the world alone if you 
 hold such ideas as those. You shall still endure me, 
 and we will see whether a few more weeks oithat will 
 not induce you to consent to anything. There is some- 
 thing I can do. I can take you back to New York 
 and install you in a house there, and then go and travel 
 for my health for a few years. You are Mrs. Hector 
 Greyburn, whether your husband is at home or away." 
 
 " It would be only an excuse," said Clara. " I 
 should feel all the time as if I was eating food to 
 which I had no claim, and I know I could not bear 
 it long. And where would you be ? You could not 
 possibly be happy. No, it would never do in the 
 world." 
 
 Greyburn took up the reins and drove silently to- 
 ward his hotel. He said no more till the retiring hour, 
 and then only this : " Good-night, my white angel. 
 Don't let sleep keep away on account of anything 
 I've said. We will talk it over again to-morrow." 
 
 The advice he had given his wife he was unable to 
 follow. All attempts at sleep proved futile. At last
 
 1 86 THOU SHALT NOT. 
 
 just as the clocks were striking four, he arose, dressed 
 himself, and went out for a walk up the mountain- 
 side. The cool air invigorated him, and the walk 
 sent the blood quickly through his veins. He climbed 
 up, up, higher than ever before. Just before the sun 
 was ready to rise he became attracted by the silver 
 stream of the river at the base of the hills, and de- 
 scended toward its banks. A country road ran along 
 the side of the mountain, a hundred feet or so above 
 the river, and Greyburn had to cross this on his jour- 
 ney. He had hardly done so when a man sprang in 
 front of him and barred his progress. 
 
 " Stop f" cried the apparition. 
 
 Greyburn stopped and looked at the man. He was 
 somewhat surprised to see him, but the sentiment did 
 not show itself in his face. The look there would be 
 better described as one of careless indifference. 
 
 " I see ye know me," said the man. 
 
 " I haven't that honor," responded Greyburn, indif- 
 ferently. 
 
 " Ye lie !" cried the man. " Ye know me well. I 
 saw ye at Springdale that night when ye began this 
 hellish work. What do ye think I'm here fer?" 
 
 " I neither know, nor care," said Greyburn, with 
 cool, slow sarcasm. " All I know about you is this, 
 that you are very dirty and very impolite." 
 
 The man glanced at his hands and seemed to 
 acknowledge the correctness of that part of the de- 
 scription. 
 
 " I never was a gentleman," he said, with a severity 
 which was meant to be cutting. 
 
 " That is evident," agreed Greyburn. 
 
 " Neither did I ever ruin an honest man's daughter !" 
 added the other, sharply. 
 
 " I should say so," said Greyburn. " They have not 
 yet, I hope, been reduced to such depths as that." 
 
 " I can't talk as fast as you," said the man, " but I'll
 
 "Have ye no word to send to jrer friends?" Page 18"].
 
 THOU SHALT NOT. !/ 
 
 tell ye somethin' that may interest ye. I've been 
 huntin' fer two weeks fer a man named Hector Grey- 
 burn, who's ruined the daughter of one who was my 
 best friend. I've found this Greyburn an' I'm goin' 
 to kill him." 
 
 " Indeed ! So you add the interesting trade of a 
 murderer to your other occupations," said Greyburn, 
 in the same manner as before. " Let me see. I 
 think I do recollect you. Your name is Dinsmore 
 and you used to be a blacksmith. Yes, that is right. 
 Well, does your new trade pay better than the old ?" 
 
 " I don't kill fer money" said the man, doggedly. 
 
 " Really ? What else could make a reason in so 
 dull a head as ) r ours ? A man who has been content 
 all his life to handle sooty iron and blow a crazy pair 
 of bellows. You shod a horse very well, too. Per- 
 haps you will not succeed so ably at your new profes- 
 sion." 
 
 " I'll leave that to you," said Dinsmore, " as you 
 will be my first victim." 
 
 " Your first ?" said Greyburn, with a mock gesture 
 of horror. " Let me beg you to go and kill a few 
 others for practice. I should hate to be experimented 
 upon by a novice. When you are as expert at mur- 
 dering as you were at horseshoeing you may command 
 me, but not sooner. I decidedly object to being killed 
 by an amateur." 
 
 " Ye are welcome to yer wit," said the blacksmith, 
 " as it will be so short a time that ye can use it. Is 
 thar anythin' ye wish to do or say before I finish ye ?" 
 
 " There are several things," said Greyburn, " and 
 they will all take time. Could you call around, say 
 a week from to-day. By that time I think I could be 
 quite ready." 
 
 " Have ye no word to send to yer friends in New 
 York ?" queried Dinsmore, with flashing eyes, ignor- 
 ing the levity of the last answer. " None to yer
 
 1 88 THOU SHALT NOT. 
 
 friend Mendall, yer dear friend Mendall, who offered 
 to pay my expenses here ? Nothin' at all to Men- 
 dall ?" 
 
 " Nothing," said Greyburn, coolly. " Except that 
 I have his money." 
 
 " Or to Walter Campbell ?' 
 
 " Only that I have his sister." 
 
 " Do ye dare," cried Dinsmore, " with yer foot on 
 the edge o' the grave, talk lightly o' Clara Camp- 
 bell ?" 
 
 " Clara Greyburn, if you please," responded the 
 other, imperturbably. " It is as well to be correct." 
 
 " How she must hate ye !" mused the blacksmith, 
 gazing at Greyburn with intense loathing. " But I 
 lose time. I came here to kill ye, an' I'm goin' to do 
 it. I know this ground pretty well. I've ben all over 
 it. There isn't a house within the sound o' pistol 
 shot. No teams are likely to pass at this hour. 
 When yer dead I'll throw yer body into the river 
 down thar. I warn ye I'm not triflin'. I'll give ye 
 two minutes more." 
 
 Dinsmore produced a large navy revolver and pro- 
 ceeded to examine the cartridges. 
 
 "That's a pretty thing you have there," said Grey- 
 burn. " Let me look at it." He reached out his 
 hand as if he really expected the weapon would be 
 given him for inspection. 
 
 " Back !" cried the blacksmith, " or ye'll die even 
 sooner than the time I gave ye !" 
 
 " How much time is there left ?" asked Greyburn, 
 standing with his hands in' the pockets of his sacquc 
 coat. " Play fair now, fellow. Don't cheat me on 
 the time." 
 
 " You have one minute more," said Dinsmore. 
 "In sixty seconds you will be a dead man." 
 
 " In fifty seconds, more likely," corrected Grey- 
 burn. " And do you really mean to shoot me ?"
 
 THOU SHALT NOT. 189 
 
 " As true as thar's a God in heaven !" said the 
 blacksmith, raising his weapon. 
 
 There was a loud report and a man lay writhing on 
 the sod, while flakes of blood discolored the green 
 grass. It was not Hector Greyburn. 
 
 " I hope the scamp is not killed," he said, as he 
 turned with a shudder from the sight of the sanguin- 
 ary leaves. " What a cold-blooded villain he must 
 be ! I suppose I ought to go to the hotel and get as- 
 sistance to take him there. That wasn't a bad shot 
 to be made from a coat pocket." 
 
 He walked around the prostrate form. Dinsmore, 
 who was still conscious, turned slightly, and a new ef- 
 fusion of the life fluid gushed forth. Greyburn took 
 several steps backward and went over the edge of 
 the cliff. 
 
 The first fall was only eight or ten feet, but his 
 forehead struck a jagged stone and he knew no more. 
 His body rolled down the sides of the mountain, 
 striking here and there, until it reached the river, 
 when the swollen stream picked it up and hurried it 
 upon its bosom toward the sea. 
 
 CHAPTER XVIII. 
 
 SEVERAL hours later than the events just narrated, 
 a teamster came along the road leading to Johnsbury, 
 and his horses shied from a creature who lay on the 
 grass by the roadside and feebly waved a handker- 
 chief stained with blood. The teamster's name was 
 Jones. He stopped his animals and went to look at 
 the object which had attracted their attention. 
 
 " What's hurt ye, my man ?" he asked, after taking
 
 190 THOU SHALT NOT. 
 
 a scrutinizing look at the blacksmith. " Accidentally 
 shot, hey ?" he added, picking up the revolver which 
 lay partially hidden in the leaves. " Is it very bad ? 
 Can't ye get up ? Why don't ye speak ?" 
 
 Dinsmore shook his head with a feeble motion, 
 which showed that even that exertion cost him a pain- 
 ful effort, at the same time revealing to his questioner, 
 by removing his hand, a bullet mark in the side -of his 
 throat, from which blood was slowly oozing. 
 
 " Can't speak, hey ?" said the teamster. " Wall, 
 what you want is a doctor, that's sartin. I'll take ye 
 back to Chatham Corners, whar old Doc. Robinson '11 
 fix ye up. Let me cotch holt o' ye an' I'll git ye inter 
 the waggin." 
 
 He was suiting the action to the. word when Dins- 
 more made a movement to dissuade him. He pointed 
 toward Chatham Corners and shook his head a little. 
 Then he pointed in the opposite direction. 
 
 " Don't want ter go ter the Corners ?" queried 
 Jones, interpreting the signs aright. " But ye'll have 
 ter. Johnsb'ry's ten miles at least, an' Chatham ain't 
 one. That 'ere bullet-hole wants tendin' ter, an' 
 mighty quick, if I'm ter judge by the paralyziu' it's 
 done a'ready." 
 
 Dinsmore made a motion to get at his pocket, but 
 failed. His right arm was well-nigh useless, and he 
 could not reach the place with his left hand. The 
 teamster saw that something was wanted and lent his 
 assistance. A common pocket knife was disclosed, 
 which did not prove to be the article sought. Next 
 came a worn purse, and this Dinsmore opened. Tak- 
 ing fifty dollars in bills from it, he showed them 
 to the teamster, and pointed again toward Johns- 
 bury. 
 
 " Ye want me ter take ye to Johnsb'ry an' not ter 
 the Corners, do ye, an' ye'll give me this 'ere money 
 ef I'll do it ?"
 
 THOU SHALT NOT. 19! 
 
 The blacksmith gare unmistakable assent. 
 
 "Wall, I sha'n't !" replied Jones, dryly. "I might 
 have yer death on my hands. No knovvin 1 but they'd 
 accuse me o' killin' ye ef I brought ye into Johnsb'ry 
 dead. No, it's no use, I tell ye," he continued, as 
 Dinsrnore took out bill after bill and frantically shoved 
 them toward him to increase the bribe. "I can't do 
 it. I've wasted time enough a'ready argying. Here ! 
 put that well arm aroun' my neck, an' I'llh'ist ye inter 
 the waggin." 
 
 Dinsmore refused point-blank to render any such 
 assistance and obstinately stretched himself out on the 
 ground as if determined not to be moved. Jones 
 looked at him in some astonishment and presently his 
 temper began to rise. 
 
 " By gosh ! yer a goin' ter the Corners with me ef 
 I have ter pry ye inter the team with a cart-stake. A 
 man's no bus'ness ter kill hisself jest out of a notion 
 that he prefers a Johnsb'ry doctor to old Cy. Robin- 
 son. I'll git the team aroun' here whar it's not so far 
 to lug ye an' I'll have ye aboard as snre's my name's 
 Jones." 
 
 The teamster turned at the word and went back to 
 his horses. In a minute he was backing them down 
 to where Dinsmore lay, when he became aware that 
 the blacksmith had moved from his former position. 
 Only a few feet intervened between the road and the 
 precipice, and when Jones caught sight of the 
 wounded man he was making desperate efforts to 
 reach the edge. Hastily letting" go of his horses, the 
 teamster sprang to where Dinsmore was and laid a 
 heavy hand upon his clothing. Weak and half-para- 
 lyzed, the blacksmith turned savagely and tried to in- 
 sert his teeth in the friendly hand, at the same time 
 making a violent struggle to precipitate himself over 
 the edge of the cliff. The surprised but now aroused 
 teamster caught the man by his clothing and, in spite
 
 192 THOU SHALT NOT. 
 
 of his resistance, placed him by main force upon the 
 bottom of the wagon. 
 
 " What the devil's up now?" he said, panting for 
 breath after this extraordinary exertion. " Ain't ye 
 hurt enough yit ? IB it suicide yer been tryin' with 
 the pistol ?" 
 
 Dinsmore caught eagerly at the idea and made 
 signs in the affirmative. 
 
 " Why the blazes didn't ye take another shot out o' 
 this navy, then ?" asked the teamster, taking up the 
 pistol. " Ef yer wanted ter die ye had chance enough 
 before I come along. Ye could a ben firin' this thing 
 off instid o' wavin' that handkerchief. Burn me !" 
 he continued, after a more careful inspection of the 
 weapon, " not one o' these ca'tridges has been touched 
 off. Say, look a here, thar's some monkeyin' ter this. 
 Ye didn't shoot yerself. Now, who did ?" 
 
 Dinsmore lay back in the wagon with a moan. 
 He had not strength enough nor sufficient resources 
 in the sign language to reply to this new suspicion. 
 He waved his hand feebly toward Chatham Corners, 
 as if to express his wish to go even there rather than 
 endure a longer cross-examination. 
 
 " By gum !" said Jones, as he revolved the matter 
 over in his mind, " I'd like ter understand this thing 
 a little afore I leave here. Fust, I'll look out fer this 
 chickin so't he won't throw hisself out o' the waggin 
 an' break his neck, an' then I'll gaze 'round." In 
 spite of Dinsmore's remonstrances, which took the 
 form mainly of expressions of severe pain, Jone.s 
 wound tightly around his body a long rope which lay 
 under the seat, securing the ends to rings on the side 
 of the wagon-body. " Ye won't die fer a minute," he 
 soliloquized, " an I'm dumned ef I'm going back ter 
 the Corners until I can give some sort of a notion 
 what's ben goin' on here."
 
 THOU SHALT NOT. 193 
 
 The teamster walked up and down the road, sharply 
 inspecting each object. 
 
 "It don't look like a fight," he said, aloud. "The 
 only dents on the grass are \vhar this feller lay. 
 Prob'ly the chap what shot him wasn't very close. 
 He must a seen him, o' course, or he wouldn't a had 
 his own shooter out. But he claimed that he done it 
 hisself. That's what bothers me. He don't want the 
 other feller troubled, that's sure. Now, why didn't 
 he want ter go ter the Corners ? Could it a ben any- 
 body thar ? P'raps he thinks they're waitin' ter finish 
 him. Thar ye are agin ; fer he sartinly tried ter finish 
 hisself over that cliff. Wall, I'm dumfisticated ! It's 
 a mighty pecooliar case." 
 
 While speaking of the cliff, Jones walked to the 
 edge of it and looked over. Something attracted 
 his attention and he ran down the road a little 
 farther to find a place where he could descend the 
 side of the declivity. Succeeding in this, he was but 
 a moment more in reaching the object which he had 
 discovered. It was a gentleman's stiff hat. The 
 brim was broken in, and the lining torn on one side. 
 He picked it up and examined it with some excite- 
 ment. Looking a little further, he found a piece of 
 blue cloth, several inches square, clinging to some 
 thorny bushes, and a button such as is used on gentle- 
 men's coats. A diligent search, clear to the water's 
 edge, revealed a few shreds of the same sort of cloth, 
 caught here and there in the underbush, and marks 
 all along, showing that a heavy body had rolled 
 rapidly down the mountain into the river. Jones 
 looked at the swollen torrent, rushing in all its full- 
 ness over its rocky bed, and turned to retrace his 
 steps. 
 
 " Prob'ly somebody's found the body what's left 
 of it som'ers down stream," he mused. " Thar's no 
 use in my botherin' about that."
 
 194 THOU SHALT NOT. 
 
 Dinsmore looked anxiously into the teamster's face 
 as he mounted the wagon and took up his reins. 
 Then he made one more effort to get him to turn 
 about and go away from the Corners, but without 
 avail. 
 
 " No, siree !" said Jones, giving a decided shake to 
 his head. " Thar's ben death thar, mister, an' mur- 
 der, fer all I know, an' I hope I'm a good citizen an' 
 know my dooty. The fust doctor fer ye an' the fust 
 constable fer the rest is my course, an' the quicker 
 the sooner. So lay as comf'table as ye can an' I'll git 
 along to the Corners." 
 
 Jones was a humane man, but he waslaboring under 
 increasing excitement, and he drove his horses rather 
 faster than a strict regard for the comfort of his 
 wounded passenger would have dictated. Into his 
 humdrum life had come a novel and interesting fea- 
 ture. He had suddenly risen into a being of great 
 importance in the community. In his keeping was 
 the discovery of a fatal accident, at least, and perhaps 
 even a murder. It would not be just to say that Mr. 
 Jones hoped that anybody had been killed ; but if any- 
 body had been he was not displeased to be the bearer 
 of the first tidings. As he rode along he imagined 
 himself on the witness-stand before a crowded court- 
 room, reciting in a graphic manner the facts in his 
 possession, while the gaping crowd looked on with 
 wonder. Whether accident or homicide it was at least 
 a great mystery, and he, Mr. Amos Jones, would bear 
 the first news in relation to it. 
 
 In the little village of Chatham Corners there was 
 excitement enough that morning before Mr. Jones 
 drove into it with his burden. Greyburn's absence at 
 his usual breakfast time had caused surprise, which 
 did not abate when an hour, and then two hours 
 elapsed, and nothing was heard of him. Clara had 
 communicated her own alarm to the landlady, and
 
 THOU SHALT NOT. 195 
 
 within a few minutes every person in the village knew 
 that Greyburn was missing. No one could give an 
 account of him. His extremely early rising had taken 
 place before any one else was stirring. 
 
 Jones did not live directly in the village, but on a 
 farm in the outskirts. Otherwise he must have heard 
 the inquiries made before he left home. By ten o'clock 
 Clara had become well-nigh distracted. 
 
 " Your brother's all right, miss," said the landlady, 
 for the fiftieth time, in a vain attempt to console her. 
 " He's just taken a walk over the hills and got inter- 
 ested in the scenery. Lord ! strangers always do 
 that. I've known 'em to stay all day climbing over 
 the rocks, looking at stones and flowers. Don't you 
 worry, Miss. He'll be home by dinner time, now you 
 see if he ain't." 
 
 "But he never did so before," moaned Clara. 
 ' And and you don't understand it, Mrs. Baldwin, 
 but I've reasons to fear for him this morning. I'm 
 afraid perhaps I ought not to say it but I'm very 
 much afraid we shall never see him again. He said 
 some things last night which frightened me. Oh ! he 
 should not have gone like that ! It will break my 
 heart !" 
 
 The motherly Mrs. Baldwin took the weeping girl 
 in her lap and hushed her against her breast. 
 
 " There, dearie, don't ! He'll be all right, depend 
 on it. Supposing he's gone away, it's only to go home, 
 I've no doubt, and he'll write to you when he gets 
 there. It's nothing to cry so hard for, dearie. Don't 
 now ! you'll make me break down, too." 
 
 She kissed the girl's wet cheeks, but the tears only 
 came faster and faster. 
 
 "Oh, Mrs. Baldwin !" said Clara, raising her woe- 
 begone face, " I must tell you something which you 
 mustn't reveal unless I give you leave. He's not my 
 brother at all. We deceived you."
 
 1 96 THOU SHALT NOT. 
 
 "Not your brother !" echoed the landlady, shrink- 
 ing impulsively from the childish form and making a 
 movement to disengage the encircling arms. She 
 had very severe ideas of propriety, had Mrs. Baldwin. 
 
 "Oh, it's not what you think!" exclaimed Clara, 
 hastily, while the hot blood flew to her face as she 
 read the landlady's suspicions in her eyes. " He is 
 my husband. Here is the certificate. We've been 
 married three weeks. Oh ! do you think I'll ever see 
 him again ?" 
 
 She burst into renewed sobbing, and the careful 
 landlady inspected the little piece of paper which 
 proclaimed her lodger an honest woman. Satisfied 
 with its contents, she drew a sigh of relief and ,gave 
 it back to its owner. 
 
 " SoJt's a quarrel between you," she said. " Too 
 bad, too bad ! Three weeks ought to go in peace, let 
 what will come after." 
 
 " A quarrel ?" repeated Clara. " Oh, no ! not a 
 quarrel. He loved me with all his heart. It is all 
 my fault, all mine. He never spoke a cross word to 
 me and never would." 
 
 " But you have been here more than a fortnight," 
 said the cautious Mrs. Baldwin, " and you have never 
 entered his room nor he yours." 
 
 The good landlady had her own notions on several 
 subjects, and they were very pronounced ones. 
 
 " I cannot explain any more," said Clara, blushing 
 again, and never ceasing to weep. " I suppose I 
 ought not to have told you that we were married. He 
 might not like it. Do you think he will come back ? 
 May he not have met with some accident ! I think 
 some of us ought to go and search for him." 
 
 She sprang to her feet and caught up her bonnet 
 as she said this. At that moment a domestic opened 
 the door and called for Mrs. Baldwin. Clara passed
 
 THOU SHALT NOT. IQ/ 
 
 with her into the dining-room, where stood a rough- 
 looking man with a broken hat in his hand. 
 
 " I reckon that ye're the lady I want, after all," he 
 said, addressing Clara. " Yer brother hain't ben seen 
 this mornin', has he ?" 
 
 " No," cried the girl. " What do you know of him ? 
 Speak quickly !" 
 
 " Was this his hat ?" asked the man, holding out the 
 one in his hand. 
 
 Clara took the article with a strange feeling and 
 saw that it was bruised and dented. Even this did 
 not seem to convey any distinct notion to her mind. 
 She dimly wondered how Hector's hat got into this 
 man's possession, but nothing more. 
 
 " I think it is his hat," she said, laying it on the 
 table. " I don't know. You've seen him wear it, 
 Mrs. Baldwin. Is it the same ?" 
 
 " It's his," said the landlady, growing a little paler. 
 " I noticed the name inside. Probably there's no 
 other New York hat at the Corners." 
 
 "An* this," said the man, producing apiece of blue 
 cloth. " Did he wear a suit like that ?" 
 
 " The very same !" cried Mrs. Baldwin. " Yes, and 
 that's one of his buttons, too. Oh, my poor child !" 
 
 She turned and clasped Clara in her arms. 
 
 "I don't quite understand," stammered the girl, 
 looking from Mrs. Baldwin to the man and back 
 again. " The hat is his, the cloth and the button, but 
 where's Hector !" 
 
 " Miss," said the man, " it's hard to be tellin' these 
 things, but I found that hat on the side of a precipice 
 a mile up from here, an' the button an" cloth down 
 near the foot o' the hill." 
 
 " Yes yes !" she exclamed again, " but where is he 
 Hector ? Did it was he hurt ?" 
 
 " I couldn't find him at all," said the man, bluntly. 
 
 "Then he is somewhere on the way here," cried
 
 198 THOU SHALT NOT. 
 
 Clara. ' I will go at once and meet him. Show me 
 the road." She started for the door. 
 
 " Miss," said the man, " ye don't seem to under- 
 stand. Thar's a river at the foot o' them cliffs. He 
 must a rolled down inter it." 
 
 " But he can swim !" exclaimed Clara, almost pee- 
 vishly " If it was a mile wide he could cross it. We 
 must look for him. You won't go ? Then T will go 
 without you !" 
 
 ' Ye've never seen the place, o' course," pursued 
 the man. " He went over the cliffs an' struck on his 
 head an" then rolled near a hundred feet before he 
 reached the river. He must a ben stunned long be- 
 fore^.he got ter the water. The stream thar runs 
 very fast an' is full o' rocks an" eddies an falls. 
 Now do you see ?" 
 
 It was evident that she did at last. 
 
 " You think he's dead?" she screamed. 
 
 ",1'm afeared so, Miss," lie said, nodding his head 
 compassionately. 
 
 She did not swoon, though with instant thought the 
 good landlady and the open-mouthed kitchen girl 
 caught her on either side. The event was too stupen- 
 dous to be* met in an ordinary way.. She even de- 
 clined the rocking chair which they offered her, and 
 after a moment's study declared again that she must 
 go at once to the place where the things were found. 
 
 " He was very strong," she said, "and would sur- 
 vive a hurt which might prove fatal to a weaker man. 
 He may have reached the shore further down the 
 river and still be too much injured to get home. Go, 
 my good man, get help and let us hasten to him. I 
 will see that all are well paid. He is rich. Lose no 
 time, I entreat you !" 
 
 She laid her hand on the teamster's sleeve, when he 
 spoke again. 
 
 " Thar's a man over here in Dr. Robinson's office
 
 THOU SHALT NOT. 199 
 
 that I'm sartin can tell ye all about it. He's badly 
 hurt hisself, but the doctor says he'll pull through. 
 Ef ye're strong enough ter go anywhere's, ye'd better 
 go thar fust." 
 
 John Dinsmore lay on a lounge in the office of the 
 only physician at Chatham Corners. He was listen- 
 ing with deep interest to every word which the doctor 
 was saying to a neighbor, who had been called in to 
 render necessary assistance. 
 
 "It's a curious wound," mused the old doctor. 
 "Not necessarily fatal, but -likely to make trouble 
 enough. Already it has paralyzed the vocal organs 
 and partially deadened the limbs on the right side. 
 The bullet went clear through, you see. It was a 
 close shave. An eighth of an inch more would have 
 ruptured the jugular, and then good-bye, John !" 
 
 Dinsmore made a quick motion with his left hand 
 and was about to insert his forefinger in the wound 
 when the wily physician sprang upon and stopped 
 him. 
 
 " Get me that cord !" he said to his assistant. " I've 
 got to tie him again. He's got the suicidal mania, as 
 sure as fate. Jones told me he tried to throw him- 
 self over the cliff. There, he's all right now. See 
 who that is knocking at the door, will you ?" 
 
 Dinsmore saw as quickly as did the man who opened 
 the door, that Clara Grey burn was the foremost of the 
 party. The mental agony of the moment was terrible. 
 He would have gladly welcomed death in any form 
 to shut out the sight of this woman whose husband's 
 blood was on his head. True, his hands had not done 
 the deed, but his acts had led up to it, and he was 
 not one to draw fine distinctions. A moment before 
 Greyburn fell over the precipice Dinsmore's finger 
 had pressed the trigger which was to send him to 
 eternity. He was a murderer. He had never for a 
 second doubted his full responsibility for his enemy's
 
 20O THOU SHALT NOT. 
 
 death. Nor, indeed, was he sorry it had occurred. 
 Had he been able to escape meeting Clara he would 
 have been content. This was the only thing he 
 dreaded and for which he was unprepared. 
 
 His first act after seeing who was entering the 
 office was to turn his face resolutely to the wall in the 
 hope that he might escape detection. But close on 
 the heels of Clara and her party came Squire Jarvis, 
 the town clerk and justice of the peace of Chatham, 
 whom Jones had prudently notified on his way to the 
 hotel, and who brought with him his son to serve 
 as scrivener. A dozen other persons, who had learned 
 the^news or some part of it, with that celerity which 
 circulates information through a country village, 
 came flocking to the doctor's office, and soon blocked 
 up the doorway. 
 
 " Everybody must get out of here except those who 
 have got testimony to give," was the immediate de- 
 cision of the Justice. " I'm going to take down the 
 statements, so you'll learn about it when the proper 
 time comes. Go now, all of you." 
 
 " Mrs. Baldwin an* frer g a l ain't got no more busi- 
 ness thar*-than we uns," protested a cadaverous young 
 man with mouth full of "nigger-head." "Treat 
 everybody alike, I say." 
 
 This remark was received with applause by the 
 rest of the crowd, which was partially silenced by the 
 reply of the Justice that Mrs. Baldwin and her do- 
 mestic were the last persons known to have seen Mr. 
 Greyburn alive. 
 
 "Wall, I see him, too," put in he of the hatchet 
 face. 
 
 "When ?" demanded the Justice. 
 
 " Last night, when he drove into the village." 
 
 "Oh, we all saw him then," laughed the Justice. 
 " I did, I'm sure. You'll have to go." 
 
 Amid the good-natured raillery which this reply
 
 THOU SHALT NOT. 2OI 
 
 brought on the would-be witness, the outsiders with- 
 drew and Squire Jarvis arranged the table for his son, 
 giving him orders to record in the most careful man- 
 ner every word of the testimony which might be 
 given. 
 
 Amos Jones' story came first, and he told it with 
 every detail. All listened with deep interest to every 
 word, but none more intently than Clara. Dinsmore 
 lay as still as death, with his face to the wall, and 
 even when he saw how much he had committed him- 
 self he made no sign. It was not the punishment by 
 the law that he feared. He only wondered what he 
 should do if she came to recognize him. 
 
 The examination of the witness had not proceeded 
 far, when at Clara's earnest request word was sent to 
 the villagers that a liberal reward would be paid for 
 any news of the lost man, and she was gratified to 
 learn that a number of persons had gone with all speed 
 to the scene of the tragedy. As for herself, she could 
 tiot have gone now. A fascination rooted her to Dr. 
 Robinson's office, where lay the man whose acts 
 showed that he knew her husband's fate. 
 
 After Squire Jarvis had extracted all the informa- 
 tion which Mr, Jones was capable of giving, he turned 
 to Clara. 
 
 " We will hear you next," he said. " Your full 
 name, please ?" 
 
 " Clara Campbell Greyburn." At the last word she 
 bowed her head a moment in her hands. It brought 
 a new sense of her possible widowhood. 
 
 " Mr. Greyburn was your brother, I believe ?" 
 
 " Oh, I don't believe I can testify to-day," said 
 Clara, in piteous tones. " It is so dreadful. I do not, 
 I cannot think he is dead. Why must I go through 
 this ordeal ?" 
 
 " Believe me," the Justice responded, with great 
 consideration, " I realize the painful necessity which
 
 202 THOU SHALT NOT. 
 
 compels my question. But I am a justice of the 
 peace and it is my imperative duty to learn all the 
 facts. If your brother is alive and well, or has met 
 with nothing but a slight accident, what we are 
 writing down will do him no harm. If worse has be- 
 fallen him, every word we can learn now is of the ut- 
 most importance. Will you proceed ?" 
 
 " I will try," said Clara, striving to master the 
 trembling in her voice. " What was your question ?" 
 
 " I had just written down that Mr. Greyburn was 
 he*brother," said Mr. Jarvis, Jr. 
 
 " That is wrong. I know we gave it out so when 
 we came here, and we meant no harm by it, but in 
 reality he is my husband. Mrs. Baldwin knows. She 
 has seen the certificate." 
 
 She produced the document and handed it to the 
 Squire. It produced a genuine sensation in the room, 
 and caused the brow of the Justice to assume a yet 
 graver appearance. 
 
 " I see by this that you have been married but 
 three weeks. You must have come directly here 
 from Nejy York after the wedding." 
 
 She assented. 
 
 "Now tell me, as well as you "can, without going 
 into too many details, what was the trouble between 
 you and your husband." 
 
 " I cannot," faltered Clara. " If he is living I 
 should never forgive myself. If he is dead " here 
 she spoke with a gasp and moan " I will let it die 
 with him. There was no quarrel. He loved me 
 ardently. We parted at ten last night the best of 
 friends. Why do you torture me with these ques- 
 tions ?" 
 
 " You parted at ten last night?" repeated the Justice. 
 " Where did he go then ?' 
 
 " To his room, I suppose. I did not see him again." 
 
 " He did go to his room," interposed Mrs. Baldwin.
 
 THOU SHALT NOT. 203 
 
 " I can testify to that, for I saw him enter it. So did 
 Harriet. He was in there at least until after twelve 
 o'clock, for I should have heard him if he had come 
 out before that time." 
 
 " You occupied different rooms, then," said Squire 
 Jarvis. " Will you tell me why ?" 
 
 " You are distracting me !" cried Clara. " Of what 
 use can such a question be ? We were only married 
 a little while and " 
 
 "Well, "said the Justice, looking her full in the 
 eyes. 
 
 " It was my wish, that is all. It was my wish and 
 he respected it. He loved me better than I loved 
 him. Poor Hector !" here she broke into passionate 
 sobbing " bring him back to me, and I will love him 
 now ! I will never leave him, night or day !" 
 
 The swoon had come. They carried her into the 
 house, which adjoined the office, and laid her on the 
 bed, where womanly hands set about her restoration. 
 When she had gone, Dinsmore turned toward the 
 group in the room and motioned violently toward the 
 table. They understood him. A pencil and paper 
 were soon at his disposal and his arm was released 
 from the rope. With infinite pains he wrote with 
 his left hand in cramped and almost undecipherable 
 characters : 
 
 " For God's sake, don't go on with this ! I killed 
 the mail ! Take me away." 
 
 " How did you do it ?" asked Squire Jarvis. 
 
 The blacksmith took the pencil again and wrote : 
 
 " I killed him, that is enough. In God's name take 
 me to jail ; hang me ; anything !" 
 
 " I don't understand this," whispered the Squire to 
 his son. " You noticed how he turned his face away
 
 2O4 THOU SHALT NOT. 
 
 when Mrs. Greyburn was in the room. I want to see 
 if she will recognize him." 
 
 When Clara could sit up, they brought her in, sup- 
 ported by Mrs. Baldwin, the doctor's wife and Harriet. 
 The blacksmith suspected their intention and covered 
 his face with his arm. It required the strength of 
 two men to remove it and turn him toward Clara. 
 His eyes were shut, and the loss of blood had made 
 his face ghastly white, but she uttered his name with 
 a cry and fainted again. 
 
 "^Writedown ' John Dinsmore,' " said Squire Jarvis 
 to his son, " and get a carriage ready to take him to 
 the Johnsbury jail." 
 
 CHAPTER XIX. 
 
 SEVERAL miles from the thriving county seat 
 known as Johnsbury stood a cabin all by itself on the 
 edge of ,the wood. No habitation was visible from its 
 windows. The place was known as " Phillipses." 
 Old Bill Phillips, the owner, bore a hard name in all 
 the country round. Was a hen-roost robbed? it was 
 at Phillipses that they always looked first, and the 
 fact that they never found anything there -did not in 
 the least remove the general belief that Bill was the 
 culprit. Did a sack of corn or alive pig disappear? 
 Phillips was the first name mentioned. Rapid River 
 came tumbling down the hills very near his farm. In 
 this stream there were always plenty of trout. The 
 nearest thing to honest work that old Bill had ever 
 been known to do was to angle for these creatures, 
 and his skill at taking them had given him a reputa- 
 tion hardly inferior to that caused by his unlawful 
 pranks. On the morning that Hector Greyburn's
 
 THOU SHALT NOT. 2O$ 
 
 body fell into the Rapid's torrent, Phillips happened 
 to be wandering about an eighth of a mile further 
 down the stream, where lay a particularly fine trout- 
 ing basin. He had just got comfortably to work and 
 was preparing to pull in a good string of the finny 
 tribe, when a different object attracted his attention. 
 
 " By the great horn spoon, that ain't no fish !" he 
 exclaimed, laying down his pole. " It's a man, dead 
 ar alive, or I'm a sucker !" 
 
 He sprang with extraordinary agility for one of his 
 years upon a heavy boulder which lay directly in the 
 course the body was taking, and made a vigorous 
 effort to get hold of it, but it eluded his grasp and 
 was whirled rapidly down the stream. 
 
 " I wonder if the cuss is alive," he exclaimed, spring- 
 ing back to the shore as quickly as he left it. " He 
 don't want to hit that cocoanut of his many times 
 more agin them rocks if there is any life in him. I'll try 
 my fishing-pole and see if I can't anchor him that way." 
 
 Phillips ran down the stream with the pole in his 
 hands, and soon had the satisfaction of fastening the 
 hook in the clothing of the floating man. With the 
 careful effort of one who had practiced with the rod 
 on almost every kind of fresh-water fish, he gradually 
 drew the body to the shore, and at last caught it 
 vigorously with his hands and drew it upon the land. 
 
 Acting upon his first impulse, Phillips turned the 
 man over on his face in the grass and set about the 
 common methods of resuscitation. For ten minutes 
 he worked with all his might to restore life to the 
 still form, but apparently without avail. All at once 
 he stopped suddenly, as though struck by a new idea. 
 He looked anxiously in every direction to front and 
 rear and then, ceasing his work, he stood for a min- 
 ute in doubt. 
 
 "This fellow is well dressed," he was thinking to 
 himself. " Perhaps he's got a pretty pile of money
 
 206 THOU SHALT NOT. 
 
 about him. If he has, haven't I a right to it if I can 
 get it ? If he's dead, it won't do him no good, and if 
 he's alive, I'm entitled to something for saving him. 
 By Goshen ! I'll examine his pockets, any way." 
 
 A gold watch and chain were the first articles 
 found. Next, a diamond stud in the shirt bosom was 
 wrenched off. Finally a pocket-book was discovered, 
 and on opening it Phillips found a number of bills, 
 some of large denominations, only slightly dampened 
 by the water. The sight of the money seemed to put 
 a devil into old Bill's heart, for he hastily pocketed his 
 plunder, and, grasping the body by its clothing, 
 started to drag it once more toward the bank of the 
 stream. In this work he was interrupted in a most 
 unexpected manner. A slight, boyish form appeared 
 on the high road adjacent, and a voice called out : 
 
 " Stop !" 
 
 Phillips was a coward. None other would have 
 robbed a helpless fellow creature and then sought to 
 bury in eternal silence the only voice which could tes- 
 tify against him. He loosened his hold of the body 
 and turned in a startled way towards the boy, who 
 came with all speed to where he was standing. 
 
 "What are you trying to dc?" said the lad. 
 " Would you kill the man as well as take his money." 
 
 Phillips looked with pretended innocence at his 
 childish accuser. 
 
 " Who's thinking of killing any one ?" he blurted 
 out. " A man's a right to save a body that he finds 
 floating in the river, ain't he ? You wouldn't argy in 
 a court of justice that there's law agin' that ?" 
 
 " No," said the boy, with a determined air, " but 
 there's law against robbing a man whether he's alive 
 or dead ; and there's a thing they call humanity, 
 which teaches us to save a human life when we can/' 
 
 Old Bill stood on the defensive,
 
 THOU SHALT NOT. 2O/ 
 
 " Who pulled this 'ere body out of the Rapid ? Tell 
 me that !" 
 
 " You, I suppose, if you say so," replied the boy. 
 " But that gives you no right to put it back again, as 
 you were going to do when I stopped you." 
 
 " Going to put it back !" repeated Phillips, as 
 if horror-stricken at the idea. " You ought not to say 
 that, young fellow. I was only going to get him 
 nearer to the edge of the drink so I could wet his 
 head. That's all I was ever dreaming of, 'pon my 
 word, now." 
 
 The boy could not help smiling a little. " His head 
 needs wetting, I should think," he said, passing the 
 soaked hair through his hand. " That's a pretty poor 
 story. What he needs is liquor of some kind. Give 
 me that flask in your pocket and I'll turn some down 
 his throat." 
 
 Phillips handed the boy a flask, which happened to 
 be nearly full, but he had no sooner done so than he 
 began to recover a little of his courage, and reached 
 for it again. 
 
 " By cripes, boy ! I've got a word to say about this 
 matter. You ain't going to fetch this fellow to, and 
 then help him to cheat me out of my honest share of 
 what I have found on him. I don't want no trouble 
 with you, but there's got to be an understanding be- 
 fore we go any further." 
 
 " Oh, there has, has there ?" said the boy. " Well, 
 I'm telling you that everything will have to be done 
 to save this man's life before anything else. Take 
 hold and help me do that, and then you may reward 
 yourself out of that pocket-book, if you are mean 
 enough to take it in that way." 
 
 The old man looked at the lad with an undecided 
 air. 
 
 " How do I know you'll do the right thing if I take 
 you at your word ?" he asked.
 
 208 THOU SHALT NOT. 
 
 " For Heaven's sake, have some confidence in what 
 I tell you," said the lad. " Yon know what to do, for 
 I saw you at work before. Hold on ! here is a bullet- 
 hole in his coat. Perhaps he was shot before he got 
 into the water. No, the hole was made by this pis- 
 tol, which must have been discharged accidentally. 
 Come, will you help me, or shall I go for other assist- 
 ance ?" 
 
 Phillips glanced hastily up and down the stream 
 and back toward the woods. His look was enough to 
 make the boy rise to his feet and grasp the revolver 
 which he had taken. 
 
 " None of that ! I've made a fair proposition to 
 you. Now if you don't go to work and help me save 
 this man, there'll be trouble." 
 
 Bill saw that he was foiled and at once reassumed 
 his mild manner. 
 
 " Sartinly, I'll do anything that's reasonable," he 
 said, beginning to rub the hands of the drowned man. 
 " You'll do what's right, I'm sure. I'll trust you. 
 Hand me the brandy." 
 
 He poured a generous quantity down the throat, and 
 for several minutes proceeded to use every endeavor 
 to bring motion into the still form. Just as he was on 
 the point of declaring that there was no use in trying 
 longer, a faint groan brought a bright light into the 
 eyes of the younger of the workers and seemed not to 
 displease even the elder. 
 
 " He's coming round," said Phillips, "but this ain't 
 no place to get him clear out of this stupor. There's 
 a little shanty not far off where the fishermen camp 
 sometimes, and if we could get him there and get a 
 fire going, he'd soon be all right. Do you suppose 
 you could bear a hand if I can carry the heft of 
 him ?" 
 
 Overjoyed at the proposal, the boy gathered up the 
 articles which had been strewn upon the grass, and
 
 THOU SHALT NOT. 2OQ 
 
 lent his slight assistance toward raising the body 
 from the ground. It was a severe tax on his 
 strength, but he bore his part of the burden without 
 complaint. Every forty or fifty steps they halted for 
 a moment's rest. Phillips took every opportunity to 
 reiterate his expressions of confidence in his young 
 companion, and to declare his belief that he would 
 never see an honest man the worse off for trying to 
 save a fellow-creature. 
 
 " If I hadn't fished him out, he'd been dead sure 
 before this," he would say. " He wouldn't be any 
 kind of a man to grudge me a little spare change, 
 would he ? And you wouldn't be the one to encour- 
 age such an idea, I can tell that by the looks of you." 
 
 They reached the cabin at last, and stripping off the 
 drenched clothing laid the body on a couch. With 
 the aid of hot water and a lot of old towels which they 
 found, they soon witnessed a marked improvement in 
 the condition of their patient. Rubbing with hot 
 cloths and an internal dose of hot brandy and water 
 did wonders. Phillips seemed to have entirely given 
 up his first ideas and devoted himself assiduously to 
 the work before him. The boy arranged the wet 
 clothing by the stove, where it would dr^ and then 
 sat down exhausted. 
 
 " I can't see as he's got any real hard clip except 
 this one on his forehead," said Phillips, after making 
 a careful inspection. " He's scratched and bruised 
 enough, but that's the only jinooine winder. He'll 
 never look so pretty as he used to in the face, if I'm 
 any guesser. That cut goes slantingly clear across 
 the forehead." 
 
 The injured man turned his head and muttered 
 something unintelligible. 
 
 " What he ought to have is a doctor, I suppose," 
 said Phillips. " I don t see how it's to be managed, 
 though. It won't do for me to knock all my own in-
 
 210 THOU SHALT NOT. 
 
 terests in the head. And yet, the cuss is coming 
 round so comfortable that I really hate to see him 
 fall back now." 
 
 The boy sitting by the fire was very busy thinking, 
 Presently he said : 
 
 " Let me see that pocket-book." 
 4.' You'll do the fair thing now," whined Phillips, 
 handing it over with evident reluctance. " I've dealt 
 square with you and you must do the same with 
 me." 
 
 " I will keep my word," replied the boy. He pro- 
 ceeded to count the money and was evidently sur- 
 prised at the large amount. 
 
 " There is six thousand dollars here," he said. 
 
 " I knew there wasn't far from that." 
 
 " How much do you want ?" 
 
 " How much ?" repeated the old man. 
 
 " Yes. Don't be unreasonable. I want to treat 
 you fairly, but remember there are two of us to share 
 in this thing. I've got rights here as well as you." 
 
 The old man looked at the lad in a dazed way. 
 
 " You want part for yourself !" he gasped. 
 
 " Why not ?" 
 
 " I I thought " began Phillips. 
 
 " Yes, I know what you thought," replied the boy. 
 " Because I wasn't willing to have him killed, you 
 thought I wouldn't take anything for my trouble in 
 saving him." 
 
 "Well," said the old man, after a pause, " you 
 ought to have something. What do you say ?" 
 
 " There's still another one to share," said the boy. 
 
 "Who ? What do you mean ?" cried Phillips, look- 
 ing thoroughly scared. 
 
 The lad pointed to the man on the bed. 
 
 " Him. You wouldn't leave him wounded and sick 
 like that without a penny, would you ? He must be 
 got away from here and nursed back to health, so
 
 THOU SHALT NOT/ 21 f- 
 
 that he can rejoin his friends. That will cost' 
 money. Come, partner, we must leave him his share. 
 If he can't speak, we will speak for him." 
 
 This idea was too strange for Phillips to accept im- 
 mediately. 
 
 " If we leave any money on him, the next man who 
 comes along will steal it," he said, finally. " So what's 
 the use ? We'd better divide it, half and half. I say, 
 now, you won't kick at that? I'll give up half to you. 
 I swear I hadn't ought to be asked to do any better." 
 
 The boy reflected for a moment. 
 
 " The watch, chain and diamond. Throw those in 
 for me and the man and we will accept your proposi- 
 tion. Only there is one thing more : you must help 
 us to get away from here. I shall want food and 
 medicine suitable, for him during the day and a con- 
 veyance to take us to some railroad station to-night. 
 The sooner we put a few miles between us and this 
 spot the better for me the better for you. I shall 
 not leave the man until he is able to go alone, or un- 
 til his friends find him." 
 
 '' Do you live in Johnsbury ?" 
 
 " No, nor anywhere else. It makes no difference 
 where I go only so that I get away from here." 
 
 " It's a curious way of doing it," said the old man. 
 "Why not skip out with your share of the stuff and 
 send word in some way to the sheriff at Johnsbury 
 where he can find the man ?" 
 
 " I've taken a fancy to him," said the lad, " and I 
 won't leave him until he is much better, which I feel 
 sure will take weeks of time. And, of course, I don't 
 want to be found around here." 
 
 " Blessed if I can see why not ! You could get the 
 whole credit of saving him." 
 
 " Oh, yes ! certainly," said the boy. " You are a 
 calculator ! And when the police said, ' Yon carried 
 this man here from the shore of the river all alone,
 
 212 THOU SHALT NOT. 
 
 we suppose ?' and when he told them there was three 
 thousand dollars missing, I should be able to explain 
 everything, of course !" 
 
 Phillips surveyed the boy with admiration. 
 
 "You're a keen one and you've got the right idea 
 oi-it. I can get anything you want for him over here 
 at a little settlement, and a carriage after dark is as 
 easy as winking. The place for you to take the cars 
 is about fifteen miles from here at a flag station. How 
 will you explain things to the conductor, though ?" 
 
 " Can you get me an ounce of laudanum ?" 
 
 " To be sure." 
 
 " I'll give him small doses of that if I see he's be- 
 coming too clear in his mind. When we get to the 
 cars I will wrap his head up and pass him for my 
 sick brother. If he becomes too troublesome and is 
 able to get along I can leave the train." 
 
 " That is first rate," said Phillips, delighted. " Only 
 that laudanum, ain't you afraid to handle that ? It 
 don't take much to kill a man, if I understand it 
 right." 
 
 " I know just how much to give him," replied the 
 lad. I wasn't two years in a doctor's office for noth- 
 ing. You hurry and get that and the other things 
 I've written for on this paper, and get back as soon as 
 you can." 
 
 Phillips took the paper and left the cabin. It had 
 come to be quite natural to obey now. The strong 
 mind of the child had no difficulty in dominating the 
 weaker mind of the man. The course which he took 
 led him for a short distance up the bank of Rapid 
 river, and he was just in time to meet the exploring 
 party which had come down from Chatham Corners. 
 There were a dozen men of them, all more or less ex- 
 cited. Seeing him come from the direction in which 
 they were going they sprang toward him and began
 
 THOU SHALT NOT. 213 
 
 to ply him with questions, for which he was well pre- 
 pared. 
 
 " I did see something down the river a piece," he 
 said, in response to their inquiries, " and I thought at 
 the time it looked curious." 
 
 " How far down ?" cried the crowd in one breath. 
 
 " How fur ?" repeated the old man with delibera- 
 tion. " Well, I couldn't just say exactly but perhaps 
 a couple of miles. Maybe three. It was near an hour 
 ago, anyhow, and I have been walking along at a 
 pretty even jog." 
 
 This intelligence fell like a wet blanket on the seek- 
 ers for reward. All but two or three concluded to 
 give up the search and return home, believing that 
 the body must have been found already by some one. 
 Those who went on were the youngest of the party, 
 who kept up the search for the novelty of it, though 
 without any real expectation of anything more than 
 getting the first news of the recovery. Phillips 
 chuckled to himself at the sensation he had created 
 and went his way. 
 
 Just after dusk that night a livery stable keeper of 
 Johnsbury, who bore not too good a reputation among 
 his townsmen, was accosted in his yard by a fellow 
 whose face was muffled in a heavy comforter and 
 whose voice was evidently disguised for the occasion. 
 The result of a brief conversation was that twenty 
 dollars was promised for a night's work, where no 
 questions would be asked. The stable keeper soon 
 after drove a hack with one passenger up the road 
 leading toward Chatham Corners. In an hour he 
 turned off into an unfrequented by-way and finally 
 stopped near a small cabin, where the passenger 
 alighted. It was our new acquaintance, Mr. William 
 Phillips. 
 
 " How is he ?" was his first question, after entering
 
 214 THOU SHALT NOT. 
 
 the house and seeing that his young friend was all 
 ready to depart. 
 
 " Sleeping quietly," was the reply. " He will ride 
 like a baby. Have you got plenty of pillows ?" 
 
 " Everything you ordered." 
 
 " All right. Get your driver to help us put him into 
 the carriage. After that we must obliterate all traces 
 of having been here, and make sure there is nothing 
 left to track us by." 
 
 The midnight train was signalled at Forest Hollow, 
 and a sick man and his brother were given a section 
 in the sleeper. Before this, however, three thousand 
 dollars had been paid to Mr. Phillips, and that gentle- 
 man had expressed his unbounded regard for, and ap- 
 preciation of the lad who had saved him that day from 
 committing a cowardly and brutal murder. 
 
 The next morning, when the train reached Macon, 
 assistance was procured to remove the sick man to a 
 small hotel, where he was soon occupying a bed, and 
 his hurt was being examined critically by Dr. Rerdell, 
 the ablest physician of the place. 
 
 " You say that he struck his head against the plat- 
 form on his way to the train ?" said the doctor. " It 
 is a serious injury, and though his life is in no imme- 
 diate danger, grave complications may arise. You 
 had better let me get you a good male nurse, as he 
 needs constant attention. He ought to recover enough 
 during the day to speak. I expect, however, that his 
 first impressions will be of a wandering character, and 
 shall not be surprised if he is unreasonable or violent. 
 The case is peculiar. He has met with a great shock, 
 greater even than I can ascribe to this injury on the 
 head. But don't be alarmed ; we'll have him all right 
 in time." 
 
 The male nurse came at noon and proved him self an 
 adept at his business. The boy took the opportunity 
 to get a breath of fresh air out of doors. At five
 
 THOU SHALT NOT. 21 5 
 
 o'clock he returned and sat by the bedside while the 
 nurse went to supper. A few minutes later the man 
 in the bed opened his eyes, and smiling very pleas- 
 antly into the boy's face, said in a natural voice : 
 
 " What is your name ?" 
 
 " Charlie Leslie, sir. And yours ?" 
 
 "I don't know," said the sick man, with a broader 
 smile, which almost became a laugh. He paused a 
 minute. " I think my name is Bird & Bird, but I'm 
 not sure. If it is, I'm a lawyer, and my office is at the 
 Astor House. Ha ! ha !" 
 
 When the boy had summoned the nurse, the sick 
 man was asleep again, and lay as quietly as though he 
 were in perfect health. 
 
 CHAPTER XX. 
 
 HECTOR GREYBURN had a wonderful constitution. 
 Few men would have survived the injuries which he 
 sustained. That even he did it seems little short of 
 miraculous. In falling over the edge of the cliff he 
 struck first upon his shoulders and side, and the 
 wound in his forehead was caused by a rebound 
 which threw him against a sharp, projecting rock. 
 He was unconscious before he realized that he had 
 fallen. His roll down the hill bruised and scratched 
 him, but did him no serious injury. The splash in 
 the cold water of Rapid River, instead of adding to his 
 hurt, really did much at first to aid his recovery. The 
 coolness of the water tempered the fever which would 
 otherwise have filled his veins. The rush of the 
 stream was so great that he was swept forward too 
 rapidly to have his breathing organs much endan- 
 gered. Had he bepn rescued within a hundred yards
 
 2l6 THOU SHALT NOT. 
 
 of the place where he fell, the amount of water which 
 he had inhaled would have hurt him but little. Every 
 yard after that lessened his chances of recovery, and, 
 had he remained much longer at the mercy of the 
 torrent, our story would have ended at this point. 
 
 Dr. Rerdell knew, with the intuition of a skilled 
 surgeon, that something more than the cut on the 
 forehead must have occurred to cause the condition 
 in which he found his patient, but as he had no reason 
 to doubt that the statement of young Leslie embraced 
 all he knew about the matter, the good doctor kept 
 his suspicions to himself. He visited the sick man 
 twice every day and held subdued talks with the 
 nurse, whose name was Thompson, and who proved 
 himself a very valuable assistant. Thompson was 
 one of those men to whom sleep and rest are super- 
 fluities. He remained the whole of each afternoon and 
 night with his patient, and only relinquished his post 
 for a few hours in the morning, when Charlie took 
 his place. Even then the nurse was in an adjoining 
 room, where he could be called at a moment's notice 
 if necessary. 
 
 Charlie Leslie was a remarkable youth, as his con- 
 duct in this affair would of itself abundantly prove. 
 He was a slender little fellow, of a pale and striking 
 countenance, and might be taken to be anywhere be- 
 tween twelve and fourteen years of age. When he 
 sat at rest by Greyburn's bedside he hardly looked 
 more than the former figure, while the intelligence 
 which he showed in his contact with Phillips and in 
 his dealings with the doctor and the hotel people, 
 seemed fully commensurate with the supposition that 
 he had even passed the latter. His perfect self-pos- 
 session and the easy way in which he assumed the 
 duties of his position were the subject of admiring 
 criticisms on the part of all who had occasion to note 
 them. He had taken the money left after settling
 
 THOU SHALT NOT. 21 / 
 
 \vith Phillips and secreted it about his person. When 
 necessary to change a large bill he would go to some 
 banking-house to do it, rather than excite comment at 
 the hotel. He insisted on settling daily for every- 
 thing, and could not be turned from his purpose, giv- 
 ing as a reason that he might have to leave at any 
 moment upon the receipt of .expected news. 
 
 Within a day or two of his arrival he found the fol- 
 lowing in one of the Macon papers : 
 
 PROBABLE MURDER. THE GUILTY PARTY ARRESTED. 
 
 JOHNSBURY, Sept. 22. Last Friday a resident of 
 Chatham found a badly wounded man on the roadside 
 leading along the Chatham Cliffs. A bullet had passed 
 through his throat, paralyzing the vocal organs and 
 rendering him otherwise helpless. He was brought 
 to Chatham Corners. Subsequent developments 
 showed that a gentleman who was visiting at the Cor- 
 ners has disappeared, and the wounded man has made 
 a written confession of murdering the other. How he 
 received his own wound is a mystery, as he cannot 
 talk and refuses to explain by writing. Vigorous 
 search has not resulted in discovering the body, which 
 was probably swept out to sea. The arrested man is 
 named Dinsmore. Both he and his victim came from 
 somewhere in the Northern States, and are not known 
 hereabouts. The affair has created quite an excite- 
 ment in this usually quiet locality. The murderer can 
 survive his own wound but a few days. 
 
 Charlie read this paragraph with a good deal of 
 interest, as it was a partial clue to what he sought. 
 He could not doubt that the man whom he had rescued 
 was the one referred to. The place, the time, and the 
 tell-tale bullet-hole in the pocket, all pointed to one 
 conclusion. 
 
 " Probably the other one struck this man with some 
 heavy weapon and threw him over the cliffs," he said
 
 2l8 THOU SHALT NOT. 
 
 to himself. " Then, when the body fell, the hammer 
 of the revolver struck something and sent a bullet 
 through the murderer's throat. It was a marvellous 
 but just retribution. With such a wound he will never 
 live long enough for a trial." ^ 
 
 The next morning, when Thompson was out of the 
 room, Charlie again had the pleasure of seeing the 
 light of intelligence beam into the eyes of the sick 
 man. Again he asked his name, and on being told, 
 gratified his questioner by answering : " Oh, yes, you 
 told me that before." In response to an inquiry re- 
 garding his own name, the sick man hesitated a little, 
 knitting his brows as if in puzzled thought. 
 
 " I'm not sure," he said, presently. " It couldn't 
 be John Dinsmore, could it ? If it is, I am a black- 
 smith and I live at Springdale." 
 
 The lad caught eagerly at this answer. 
 
 " And if your name is Diusmore, you threw a man 
 over the cliff at Chatham last week. Is it not so ?" 
 
 " No," said the sick man, promptly. " I did not 
 throw him. He fell. He shot me first with his re- 
 volver. That is, if my name is Dinsmore, which I 
 hardly believe. I say, what is my name ? You ought 
 to know." 
 
 He looked eagerly at the lad. 
 
 " Think again," entreated Charlie. You were hurt, 
 cut, nearly drowned. Where did you live ? What 
 did they call you there ? You must remember." 
 
 He waited with impatience for a reply. 
 
 " It's strange I can't" said Greyburn. Could it be 
 Jacob Mendall ? Am I a banker with an office on 
 Wall street ? I don't believe I am, and yet every 
 name I can think of sounds just as unreasonable. If 
 I could get up and go out of doors I could find plenty 
 of people who know me. Let me ride down to City 
 Hall and I can tell you very soon." 
 
 "What City Hall ?" asked Leslie,
 
 THOU SHALT NOT. 219 
 
 " Why, down-town, of course. Near the Astor 
 House. Don't you know where City Hall is ?" 
 
 "You are very much mistaken," said the lad. 
 " We are in Georgia. Now let me tell you your name. 
 You are Henry M. Leslie. I am your brother Char- 
 lie." 
 
 " Henry M. Leslie ?" repeated the sick man, with a 
 vacant stare. "Are you sure?" 
 
 " Quite," said Charlie. 
 
 " And you are my brother ?" 
 
 "Yes." 
 
 Greyburn lay quiet for several minutes. " You are 
 quite certain that my name is Leslie ?" he said. 
 
 "Positive," said Charlie. "Do not forget it again. 
 The doctor will ask you when he comes and will con- 
 sider it a good sign if you answer rightly. I am very 
 anxious that he should think you are recovering, as I 
 want to get you out of doors." 
 
 " Whose house is this ?" said the sick man, looking 
 about the chamber. 
 
 " It is a hotel. You were hurt as we were traveling." 
 
 Tired out with the long conversation, Greyburn re- 
 lapsed into silence. When the doctor came in the 
 afternoon, Charlie said : 
 
 " My brother is gaining fast. He knows his name 
 to-day." 
 
 " What is your name ?" asked Dr. Rerdell, taking 
 his patient by the hand and applying his fingers to 
 his wrist. 
 
 " Henry M. Leslie," was the reply. 
 
 " What makes you think so ?" asked the cautious 
 man of medicine. 
 
 " He told me," said Greyburn, pointing to the boy. 
 
 " You did not remember it youself ?" 
 
 " No." 
 
 " But you remember it now ?" said Charlie. " There 
 is no mistake ?"
 
 220 THOU SHALT NOT. 
 
 " Y-e-s,"said the sick man, rather faintly. " I re- 
 member it now." 
 
 The doctor shook his head a little and wrote some 
 orders for Thompson. When the medical man left 
 the room Charlie went with him. 
 
 " What do you think ?" asked the boy, when they 
 were out of sight of their patient. 
 
 " He has not gained as much as you believe, I am 
 sorry to say," said Dr. Rerdell. " Indeed, I am more 
 discouraged than I have hitherto been. It is evident 
 that he remembers nothing. He takes your word 
 that his name is Leslie, as he would if you told him it 
 was Jenkins or Williamson. That shows a bad con- 
 dition of the brain, which it may take a long time to 
 remedy. Physically, he is coming around fast. Within 
 a week he can probably ride out with safety. But 
 mentally his gain is slow. It may take a long time 
 before he is wholly rational." 
 
 Before a week had elapsed they took Greyburn out 
 in a carriage and drove into the suburbs. The 
 ride invigorated him so much that they had diffi- 
 culty in keeping him from getting out to pick some 
 flowers which he saw by the road-side. In the even- 
 ing he was not easily persuaded that he ought to 
 retire early. After that, they allowed him to be 
 dressed at breakfast time, and to sit up until nine or 
 ten at night. He began to eat his meals with relish, 
 and to a stranger he bore few traces of his severe ill- 
 ness, other than a long, red gash on his forehead and 
 the bruises and discolorations on his face. At first he, 
 wore a bandage about his head, but as the wound was 
 not one which required stitches, this was soon re^ 
 moved. Thompson was still retained, as it was felt 
 that Greyburn should never be left alone, but he 
 came and went about as he pleased. He did not seem 
 to desire to go far from the hotel, except when riding, 
 and paid very little attention to what he saw.
 
 THOU SHALT NOT. 221 
 
 Among the articles which Charlie had found in 
 Greyburn's pockets was a photograph of himself, 
 taken within a few months. The boy had given it a 
 hasty glance and then, not thinking that it was the 
 likeness of any person he had ever seen, had laid it 
 away again. One day, after Grey burn's partial re- 
 covery, he bethought himself of this picture. They 
 were alone at the time. Charlie never tried these ex- 
 periments before third parties. He handed him the 
 photograph and waited to try the effect. 
 
 "Very good, don't you think so?" said Greyburn, 
 after inspecting it. 
 
 " Who is it ?" said Charlie. 
 
 " That's an odd question. Myself, to be sure." 
 
 " You don't mean that, do you ?" said Charlie, try- 
 ing to fix his attention again. " Think a little, can't 
 you tell whose face that is ?" 
 
 Greyburn surveyed it once more with a critical 
 eye. 
 
 " If that is not a picture of me," he said, " then I 
 don't know anything." 
 
 " Look in the mirror," said Charlie, turning to- 
 ward a pier-glass which stood in the room. " If that 
 person in the photograph is you, who is this man re- 
 flected in the glass ?" 
 
 " I don't know that man," said Greyburn, after a 
 long look, " but this one in the photograph is I. Why, 
 it's clear enough. There's no doubt about it." He 
 walked away as if bored with a discussion which 
 seemed useless. The lad compared him carefully 
 with the photograph, as he sat at the window, looking 
 out upon the street. 
 
 " He may be right," he mused. " Those hurts and 
 the ordeal through which he has gone have doubtless 
 changed him much. There is a resemblance to his 
 mouth here, and the chin is much the same, but his
 
 222 THOU SHALT NOT. 
 
 own mother wouldn't recognize him. What a mys- 
 tery this is !" 
 
 One day when they were alone, Greyburn broke 
 out suddenly : 
 
 " I don't want to dispute you, Charlie, for I like 
 you very much, but I'm sure my name is not Leslie. 
 I can think of many things which convince me you 
 are wrong, and some day I shall be able to tell all 
 about it. What I wish to say to you now is, don't de- 
 sert me. I have a feeling that you are liable to leave 
 me suddenly, and it keeps me from sleeping well at 
 night. I should be lost without vou. If my head 
 ever gets clear again it will be by your aid. Don't 
 leave me, will you ?" 
 
 "Certainly I will not," said the lad. 
 
 " I have an idea," pursued Greyburn, slowly, " that 
 I have lost a lot of friends. I seem to have had them, 
 and all at once something swept them away. I've got 
 money too, somewhere, plenty of it. Stay with me 
 and you shall lose nothing." 
 
 The boy promised once more that he would not 
 leave him, and after that Greyburn seemed much 
 easier in his mind. One day he asked : 
 
 " Have you any father or mother ?" 
 
 " Neither." 
 
 " Brother or sister ?" 
 
 " No one in the wide world," the boy confessed, un- 
 guardedly, with a trace of sadness in his tone. 
 
 " Nor I," said Greyburn. " Why, then, should we 
 ever separate ? Why should we not always be 
 brothers ?" 
 
 After that Greyburn's progress toward health was 
 so rapid that Dr. Rerdell acknowledged that further 
 delay iii proceeding on their journey was needless. 
 
 " I would like to follow this case to its fulfillment," 
 he said to Charlie 4 , " but that is no reason, why you 
 should stay here all winter. If your brother is used
 
 THOU SHALT NOT. 223 
 
 to the Northern climate he will be better off there 
 than here. Get the best physician you can, wherever 
 you go, and I think you may hope for the best re- 
 sults." 
 
 Within a week Charlie and his friend were booked 
 at a little hotel in the outskirts of the metropolis as 
 " Henry M. and Charles Leslie." The careful Thomp- 
 son had been brought along. Charlie had several 
 ideas in his mind which he wanted an opportunity to 
 work out, so he left Greyburn in charge of Thompson 
 one day and took a train for the city. He had been 
 there before. In a short time he stood on the steps 
 of the Astor House buildings, conning the directory 
 of offices at the doorway. 
 
 " That's all right at least," he said, comparing 
 one of the addresses with a memorandum in his 
 hand. " Bird & Bird, attorneys." He ascended the 
 stairs rather timidly, and knocked so faintly at the 
 lawyer's door that he had to knock again before he 
 heard the answering summons to enter. 
 
 " Is this the office of Bird & Bird ?" he inquired. 
 
 "Of course," said an over smart boy of about his 
 own age, who happened to be the only tenant at the 
 moment. " Can't you read ?" 
 
 " Will they be in to-day ?" pursued Charlie, too 
 flustered to mind the sarcasm. 
 
 " To be sure," said the office boy. " At least, Mr. 
 John will. Mr. Jason is trying a case in court, and 
 whether he'll get through or not is more than I can 
 tell." 
 
 " Are there any other persons here of the name of 
 Bird ?" Charlie found courage to inquire further. 
 
 " Not a Bird !" replied the office boy, jocularly. 
 "Not another feathered biped ! Not a songster in 
 the cage but just those two ! And a pretty pair they 
 are ! Owls, both of 'em ! Hawks, sometimes ! You
 
 224 THOU SHALT NOT. 
 
 may tell 'em, if you like. I've given my notice to 
 quit Saturday, so / don't care." 
 
 Charlie went down the stairs slowly and stopped a 
 moment at the base. A man with a red cap, evidently 
 a messenger, passed him and awoke a new train of 
 thought. 
 
 " Here !" he called to the man. " You're a mes- 
 senger, aren't you ?" 
 
 "You're right there," said he of the cap, good- 
 naturedly. 
 
 " Could you make a few inquiries for me about 
 town and bring an answer to this hotel ?" asked 
 Charlie, handing the man a card as he spoke. 
 
 " That's out of the city," said the man, " but I sup- 
 pose I can arrange it if } T ou'll pay for the trouble. I 
 can do your errands this afternoon and ride out to see 
 you in the evening." 
 
 "Let me see. Perhaps there is no need of that. 
 The places are not very far from here. You could do 
 all I wish and get back in an hour. I will meet you, 
 say at three o'clock." 
 
 " All right," said the messenger. " What is to be 
 done ?" 
 
 "Take these names and addresses, go to each place 
 described and find out if the man named is there, or 
 if they know where he is. Evade questioners the best 
 way you can. Here is a dollar in advance. If the job 
 is worth more I will pay the rest when you return. 
 Don't let it be known who sent you. If I wanted to 
 be seen in the matter I should go myself." 
 
 Charlie walked over to a neighboring restaurant 
 and got his dinner. He had some time to wait, and 
 amused himself with the daily papers until three 
 o'clock, when he returned to the Astor House offices. 
 The messenger came, punctual to the minute. 
 
 " I found them all," he said, drawing out his mem- 
 orandum book.
 
 THOU SHALT NOT. 22$ 
 
 "Jacob Mendall, banker, Wall street, was in his 
 office this morning,, but has gone for the day. The 
 clerks say he seldom returns after twelve o'clock. 
 
 " Clarence Perkyns was at the Metropolitan Club, 
 so the porter informed me when I rang. He offered 
 to call him, but I said I only wished to know, and hur- 
 ried off. 
 
 " Harris R. Stedman is cashier of the bank I 
 went to." 
 
 Charlie returned to Greyburn with all the informa- 
 tion he had expected to get, and indeed rather more ; 
 for he had had his doubts whether the names given 
 him at various times were not entirely fictitious. It 
 was now evident that his patient knew these people, 
 and undoubtedly they knew him also. How to bring 
 about the desired result without compromising him- 
 self was getting to be a serious question for Charlie. 
 
 The motives of the lad had been pure from the 
 first. Had he not agreed to let Bill Phillips have a 
 large part of the money found on Greyburn's body it 
 is possible that neither he nor his friend would have 
 been alive now. The old man was desperate, and 
 would certainly either have killed the boy or been 
 killed by him, neither event the most desirable that 
 could be imagined. To keep faith with Phillips a 
 thing which the boy believed on his conscience he 
 must do it was necessary to remove Gray burn from 
 the vicinity and to hide the fact of his being alive, at 
 least for the moment, from every one at Johnsbury or 
 Chatham. Each day the complications deepened. The 
 money left was being spent rather lavishly, and the 
 time when it would all be gone could not be far off. 
 When the sick man's friends should appear upon the 
 scene they would most likely demand an account of 
 the missing funds. Whichever way Cliarlie turned 
 things did not look very promising. 
 
 The day after he went into the city, Charlie took
 
 226 THOU SHALT NOT. 
 
 out the photograph again and compared it with Grey- 
 burn's face. It would never pass for a likeness, and 
 yet there was something in it which convinced the 
 lad that his friend's story might be true. All at once 
 he noticed the name " Sarony" in bold letters on the 
 bottom of the card, and sprang to his feet with an ex- 
 clamation. 
 
 " What a fool I've been !" he said aloud, "hunting 
 for these Mendalls and Stedmans and afraid to go 
 near the police for facts, when I can learn from this 
 * photograph just what I seek. Sarony is in Union 
 Square, and he can tell the name of every picture he 
 ever made by consulting the negative. My search 
 will soon be over now." 
 
 With a gay air he donned his hat and coat. Grey- 
 burn sat idly in his easy chair, with his head resting 
 on his hand. He looked up when he saw Charlie, and 
 extended his hand with a smile. 
 
 " You'll not be gone long," he said. " I'm sure I'll 
 be able to tell who I am to-morrow. I sit here and 
 think, and think, and just as I am going to speak my 
 name it eludes me. Don't stay any longer than you 
 can help, Charlie. What should I ever do without 
 you ?" 
 
 Mr. Sarony took the picture in his hand, when the 
 lad presented it, and looked from it to Charlie with 
 open-eyed wonder. 
 
 " What is this, do you say ?" he exclaimed. " I 
 guess you haven't been around very much lately 
 when you ask that question. Every police office in 
 the country has a copy of that photograph. Why, it 
 is that fellow who was killed out there in that South- 
 ern place I never can remember names " 
 
 " Georgia ?" suggested the young lady at the 
 counter. 
 
 "That's it," said Mr. Sarony. "And his name was 
 why, of course Lord ! I shall forget my own
 
 THOU SHALT NOT. 22/ 
 
 name next Greyburn. Why, of course Hector 
 Greyburn." 
 
 The boy looked up into Sarony's face, and the 
 photographer saw that he was very pale. He had 
 found a clue at last. 
 
 " Are you sure ?" he asked, in tones scarcely 
 audible. 
 
 "Positive," said Sarony, turning away. "If you 
 don't believe me ask any one you meet in the street. 
 Everybody knows that picture now." 
 
 The next morning, when Mr. Jason Bird came to 
 his office, he found that a package had been left there 
 for him. In it were bank bills aggregating a little 
 over nineteen hundred dollars, and a note which 
 made him open his eyes very wide. He remarked to 
 his office boy that he might not be back during the 
 day, and took a hasty departure. Arriving at the 
 hotel where Greyburn was staying, he asked to be 
 shown to the room where he was. Thompson an- 
 swered his knock at the door. 
 
 " Can I see Mr. Henry M. Leslie ?" 
 
 "Certainly; walk in," said Thompson, looking at 
 the lawyer with some surprise. He was their first 
 visitor. 
 
 Greyburn rose at the sound of his new name and 
 came forward to shake hands with the lawyer. As he 
 did so a light seemed to dawn upon him. Before 
 speaking to Mr. Bird he asked Thompson to leave 
 them alone, and the nurse somewhat doubtfully com- 
 plied. 
 
 "You know me, I see," said the attorney. 
 
 ?' You are Mr. Jason Bird, of Bird & Bird, lawyers, 
 Astor House offices," replied Greyburn, promptly. 
 
 " And who are you ?" 
 
 " I am Hector Greyburn."
 
 228 THOU SHALT NOT. 
 
 Both men laughed heartily. 
 
 " Well, what have you been up to ?" said the lawyer, 
 taking a chair. "Falling off of precipices and that 
 sort of thing, eh ?" 
 
 "I don't know," said Greyburn. "I haven't the 
 slightest idea of anything, except that we are here in 
 this room and that I have recovered my senses after 
 days of aberration. I owe much to a young boy who 
 has been with me and seen that a doctor, nurse and 
 every other necessity was provided. He went off last 
 night and has not yet returned. His name is Charlie 
 Charlie Leslie. Really, I owe him everything." 
 
 It was several days afterward that Mr. Jason Bird 
 showed Greyburn the note which he got with that 
 package. It contained a good deal of interesting mat- 
 ter, but nothing which compensated for the closing 
 lines - 
 
 " You will tell Mr. Greyburn that I shall go far 
 away and never see him again. He probably will not 
 care enough about it to search for me, but if he should 
 it will be useless. Under no circumstances can I ever 
 return to him." 
 
 CHAPTER XXI. 
 
 WHEN Clara recovered sufficiently to be told that 
 Dinsmore had confessed to murdering her husband, 
 she was plunged into the deepest melancholy. Bit- 
 terly she reproached herself with being the real 
 cause of Hector's death, for had she been in a wife's
 
 THOU SHALT NOT* 229 
 
 true place, he would not have sallied forth alone on 
 that fatal morning. The long train of his plot against 
 her was forgotten. She remembered only the last 
 three weeks of his life, and the horror of his death. 
 
 The blacksmith was securely under lock and key 
 at Johnsbury. Every effort to get further particulars 
 of the tragedy had been fruitless. The grand jury 
 brought in an indictment against him, and a rising 
 young lawyer of the count} 7 , Mr. Darby Spencer, 
 was assigned as his counsel. Mr. Spencer labored 
 with all his might to get something from his client 
 which he could use in his defense, but Dinsmore con- 
 tinued obstinate. The most that he could be got to 
 say, in his cramped chirography, was that the sooner 
 they hanged him the better he should like it, and 
 that, if Mr. Spencer really wanted to act the part of 
 a friend, he could best show it by making the pro- 
 ceedings preliminary to that end as brief as possible. 
 
 Taking warning by the statements of Dr. Robinson, 
 the prison officials kept a constant watch to prevent 
 Dinsmore from committing suicide. Since he had 
 heard Clara declare her love for Greyburn, life had 
 become utterly insupportable. He tried to bribe 
 each keeper, offering to exchange orders on several 
 savings banks in Connecticut, or a deed of some real 
 property he owned in Springdale, for a weapon of 
 any kind and five minutes relief from surveillance. 
 After exhausting all his efforts in making these pro- 
 posals intelligible, he received the refusals savagely, 
 and declined for days to communicate with any one. 
 It was with difficulty that they made him eat his 
 food. Had they not used actual force at one time, 
 his soul would have left his body by the certain road 
 of starvation. 
 
 Mr. Darby Spencer did not get much to encourage 
 him in the neighborhood of Johnsbury. One day he 
 took a drive to Chatham Corners, and found Mrs.
 
 230 THOU SHALT NOT. 
 
 Greyburn. She had been, with clue care, bound over 
 in a formal manner to appear as a witness at the com- 
 ing trial, and would have found escape from the 
 vicinity hazardous, if not impossible, even had she 
 desired to attempt it, which in fact she did not. The 
 world was all alike to her in her widowhood. The 
 quietness of the Corners was no objection to one who 
 had passed the whole of her life in the country. Here 
 she had seen Greyburn last, and here she expected to 
 hear the first news of him, if news ever came. Mrs. 
 Baldwin seemed very like a mother since her misfor- 
 tune, and Clara would have shrunk from new scenes 
 and people so soon. 
 
 Mr. Spencer revealed the nature of his errand with 
 rare tact. He was pleased to find that while the men- 
 tion of her husband's assailant brought a flood of 
 tears, it brought with them no sign of vindictiveness. 
 Little by little he drew from her what she knew of 
 Dinsmore, and what she had reason to suppose had 
 actuated him in the deed he had committed. 
 
 "You would call it jealousy, I presume," he said. 
 
 ' Perhaps that would express it," replied Clara, 
 " and yet not in the usual sense. John was a man 
 when I was a child, and he always seemed to like me 
 better than he did any one else. When Mr. Greyburn 
 first came to Springdale, John took an aversion to him. 
 We had several talks in which John expressed himself 
 strongly. One night, when Mr, Greyburn called to 
 see me, John waited outside and they had trouble. 
 He seemed to feel that he was my protector, and was 
 always fearful lest I should come to some harm." 
 
 " You had no idea that he would come here ?" said 
 Mr. Spencer. 
 
 " None in the world. Mr. Greyburn and I were 
 married very hastily and privately, for for various 
 reasons and no one was told where we were going. 
 Indeed, I am sure my husband made special efforts
 
 THOU SHALT NOT. 231 
 
 that our destination should not be known. The fact 
 that John traced us shows how determined he was to 
 find him." 
 
 " Is it not probable," suggested the lawyer, " that 
 Mr. Dinsmore had no definite purpose of harming your 
 husband, and that a hasty quarrel sprang up between 
 them when they met ?" 
 
 Clara shook her head. 
 
 " I would like to believe all the good I can of John, 
 but that does not seem possible. He never hunted out 
 our hiding place with a good motive. Besides, he 
 used to be the most peaceful man in the world, and 
 here he was armed with a heavy pistol. No, no ! 
 He came from New York to kill Hector, and succeeded 
 only too well in his object." 
 
 " Your husband had a pistol, also. Was he in the 
 habit of carrying such a weapon ?" 
 
 " I did not know that he was," said Clara. " In 
 fact, I know almost nothing about his habits in such 
 things. He would not have told me for fear that I 
 should be alarmed. It is a terrible mystery, and 
 the more I study the less I can fathom it." 
 
 " You know the law," said Mr. Spencer, gravely. 
 "You know the penalty of homicide. This man, you 
 tell me, was the friend of your childhood. It is evi- 
 dent that he entertained a deeper feeling for you than 
 friendship when you became a woman. No, do not 
 protest. There is no doubt that he was your unac- 
 cepted and hopeless lover. When he found that you 
 had wedded another his sense of the injury was so 
 strong that it overbore his natural qualities. He 
 came here in order to be where he could see you, and 
 meeting your husband, there was an altercation. One 
 was killed instantly, the other reserved for lingering 
 agony. Mrs. Greyburn, do you wish John Dinsmore 
 hanged ?" 
 
 " Oh, no !" cried Clara. " His punishment already
 
 232 THOU SHALT NOT. 
 
 is terrible. I hope no more blood will be shed in this 
 unhappy affair. I will do all I can to aid you in sav- 
 ing his life. Would that you might also give me back 
 my husband !" 
 
 The lawyer waited respectfully until the outburst 
 of grief which followed this remark had abated, and 
 then said : 
 
 " The best help you can give me is to go at once to 
 the jail and see Dinsmore. I know it will be hard," 
 he added, as he saw her instinctive aversion to the 
 proposal, " but it may be the means of saving his neck 
 from the rope. If he can only be got into a frame of 
 mind where he wishes to be saved, it will be worth 
 everything. As long as he insists that he had rather 
 be executed it is not easy to do much for him." 
 
 Clara agreed, though with some inward struggles, 
 to be at Mr. Spencer's office the next morning at 
 eleven o'clock, and at the hour she alighted from a 
 carriage at his door, in company with Mrs. Baldwin. 
 They all walked over to the jail and were soon ushered 
 into Dinsmore's cell. He was totally unprepared for 
 their coming, and when he saw Clara he gave a cry of 
 agony and resolutely turned his face away. 
 
 "John," she said, as soon as she could command her 
 trembling voice, and acting as by previous instruction, 
 " I am very sorry to see you here. We did not think 
 in those happy days at Springdale that we should 
 ever meet like this." 
 
 She paused to get strength, for her voice had 
 trembled violently on the last words. The prisoner 
 turned still more away, but the lawyer could see from 
 where he stood that the muscles of his face stood out 
 like whipcords and that the perspiration was standing 
 in beads. 
 
 " You have been badly hurtjohn," continued Clara, 
 after a pause, "and I know whose hand inflicted the 
 injury. I am very sorry for you," Then she gave
 
 THOU SHALT NOT. 233 
 
 up all attempt at coherence and broke out wildly and 
 passionately, " Oh, John ! John ! Why did you kill 
 him ? What had he done to you ? What had / done 
 to make you take the dearest thing out of my life ?" 
 
 The prisoner turned his white face toward the 
 group. In every eye but his there were glistening 
 drops. He looked more like a corpse than a living 
 creature, and he showed that each motion caused him 
 a painful effort. In the sign-language, which was 
 now his only resource, he asked for pencil and paper. 
 After it was given him, he waited for some time be- 
 fore using it, as if the flood of his emotions was too 
 great to permit him to proceed. Mrs. Baldwin took 
 Clara in her lap and laid her head on her motherly 
 shoulder. The jailer and one attendant stood near. 
 Jtfr. Spencer waited anxiously for the expected com- 
 munication. Slowly and painfully it came : 
 
 " I must tell the truth. The God he had never hon- 
 ored took Hector Greyburn's life." 
 
 " I believe every word of it," said the lawyer, en- 
 couragingly. " Tell me now why you stated d'f- 
 ferently to Squire Jarvis." 
 
 The prisoner wrote again : 
 
 " I was desperate." 
 
 " Perfectly reasonable," said the lawyer. " You 
 were much excited and under great physical pain. 
 But how dY^Greyburn perish ? Tell me in brief now 
 and we will get the fuller particulars later." 
 
 The prisoner wrote : 
 
 " He shot me, near the edge of the cliff. He stepped 
 backward, slipped and fell. He rolled into the river." 
 
 Dinsmore watched with an eager eye the effect of
 
 234 THOU SHALT NOT. 
 
 these revelations upon Clara. When Mr. Spencer 
 read the last one aloud she exclaimed : 
 
 " Why should Hector have shot you, unless you first 
 assaulted him ?" 
 
 Dinsmore wrote once more : 
 
 "We were both armed. He fired from his pocket. 
 We^had had words." 
 
 " You had best go now," said Mr. Spencer in a low 
 tone to Clara, after he had read the last effort. " I 
 have the clue and believe I can save him. His own 
 confession is the only evidence against him." 
 
 After the others had gone, Mr. Spencer addressed 
 Dinsmore : 
 
 " This Greyburn was a scoundrel." 
 
 The prisoner assented unmistakably. 
 
 " You pursued him because you knew he had taken 
 an unfair advantage." 
 
 Again the prisoner assented. 
 
 " When you met you were both armed. He fired a 
 cowardly shot from his pocket, and the judgment of 
 Heaven took him to his account." 
 
 Dinsmore pantomimically corroborated the de- 
 scription. 
 
 " You don't propose to allow them to hang you for 
 a thing like this ?" said the lawyer. " You've been a 
 little desperate, but you're all over that. I'm going 
 to get you out of this scrape and I must have your 
 aid." 
 
 The blacksmith looked undecided. 
 
 " I want you to take this pencil and paper and 
 write down, slowly and carefully, all that you can 
 remember in relation to this affair. Give me dates, 
 places, names of persons, everything which I can use. 
 The fact is, there is no evidence against you yet at all. 
 They can't even prove that the man is dead, as no
 
 THOU SHALT NOT. 235 
 
 one has seen the body. Be a man, Dinsmore ! You 
 are good for many a year of life yet. Don't let them 
 down you on this lay, whatever you do !" 
 
 The blacksmith seemed at last to agree with the 
 lawyer's words. He caught up his pencil and wrote : 
 
 ' I will do as you say. Come to-morrow." 
 
 At the January term of the Supreme Court the 
 trial took place. The court-room was crowded. The 
 evidence for the prosecution was put in with great 
 care. It was shown to the jury that the accused had 
 for a long time held a grudge against Greyburn. His 
 actions at the time Jones discovered him were detailed 
 at length. His written confessions, in which he 
 acknowledged the crime and expressed his willingness 
 to be hanged for it, were not forgotten. His subse- 
 quent affidavits, carefully drawn and sworn to, could 
 not have the weight of his admissions before seeing 
 counsel. The jailers told how he had tried to commit 
 suicide. Everything which pointed to his guilt was 
 spread before the court. To meet this Mr. Spencer 
 had to rely upon the fact that his opponents could 
 really prove nothing more than that a man had dis- 
 appeared, and that a hat, some cloth and a button, 
 which looked like his, had been found. 
 
 The trial lasted several days. An end of the evi- 
 dence was reached at last, and Mr. Spencer began his 
 plea for the defense. 
 
 " Your honor and gentlemen," he said, " we have 
 here one of the most extraordinary cases ever brought 
 before a jury in this or any other country. On a 
 certain day of last September a man was found 
 grievously wounded about a mile westerly from 
 Chatham. A bullet had passed through his throat in 
 such a locality that, we have the word of medical 
 men of repute, had it varied its course by a quarter 
 of an inch, this trial would have been rendered a
 
 236 THOU SHALT NOT. 
 
 superfluity. This man, so wounded, was found by 
 a passer-by and conveyed to the village of Chatham 
 Corners. So severe were his injuries that he could 
 not move without assistance, and could not, nor can he 
 to-day, speak a single intelligible word. In that 
 state, one we must all agree of such a nature as to 
 call for the sincerest pity of every creature worthy 
 the name of human, he was within two hours clapped 
 into a vehicle and taken post-haste to this town, 
 where the iron doors of the county jail received him. 
 Let us see on what pretense. 
 
 " The person who found this wounded body found 
 also as he tells us, and I don't dispute him a hat, a 
 piece of cloth and a button. He found indentations 
 in the side of the mountain, which might have been 
 made by the rolling over it of a heavy substance. On 
 reaching Chatham the discoverer of these wonderful 
 objects heard that a person that had been boarding at 
 the hotel there was missing. He found also that he 
 was said to have worn a hat, a suit and buttons cor- 
 responding to those discovered. The wife of the 
 missing man, with other people, went to the office of 
 the local physician, where this poor, helpless creature 
 lay, and under the guidance of a justice of the peace, 
 they proceeded to hold a court of inquest. When the 
 wife came to testify, she was so affected as to swoon 
 away, and while they were restoring her, they allege 
 that a confession of murder was extracted from my 
 client. 
 
 " You have seen the documents, and I do not dis- 
 pute that they were written by the defendant. They 
 are produced as damming pieces of evidence, and will 
 be dilated upon with great emphasis when my 
 brother, the Attorney-General, gets the floor. In 
 order to save his valuable time we admit them to be 
 genuine. And we shall show you exactly how they 
 came to be written, and how perfectly consistent they
 
 THOU SHALT NOT. 237 
 
 are with the entire innocence of the prisoner at the 
 bar." 
 
 Mr. Spencer went on to give the history of the ac- 
 quaintance which grew up between Clara and Walter 
 Campbell and Hector Greyburn. He represented 
 the latter as a prince of villains, bent on the destruc- 
 tion of both sister and brother. He sketched their 
 connection down through its varied stages, until the 
 infamy was completed at the Hotel Hampden. Then 
 he spoke of Dinsmore, the honest, hard-working me- 
 chanic, the friend of their childhood, giving up his 
 business and going from place to place to watch over 
 the orphans of his old friend. At last he met the 
 man who had ruined their peace, and received in his 
 own throat the bullet, more kindly than the deceptive 
 tongue and the seductive glance. But at the moment 
 of Greyburn's triumph, the All-Seeing Eye was upon 
 him, and he fell over the rocks and sands into the 
 river below. If he was alive, God only could tell, but 
 if dead, he passed at that moment of his life when all 
 his sins clustered most ihickly around his head. 
 
 " They took the body of John Dinsmore, himself 
 nearly dead," said Mr. Spencer, in conclusion, " and 
 brought it to Chatham. What do you suppose passed 
 in the mind of the stricken man in that hour ? The 
 woman for whom he lay writhing in agony was sure 
 to misconstrue his devotion, and though innocent as 
 a babe in its cradle, dark suspicion would point its 
 finger at him. What had he to live for ? They handed 
 him the paper and he wrote, ' I did it ! take me away, 
 hang me, anything !' Gentlemen, this is not evidence. 
 Put yourself, in his place ; half insane from mental 
 and physical pain ; dreading to face the tearful coun- 
 tenance of a woman wildly loved and woefully lost. 
 My client is innocent. They have not attempted to 
 prove that he killed this Greyburn, they have not 
 proved that the man is dead, but I mistake a Georgia
 
 238 THOU SHALT NOT. 
 
 jury if it would not say, even if the body of this miss- 
 ing man lay before it, that his fate was just. We dis- 
 pute the killing, we question the death ; but if you can 
 say on your oaths as men and jurors that this maimed 
 and crippled creature took the life of the man who so 
 wronged him and his, I pray you consider well before 
 you make such an act into a capital offense." 
 
 The Attorney-General was about to begin his reply, 
 when a slight, pale-faced boy, who had just edged his 
 way, as only a boy can, through the crowd, cried out : 
 
 " Let me testify ! I know all about it. The man 
 is not dead. He is in New York city. I left him 
 there a week ago." 
 
 The excitement which this created in the court- 
 room can be imagined. The lad was taken to the 
 clerk's desk and sworn, even the Attorney-General 
 being too much taken aback to ask for delay. 
 
 The boy said : " My name is Charlie Leslie. Last 
 September I was walking one day from Medway to 
 Johnsbury. It was early in the morning. About a 
 mile from Chatham, which I had passed through, I 
 heard a noise down by the river, and on going closer 
 I saw a man bending over what appeared to be a 
 dead bod) 7 . In the man's hands were papers and 
 money. As I watched him I saw him look up and 
 down the stream, and then begin to drag the body 
 toward the river. Being alone, I hesitated for a mo- 
 ment, and then called out ' Stop !' and ran toward 
 him. 
 
 " He ceased his work and began to excuse himself. 
 I prevailed on him to help me save the life in that 
 body instead of destroying it. We carried it to a cabin 
 in the woods near by. At night we got a carriage 
 and took the man to the station at Forest Hollow. 
 From thence I took him myself to Macon, where we 
 remained for some weeks at a hotel. Dr. Rerdell 
 attended him and found him so much injured that he
 
 THOU SHALT NOT. 239 
 
 could not remember his own name. He spoke of 
 parties in New York city and I took him there, where 
 he was proved to be Hector Greyburn." 
 
 Leslie spoke with great rapidity and with consider- 
 able excitement. His words produced a profound 
 impression in the court-room, and when the Attorney- 
 General began to cross-question him a murmur ran 
 through the audience. 
 
 " You have your story well learned," said the law- 
 yer, " but I fear it will be regarded as rather improb- 
 able." 
 
 " Do yoi think I would lie ?" demanded the lad, 
 hotly. 
 
 "Oh, no!" responded the lawyer, "nobody ever 
 lies in court, but I shall have to ask you a few ques- 
 tions. If what you say is true, it saves a life. If it 
 is untrue, it will send you to prison and do this man 
 in the dock no good. Now, who are you ?" 
 
 "Charlie Leslie," said the boy again. 
 
 " You told us that before. What I ask is, Who are 
 you ? Where do you live ? Who are your par- 
 ents ?" 
 
 The child did not quail before the glowering eye of 
 the distinguished advocate. 
 
 " I will not answer you," he said, boldly. " You 
 have no right to ask me personal questions." 
 
 " We'll see about that," said the Attorney-General, 
 while the excitement in the room rose to fever heat. 
 " Do you know what they call contempt of court ? 
 Refusing to answer a question is contempt of court, 
 and you can be sent to prison for it." 
 
 " I was not brought here," replied the boy, defiantly. 
 " I cannot be made to talk about myself. I came of 
 my own accord, to save an innocent life." 
 
 A murmur of applause ran around the room. The 
 Attorney-General turned to the presiding justice ;
 
 24O THOU SHALT NOT. 
 
 " I appeal to your honor. Shall he answer me or 
 shall he not ?" 
 
 The judge, a kindly old man, with white hair and 
 benignant features, turned to the boy and said, in the 
 most winning tones : 
 
 " Surely, my lad, you can tell the gentleman where 
 you live and who your parents are. We shall get 
 along much faster in that way." 
 
 " Let him ask me about this case," responded the 
 boy, in a mollified tone, and I will answer him. I'm 
 not on trial, and my own affairs are nothing to him." 
 
 "Perhaps you had better cross-question him on the 
 evidence he has given," said the judge. " He is evi- 
 dently unused to these proceedings." 
 
 The lawyer did not look satisfied, but he turned 
 again to the youthful witness. 
 
 "You say that this adventure of yours began in 
 September last ?" 
 
 " Yes, sir." 
 
 " You were going from Medway to Johnsbury ?" 
 
 M 1 was." 
 
 " Were you familiar with this part of the country ?" 
 
 " Not at all." 
 
 " Where had you stayed the night before ?" 
 
 " At a house in Medway." 
 
 " Whose house ?" 
 
 " I do not recall the name." 
 
 The lawyer did not press the point, but looked 
 knowingly at the jury. 
 
 " What was the name of the man whom you first 
 saw with the body near the river side ?" 
 
 " I cannot answer." 
 
 " Have you seen him since you left on the train for 
 Macon ?" 
 
 " No, sir." 
 
 " I want to know his name." 
 
 " I will not tell you."
 
 THOU SHALT NOT. 241 
 
 " Will not ?" said the lawyer. 
 
 " Will not," repeated the witness. 
 
 " Why ?" 
 
 " Because I am under a pledge not to reveal his 
 identity." 
 
 The lawyer did not press the question further, but 
 he gave the jury to understand by his manner that he 
 considered the whole of the lad's testimony untrue 
 and consequently valueless. 
 
 " You say that you persuaded this man to forego 
 his intention of robbing that body and committing it 
 to the water. How did you ' persuade ' him ?" 
 
 " With a revolver," said the lad, quickly. 
 
 " Ah ! my young man ! So you carry weapons, do 
 you ?" 
 
 " I do not. I took that one from the pocket of Mr. 
 Greyburn." 
 
 " Was it loaded ?" 
 
 " It had five cartridges not used and one which had 
 been exploded." 
 
 " One fired, eh ?" 
 
 " Yes, sir, and a hole in his coat pocket showed 
 where the shot went through." 
 
 " And you took that revolver, you mean to tell us, 
 and ' persuaded ' that man to help you carry the body 
 to a cabin in the woods. How did vou know that 
 there was any cabin there ?" 
 
 " The man told me." 
 
 " You 'persuaded ' him to tell you that there was a 
 cabin in the woods, did you ?" 
 
 The boy looked appealingly at the judge, but he 
 saw that he was expected to answer. 
 
 " I will tell you one thing more," he said. " There 
 was a good deal of money in Mr. Greyburn's pocket. 
 I agreed to give half of it to the man if he would help 
 me restore. him."
 
 242 THOU SMALT NOT. 
 
 " You agreed ?" said the lawyer. " What right had 
 you to the money ?" 
 
 " I took it," said the boy, growing restive again. " I 
 had to give part of it back to save Mr. Greyburn's life 
 and perhaps my own. There was no help near, and 
 it was not a time to demur." 
 
 " vSo we are to understand," said the lawyer, "that 
 you divided between yourself and some one else a 
 large sum of money found on the person of a drown- 
 ing man." 
 
 " Precisely." 
 
 " You confess, then, that you are a thief ?" 
 
 The question was sufficiently brutal. The judge 
 expostulated, and the audience could hardly be kept 
 within bounds. 
 
 " I won't say another word to you !" cried Leslie, 
 as soon as he could be heard. 
 
 " Take him. He's your witness," said the Attorney- 
 General, turning to Mr. Spencer. " And look out that 
 he don't bite you." 
 
 " My boy," said Mr. Spencer, in a mild tone, " I ap- 
 pear here for Mr. Dinsmore, and I believe every word 
 that you have said. There are one or two things 
 which I would like to have you answer, and I will put 
 the questions. If you think they are improper, you 
 will say so, and we shall proceed on good terms. 
 Now, when and where did you last see Mr. Hector 
 Grey burn ?" 
 
 " In the outskirts of New York city, at the Hotel 
 Lincoln, a week ago." 
 
 " How do you know that the man whom you saw 
 there was Mr. Greyburn ?" 
 
 ' I found a photograph in his pocket and carried it 
 to the artist who made it. He instantly told me that 
 I had the picture of this missing man. I carried a 
 note to Mr. Bird, a lawyer in the Astor House build-
 
 THOU SHALT fcOT. 243 
 
 ing and a friend of Mr. Greyburn, telling him where 
 to find him, and then I left the city." 
 
 "What did you do with the picture ?" asked Mr. 
 Spencer. 
 
 The lad hesitated a minute and then, seeing the 
 incredulous smile of the Attorney-General, he said : 
 
 " I have it in my pocket." 
 
 " May I see it ?" 
 
 Leslie produced the photograph, and it was passed 
 to several persons present from Chatham, including 
 Mr. Justice Jarvis. Their demeanor showed that it was 
 a likeness of the man supposed to have been mur- 
 dered. 
 
 Mr. Spencer addressed the court : 
 
 "Your honor, I think I am justified in asking, even 
 at this stage of the trial, for a stay of proceedings. 
 This lad's story is, I admit, remarkable, but he has 
 told it in a frank and open manner, and its truth or 
 falsity can easily be demonstrated in a few days' 
 time. We can summon Dr. Rerdell of Macon, whom 
 we all know by reputation, and affidavits from New 
 York are easily procured." 
 
 The Attorney-General replied : 
 
 " May it please the court I am not surprised to see 
 my brother grasp even at such a flimsy straw as this 
 one. Were I in as desperate a position as he, I might 
 be tempted to do it myself. Look at the case a min- 
 ute. We have in this dock a self -acknowledged mur- 
 derer. Twice he has written his guilt with his own 
 hand. We have also other testimony tending to sub- 
 stantiate his confession beyond a doubt. At the last 
 moment this boy comes in with his Arabian Nights' 
 tale of rescuing a drowning man, compelling another, 
 by the use of a 'revolver, to aid him, constituting him- 
 self the guardian and protector of the rescued indi- 
 vidual, and at. last discovering him to be the long lost 
 Greyburn ! To me the story is unutterably silly. I
 
 244 THOU SHALT NOT. 
 
 trust your honor will allow this trial to finish this 
 afternoon, and if this sort of stuff is worth anything 
 the Governor can set the verdict aside. I also ask you 
 to commit this boy without bail as a witness to await 
 the pleasure of His Excellency. I intend to proceed 
 against him for perjury at the proper time." 
 
 The judge was about to speak, when Mr. Spencer 
 rose once more. By his side stood a man with a long 
 red mark across his forehead, who had just entered 
 the court- room. 
 
 ' Another witness, your honor." 
 
 " I object !" sharply responded the Attorney- 
 General. " This farce has gone on long enough. 
 Will your honor let the case proceed ? I am ready to 
 make my argument." 
 
 " Who is the witness ?" asked the judge. 
 
 " Hector Grey burn !" 
 
 The man stepped forward. 
 
 CHAPTER XXII. 
 
 IN the bustle and confusion which followed the ac- 
 quittal of Dinsmore, Charlie Leslie wandered almost 
 unnoticed from the court-house, and took a road lead- 
 ing out of Johnsbury into the country. Greyburn 
 missed him within a few minutes, and had some diffi- 
 culty in discovering the direction he had taken, but 
 learned it at last from a man who had encountered 
 him on the outskirts of the town. He repaired with 
 great haste to the nearest livery stable, secured a 
 carriage and driver, and bade the man follow the boy 
 with all possible speed. They descried him when 
 they had gone about a mile. He saw them at the
 
 THOU SHALT NOT. 245 
 
 same time, and turned abruptly into the woods as if 
 to escape their notice. The driver touched his horse 
 with the whip in obedience to orders and drew up a f 
 the place where the lad had vanished. Greyburn 
 sprang from the carriage and plunged into the wood, 
 and in another moment found the object of his search. 
 The child was sitting, or rather, half lying, on the 
 ground at the foot of a tree, and it required but the 
 most hasty glance to see that he was suffering phys- 
 ical pain. 
 
 " Charlie, my boy," cried Greyburn, sinking on one 
 knee beside him, " you are suffering. What is it ? 
 Tell me." 
 
 The boy uttered a faint groan and managed to get 
 upon his feet. He took several steps and then sank 
 again upon the grass. 
 
 " Let me put you in my carriage," said Greyburn. 
 " I can easily carry you, and you are too weak to 
 walk." 
 
 " Don't touch me !" exclaimed the child, shrinking 
 away. " You have no right. Why do you follow me ?" 
 
 " Do you wish to die here without help ?" asked 
 Greyburn. And the boy answered, in a whisper : 
 
 "Yes." 
 
 " But I cannot let you !" cried the other. " When I 
 was badly hurt you saved my life. It would be a 
 poor return were I to leave you in this condition." 
 
 " You d care !" No words can express the irony of 
 this remark or the look which accompanied it. 
 
 " Certainly I should care, and very much. I have 
 become greatly attached to you and feel that I owe 
 you more than I can ever repay. I have no friend 
 left but you, and now you would desert me." 
 
 The lad looked incredulously at the face which 
 bent above him. 
 
 " The pretty lady whom you call your wife are 
 you going to leave her ?"
 
 246 THOU SHALT NOT. 
 
 ' She does not love me," said Greyburn, choking 
 down a rising in his throat. " I am not good enough 
 for her. She is an angel, I a poor ordinary mortal." 
 
 There was no mistaking that he meant what he said. 
 The boy eyed him narrowly and seemed to relent a 
 little. 
 
 " What relation shall we bear to each other if I go 
 with you ?" he said. 
 
 " Whatever you please," replied the man. " I want 
 you as a companion, a friend." 
 
 " Make me a servant and I will go," said the boy. 
 " I will accept nothing else. I will eat no bread which 
 I cannot earn ; least of all, yours," he added, in a 
 lower tone. 
 
 "If you will have it so, a servant you shall be," 
 said Greyburn : " You may do anything but lie here 
 and perish. Put your arm around my neck so that I 
 can lift you easier !" 
 
 But the boy shrank from him again. 
 
 "The coachman," he said, pointing through the 
 trees. " He is stronger than you." 
 
 " Nonsense. I can lift three like you." 
 
 " Before you were hurt, perhaps," persisted the 
 boy, " but not now. You must not try it. Send the 
 man here." 
 
 " As you will," replied Greyburn, releasing him. 
 He called for the driver, who soon placed the child in 
 the carriage. 
 
 " Now where ?" asked the coachman. 
 
 " To Forest Hollow," said Greyburn. 
 
 " No," corrected the lad, " to the hotel in Johns- 
 bury." 
 
 " I do not wish to go back there," said Greyburn. 
 " I hate the place. I wish to get to New York as 
 soon as possible." 
 
 " You have not spoken to you wife," said Charlie, 
 in a low tone.
 
 THOU SHALT NOT. 247 
 
 " I will write to her at the station and send back 
 the message by this man." 
 
 " And after she has thought you dead for months," 
 said the boy, reproachfully, " would you only send 
 her a formal letter ?" He turned to the driver and 
 spoke louder : 
 
 " We will go to the Johnsbury Hotel." 
 
 Grey burn made no protest. He was looking in- 
 tently at his companion. Presently he asked : What 
 is it that makes you ill ?" 
 
 " I have had no food for two days," replied the lad, 
 " and I was a little faint. It is nothing." 
 
 " No food !" cried Greyburn. " Driver, hasten your 
 horses. Poor child !" 
 
 He spoke the last words very tenderly, but the 
 boy's lip curled in a just visible disdain. 
 
 " Don't think that T mind it," he said. " There are 
 worse things than hunger. My last penny was gone ; 
 I could not beg and I would not steal. I expected to 
 die." 
 
 " Surely you would have asked assistance rather 
 than starve to death ?" 
 
 " Not I !" said the boy, proudly. 
 
 " But you are entitled to some reward from the State 
 for your evidence in the trial." 
 
 " Yes," said the lad, with a faint smile. " I came 
 near getting it. A term in the penitentiary. That 
 lawyer offered it to me twice. I know they pay wit- 
 nesses and I knew I was starving for the want of a 
 few pennies, and yet I wouldn't touch their money. 
 Does that seem strange to you ?" 
 
 " Very," said Greyburn. 
 
 " I thought it would," replied the boy, turning 
 awa) T . 
 
 The brisk drive in the air of the early evening in- 
 vigorated the lad so much that he alighted from the
 
 248 THOU SHALT NOT. 
 
 carriage without assistance and walked into the office 
 of the hotel. 
 
 " I wish supper prepared as quickly as possible for 
 myself and friend," said Greyburn to the clerk. 
 
 " For himself and servant," corrected Charlie. 
 
 " He is right," Greyburn assented. "Get one sup- 
 per of light food suitable for a sick person and the 
 other of anything you have. Serve them in a private 
 room and let me know as soon as they are ready." 
 
 Greyburn sat down beside the boy. 
 
 " Now, my little servant," he said, gently, " give 
 your master what further orders you have ready." 
 
 " Send a messenger to find your wife," said the lad, 
 without seeming to notice the witticism, " and make 
 arrangements to see her before you sleep to-night." 
 
 The man looked at the lad for a moment, but he 
 cried, " Oh, go ! go ! why do you hesitate ?" and he 
 went to find a messenger. 
 
 " I have sent to her," he said, when he returned to 
 the boy's side. Charlie made no reply. 
 
 When supper was ready the boy ate sparingly, not 
 at all like one who had not had food for eight-and- 
 forty hours. Before they finished the messenger re- 
 turned and stated that Mrs. Greyburn had gone to 
 Chatham immediately after dinner, before the appear- 
 ance in court of either Charlie or her husband. 
 
 " Order two fast horses and a double carriage with- 
 out delay," said Charlie to the messenger. " We will 
 go at once to Chatham Corners." 
 
 When Squire Jarvis broke into Mrs. Baldwin's little 
 private sitting-room, and told her and Clara that 
 Hector had appeared alive in court, there was a pretty 
 flurry for a while. Clara demanded to be told the 
 principal facts in the case over and over again, and 
 gave vent to her joy in spasms of alternate tears and 
 laughter. At last she recollected herself enough to
 
 THOU SHALT NOT. 249 
 
 inquire whither he had gone when the court ad- 
 journed. The squire could only inform her that he 
 had seen Greyburn drive away on the Forest Hollow 
 road, and that he had probably taken the train which 
 passed there at seven o'clock. 
 
 This information fell upon the young wife like a 
 chill. It was evident that her husband had come from 
 New York merely to save Dinsmore's life, and that 
 object being accomplished, had started at once on his 
 return. She grew so ill that Mrs. Baldwin ordered all 
 visitors from the house. She tried to persuade the 
 girl to go to bed and receive medical attendance, but 
 without avail. 
 
 " It is not medicine I want," she said, " but Hector. 
 Oh, he is cruel ! Had he but come and shown me 
 that he was alive ! But to go without a word, that is 
 terrible .'" 
 
 The landlady could not induce her to lie down. 
 She talked incessantly of the wonderful story of his 
 rescue, and declared that she would not be thus de- 
 serted, but would take the cars for New York, and 
 compel him to own her. She grew hysterical as time 
 went by, and made Mrs. Baldwin say over and over 
 that he was a good man, and a fine-looking man, and 
 she was sure he loved his wife, only there had been 
 so much foolish trouble, bless her heart ! It would 
 soon be all over, so it would, and the sweetest and 
 handsomest couple she had ever seen would be united 
 and happy, just as they ought to be. Yes ! yes ! yes ! 
 
 About nine o'clock a knock came at the outside 
 door, and the landlady went in person to open it. A 
 boy stood there, while a few steps away waited a 
 carriage drawn by two horses. 
 
 " Can I see Mrs. Greyburn ?" 
 
 "\Vell, I don't know," hesitatingly answered the 
 landlady. " She is not very well to-night, and " 
 
 " I wish to speak about her husband."
 
 250 THOU SHALT NOT. 
 
 Mrs. Baldwin waited no longer, but conducted him 
 to the room where Clara was. 
 
 " Mrs. Greyburn ?" said the boy, interrogatively. 
 
 " Yes," said Clara, all in a tremble. She dreaded 
 to hear any news, lest it should be of an unpleasant 
 nature. 
 
 " They have told you somebody about your hus- 
 band being saved, and about a boy who came to court 
 to testify " 
 
 " Yes ! yes !" cried Clara. 
 
 " I am that boy." 
 
 She caught his hand and covered it with kisses. 
 
 " I have something to say," he went on, "and per- 
 haps you would rather we were alone." He looked 
 at the landlady, who at once left the room. Clara 
 stood as she had risen, clinging for support to the 
 back of her rocking chair. 
 
 " I asked your husband to-day why he did not go 
 immediately to you and he replied that you did not 
 love him. Is it so ?" 
 
 " Oh, no ? It is not so !" cried Clara. " He should 
 not have said that." 
 
 " He also said," the lad continued, " that he had 
 won your hand by fraud and that two men had nar- 
 rowly escaped death on account of that act. He said 
 that he was unfit to join his life to yours and that he 
 wished to undo what evil he had committed, so far as 
 possible, by giving you a deed of separation, with one 
 half of his property." 
 
 The girl clung yet closer to her support. 
 
 " He acknowledged all the wrong to be on his side, 
 and hoped you would pardon his sins against you. 
 He feels certain that were you to accept him as your 
 husband your natures are so dissimilar that a rupture 
 must come in time. Are you agreed ?" 
 
 " No, no !" cried Clara, starting as if from a dream.
 
 ! I do not know him." Page 251.
 
 THOU SHALT NOT. 2$ I 
 
 " He is my husband. Bring him to me ! He shall 
 not make me say the words which will part us." 
 
 A shadow fell between the lamp in the hall and 
 the girl who was speaking. The door had been 
 opened. A man whose face was covered with marks 
 and scars, and whose forehead bore one long red gash, 
 disfiguring him forever, stepped inside and extended 
 his hands. 
 
 Clara gave a loud scream, which brought the land- 
 lady and the maid Harriet into the room. She threw 
 her arms around Mrs. Baldwin's neck and wept con- 
 vulsively. 
 
 " Do you know this man ?" asked the lad, pointing 
 to the intruder. 
 
 " No !" cried Clara, in extreme terror. " I do not 
 know him ! He frightens me ! Take him away." 
 
 The apparition stood like a statue. 
 
 "We will go," said Charlie, in a low voice. 
 
 They re-entered the carriage, and the driver looked 
 inquiringly at the boy, who said : 
 
 " To the nearest railway station where we can get a 
 train for Macon." 
 
 With a snap of the whip, the horses set off at a 
 gallop, and bore them rapidly away. 
 
 CHAPTER XXIII. 
 
 MENDALL had no sooner sent John Dinsmore on 
 Greyburn's trail than he repented of the act into 
 which his hasty passion had led him. The loss of his 
 wager by what he regarded as a contemptible trick 
 nettled him so severely that for the time he was
 
 252 THOU SHALT NOT. 
 
 hardly responsible for his actions. Mendall loved 
 money. He had made a good deal of it in his time, 
 but, like all speculators, he had also had his turns of 
 ill luck, and this was not the only piece of adverse 
 fortune which he had of late experienced. Unfortu- 
 nate investments in some Arizona mines and a bad 
 twist in Wall street margins made him look forward 
 with particular pleasure to the day when the amount 
 of the wager should be put into his hands, and when he 
 discovered how his late partner had outwitted him, 
 he was beside himself. His meeting with the black- 
 smith came at the worst time possible for both. 
 
 The next morning, when he had time to reflect, he 
 voted himself an ass. Nothing could be done, how- 
 ever, to stop the mischief already set afoot, and his 
 only hope now was to keep Walter from joining in 
 the murderous hunt. To do this he realized that he 
 should have to rely wholly upon Gabrielle. As 
 early as he thought it probable that Walter had left 
 the house he presented himself there and sought his 
 accustomed audience. 
 
 Gabrielle was looking her sweetest that morning. 
 She was in one of her happiest moods, and she came 
 at once to where the banker awaited her and threw 
 her plump arms about his neck. With an abruptness 
 very unusual for him he disengaged himself from her 
 embrace, and said : 
 
 " Where is Walter ?" 
 
 " Gone to City Hall, I suppose. He left here about 
 an hour ago." 
 
 " Did any one call to see him yesterday ?" 
 
 " No one. Why ?" 
 
 " Look at this," said Mendall, handing her a news- 
 paper. Gabrielle's eyes expanded as she read the 
 notice. 
 
 " That means trouble," said Mendall, " unless you 
 are manager enough to stop it."
 
 THOU SHALT NOT. 253 
 
 " Why should it ?" asked the girl. " Isn't the mar- 
 riage all right ?" 
 
 " Yes," said Mendall, " now. But there is a long 
 story to it. Walter will hear it most likely from some- 
 body or other before the day is out, and come rush- 
 ing home to get packed up and after them. He may 
 come any minute. If he does, he mustn't see me 
 here." 
 
 Gabrielle disappeared for a few minutes. When 
 she returned she said, " Williams understands. If he 
 comes, he won't enter this room until I am ready for 
 him. Go on ; you interest me." 
 
 " As I said," repeated Mendall, " they are married 
 all straight and right now, but the whole town will 
 know in a few days that they passed the night before 
 their marriage in a room at the Hampden. Greyburn 
 had made a bet, you see, of a good deal of money, 
 that a girl could not be named but what he could get 
 to pass a night with him, and they named this Camp- 
 bell girl. He brought her here, they stayed at the 
 Hampden, he got his wager, married her the next 
 evening, and they have left for the West, no one 
 knows where." 
 
 " But I understood," said Gabrielle, " that she was 
 a wonderful pattern of propriety a perfect Beatrice 
 Cenci !" 
 
 " So everybody supposed, or no one would have bet 
 fifty thousand dollars on her name," said Mendall, 
 growing exasperated " Of course he promised her 
 marriage immediately after, and that made all the 
 difference in the world. No one imagined that he was 
 a marrying man, or they never would have wagered 
 with him." 
 
 " How many people know about this ?" 
 
 " God knows !" ejaculated the banker. " Not less 
 than a score, and perhaps a thousand. I shouldn't be 
 surprised to see it in the evening papers. It will take
 
 254 THOU SHALT NOT. 
 
 nerve to tell it to Walter, but some fool will be sure 
 to do it, and then he will come tearing np here swear- 
 ing blood and vengeance. When he comes, you must 
 be ready for him. Don't let him go on any account. 
 It would be a wild-goose chase at best. Besides, there 
 is another crazy-head gone already, and that is quite 
 enough." 
 
 "Who?" 
 
 " Why, that lunatic of a blacksmith who came here 
 that day to see Greyburn Dinsmore is the name. I 
 met him last night on the road to the Pennsylvania 
 depot, at which he had learned in some way that they 
 had taken passage. He had an idea that he ought to 
 kill somebody to right the wrongs of the family. He 
 will probably get killed himself before he hurts any 
 one else." 
 
 " Jacob," said Gabrielle, coyly, " what an interest 
 you take in these people. You must have a good and 
 sympathetic heart." 
 
 He tried to laugh, but her humor was not to be 
 mistaken. 
 
 "You think so much of Walter, now," she went on. 
 "Quite like a brother, one might say. Your money 
 helped him to this house and its furnishings; yes, and 
 to me, not the least in his sum of delights. Then, 
 fearing that he was getting too much of the sweetness, 
 you have done him the supreme kindness to call up 
 almost every day and appropriate a portion to yourself, 
 just to keep him from getting cloyed ! There is 
 Greyburn, too. They say that when he met you he 
 was as poor as a church mouse and that you helped 
 him to wealth as one might help another to a biscuit. 
 Do you do good just for the sake of the approval of 
 your conscience, Jacob ? Just because virtue is its 
 own reward ?" 
 
 The girl laughed merrily. 
 
 " Tell me," she went on, smiling up into his face,
 
 THOU SHALT NOT. 255 
 
 " what you and Walter are up to together. Let me 
 into the secret. You've made lots of money you and 
 Walter and 'Greyburn. How do you do it ? I want 
 to make a little, too." 
 
 " You ?" said the broker. " You don't want 
 money. You want jewels and silks and velvets. 
 Money is to you only a medium of exchange for 
 luxuries." 
 
 "/$ it ?" mocked the fair creature. " Now, perhaps 
 that is where you are mistaken. Perhaps I like 
 things more substantial than silks and diamonds. 
 Real estate for instance. Real estate eligibly 
 situated likely to rise in value. Eh, Jacob ?" 
 
 The banker was visibly disturbed at the insinuating 
 character of the reply, but he turned it off with a 
 flattering answer. 
 
 " You are a witch," he said, " and whatever you 
 want, you are sure to get in time, that's certain. But 
 we must not forget this matter of Walter. Can 
 you manage to keep him here if he's inclined to 
 go?" 
 
 " I can keep him easily enough," said Gabrielle, 
 turning the most entrancing contour of her face 
 toward the banker, " but why should I trouble myself ? 
 He may go and get killed,' you will say. Well, 
 what then ? I shall havejw* left. ' But you may get 
 angry if I don't do as you tell me.' Well, what then ? 
 I can open the windows and call to passers in the 
 street. The world is full of men, and I ought surely 
 to find lovers somewhere among them. You are 
 sober, Jacob, but you know it's true. Come, look at 
 me ! Am I not handsome enough to get some one to 
 love me ?" 
 
 She rose and stood with her white morning dress 
 touching him. In her hair were azaleas. Her cheeks 
 had their own pink and whiteness. 
 
 " Do yoiv wish Walter and his sister's husband to
 
 256 THOU SHALT NOT. 
 
 get into a fatal quarrel ?" protested Mendall. " They 
 have both been lovers of yours. Would you like to 
 have them killed ?" 
 
 " No," said Gabrielle, with a toss of her head. " I 
 shouldn't like it ; but after all, it's their business. 
 Men are always killing somebody, any way. I sup- 
 pose it's their method of enjoying life. Now, Jacob, 
 what I do say is this : / have no object in keeping 
 Walter here. You have." 
 
 " I understand," he admitted. " What shall I get 
 you, another necklace ?" 
 
 " I am tired of necklaces," she said. " I want some- 
 thing more substantial. I want real estate. Don't 
 shake your head, for I mean it. I don't want it on 
 the line of the Manhattan Improvement Company, 
 for I don't wish to speculate, but I do want it right 
 here in this street, at this number. Do you see ? I 
 want this house we are standing in." 
 
 " You are crazy !" said Mendall. " I paid thirty- 
 five thousand dollers in cash for this property." 
 
 " It was too cheap," cried the girl. " I want it and 
 I will give you forty thousand dollars." 
 
 " In what ?" said the astonished banker. 
 
 " Partly in cash and partly in my undying love and 
 affection." 
 
 "Principally in the latter commodity, I guess," 
 said the banker, smiling in spite of himself. 
 
 " To resume, as they say in novels," said the girl. 
 "You want Walter kept here and you want him 
 quieted down. / will do it. In exchange you will 
 give me let's see you don't want to sell this real 
 estate well say five thousand dollars in cash." 
 
 " Done !" said Mendall, relieved even by the men- 
 tion of so large a sum. He had really thought for a 
 moment that the house was going out from under his 
 feet. " How shall I know the result ?"
 
 THOU SHALT NOT. 257 
 
 "I will send you word," she said. "Williams will 
 carry a note to your rooms." 
 
 "Now for a kiss," said Mendall, "and I will go." 
 
 " Only one," said Gabrielle, laughing. " My kisses 
 are like roses at Christmas they come high, but peo- 
 ple must have them. I will make you a present of 
 one to bind our bargain." 
 
 She stood on tip-toe and submitted graciously to his 
 embrace. Then he left the house by a side entrance. 
 
 When Walter came home she saw at once that he 
 had heard nothing. It required a little more courage 
 than anyone had had that day to tell him that his 
 sister's name was on the lips of every man about 
 town, mingled with coarse laughter and vulgar jest. 
 Gabrielle secured him at once for a ride in the Park, 
 and it was quite late when they returned. They dined 
 at a chop-house on the road, where private suppers 
 were served, and met no one whom they knew. When 
 they reached home Gabrielle put on her most bewitch- 
 ing mannei and kept Walter from his usual half hour 
 over the evening papers. She made him light his 
 cigar in her boudoir and kept him talking until she 
 knew that the last train out of the city had gone for 
 the night. 
 
 " Do you really love me, Walter ?" she was saying, 
 as the clock struck twelve. 
 
 " How many times must I answer that ?" he replied, 
 going to where she stood before the mirror, and clasp- 
 ing his arms about her waist. 
 
 " I know you say so," taking out the pins which 
 confined her luxuriant hair, and allowing it to fall 
 around her like a cloud, " but I often think that some 
 more beautiful face will after a while win your love 
 from me." 
 
 " There is none more beautiful," he answered. 
 *' None in the world. Gabrielle, you are seraphic !"
 
 258 THOU SHALT NOT. 
 
 " So you will tell your next love," pouted the beauty. 
 " ' Men are deceivers ever.' You know the verse." 
 
 She took up a paper which lay apparently by acci- 
 dent near by. He was lost in contemplation of the 
 loveliness of her shoulders and arms, and neither 
 spoke for a moment. Suddenly she called out : 
 
 " Oh, Walter ! Who do you think is married ?" 
 
 "I'm sure I can't guess," he replied, with a smile. 
 "Perhaps the Grand Llama of Thibet." 
 
 No, she said, "it's more wonderful than that. It's 
 Hector Greyburn. And, heavens ! Why, you must 
 have known all about it." 
 
 " Not I !" said Walter. " At least, I only know 
 that he was terribly in love. He told me that last 
 summer." 
 
 " You know who he was in love with, then ?" said 
 she. 
 
 " I haven't the remotest idea." 
 
 " You knew he had been to Springdale ?" 
 
 " Yes," said Walter, looking sorely puzzled, " but 
 not to get acquainted. He only visited at my 
 house." 
 
 " Well ?" Gabrielle interrupted. A light flashed on 
 the young man instantly. 
 
 " It's not a thing to joke about," he cried, a little 
 warmly. " Whom has he married, anyhow ?" 
 
 " This paper says that she is 'the only daughter of 
 the late Rev. Duncan Campbell, of Spriugdale.' " 
 
 Walter seemed to shrink into the depths of his 
 easy chair. The outburst she looked for did not 
 come yet. 
 
 " Shall I show it to you ?" 
 
 " No," he said, in a hollow voice. " The sight of it 
 would blast my eyes." 
 
 " Do you care very much ?" she said, creeping 
 softly to him and putting her arms about his neck, 
 "Walter, darling-, do you care very much ?"
 
 THOU SHALT NOT. 259 
 
 He looked at her as a drunken man might. A 
 struggle was going on within. 
 
 " She ought to have told you, dear, but you know 
 how it is in love. She may have feared that you 
 would make trouble, and taken this way in the hope 
 that you would forgive her after a little while." 
 
 He did not answer yet. 
 
 " Darling," she continued, sitting down in his lap, 
 and laying her face against his, " don't mind it. I 
 hate to have you feel bad. It can't be helped now. 
 There ! kiss me, and let us think no more about it." 
 
 She was acting upon him like a narcotic. 
 
 "Walter, you don't answer me." 
 
 He put his arm around her, and drew her closer. 
 
 " I'll never speak to her again," he said, at last. 
 " It is a disgrace. I am her only brother. Every- 
 body will find out that she didn't think enough about 
 me to let me know when she got married. To him, 
 too ! She'll get enough of it in a few months !" 
 
 " It's better they're married than if they had gone 
 away without, isn't it ?" said Gabrielle. She was feel- 
 ing her ground cautiously. 
 
 " It's about the same thing when she's married a 
 man like him," said Walter. " How long will he live 
 with her before he strikes a new fancy ? In a little 
 while she'll come crying back, and wish she'd con- 
 sulted me. Then it will be my turn." 
 
 He looked very ugly. 
 
 " I would forget them," said Gabrielle, kissing the 
 set lips, and looking her sweetest into the frowning 
 eyes. " They are not worth thinking of. Come, 
 dearest, smile again. You have quite sent a chill 
 over me ; and we were so happy a few minutes ago." 
 
 " You are right," said Walter, returning the kisses 
 which she gave him. " We will speak of them no 
 more." 
 
 The Greyburn sensation was the usual nine days'
 
 260 THOU SHALT NOT. 
 
 talk at the clubs, and then went its way like others of 
 its class, and made room for something newer. The 
 full details of the affair never got into the possession 
 of very many people. The fact of the wager was 
 known, but the general supposition was that the mar- 
 riage had in itself won the bet, and many were the 
 compliments showered upon Greyburn's " shrewd- 
 ness " in carrying off at the same time a heavy wager 
 and a handsome wife. Even this did not reach 
 Walter's ears. He quite forgot the bet made at the 
 dinner. Indeed, his condition on that occasion was 
 such that nothing in relation to it made a lasting im- 
 pression. Those of his acquaintances who heard the 
 story of his sister's marriage supposed that he had 
 heard it also, and did not care to enter into conversa- 
 tion with him on what must prove a disagreeable sub- 
 ject. It often happens that the person most inter- 
 ested in anything is the last person to hear of it, 
 though it may be the common talk of all around 
 him. 
 
 When, a few weeks later, a telegram appeared in 
 the papers, stating that Greyburn had been killed, 
 and that Dinsmore was under arrest for his murder, 
 it produced another sensation in the city, but nothing 
 like the previous one. A murder is not to be com- 
 pared with an elopement as an item of interest, espe- 
 cially if the parties to the latter are young and hand- 
 some, or otherwise distinguished. At Springdale, 
 where they knew Dinsmore well, and his supposed 
 victim slightly, greater excitement prevailed, and 
 many were the theories raised and debated. Walter 
 Campbell heard of this affair, as he had of the other, 
 through Gabrielle, who handed him a paper contain- 
 ing the item, as they were sitting one evening at 
 dinner. 
 
 " A pair of fools ; pass me the wine," was his only
 
 THOU SHALT NOT. 261 
 
 comment, and whatever he may have thought, he did 
 not allude to the subject again. 
 
 Jacob Mendall was sorry when he heard that one 
 of these men was dead, and the other unlikely to sur- 
 vive, and yet it solved a very annoying problem for 
 him. He wired Mr. Middleby to come home at any 
 time, and went about his business with renewed zeal. 
 
 Rev. Arthur Reycroft, Clarence Perky ns, Esq., and 
 others of Greyburn's intimate friends heard of his 
 death with real regret. The former gentleman, 
 especially, moralized on the sins of humanity in 
 general, and Greyburn in particular, and ended by 
 going to call on the fascinating Gabrielle, whom he 
 knew was now located in his friend's former resi- 
 dence. 
 
 She received him with open arms metaphorically ; 
 and would have made the metaphor an actuality had 
 he not retired behind his dignity. 
 
 " Mr. Arthur, I am delighted !" were her words of 
 welcome. " There is no man on this whole globe 
 and that is counting a good many whom I had 
 rather see than you. Come up to my boudoir. I 
 have ever so much to say to you." 
 
 " Your boudoir ?" he repeated, inquiringly. " Your 
 parlor would be better, I think. I am not used to 
 seeing ladies in their boudoirs." 
 
 " Now don't be scared," laughed the siren. ' " It's 
 not my bedroom, if that is what you are afraid of. It 
 is the room where I always receive my friends. Oh, 
 it's a perfectly proper place, or I wouldn't invite you 
 into it." 
 
 " On that assurance I will go there," said Mr. 
 Reycroft. 
 
 After a few words on general topics he said : 
 
 " You have noticed, of course, the telegrams in the 
 papers in relation to Mr. Greyburn." 
 
 "Yes," she smiled.
 
 262 THOU SHALT NOT. 
 
 "Terrible, isn't it ?" 
 
 "Well, y-e-s," she said, hesitating a little. " I sup- 
 pose so. Still, we must all die, and a sudden death 
 is the easiest." 
 
 He looked amazed at the lack of sorrow in her tone 
 and look. 
 
 " Do you recollect the first time you saw me ?" he 
 said. Then, seeing that she seemed in doubt, he 
 added : " Here, in this house, in his room, when he 
 sent for you and I asked you so many questions." 
 
 "Oh, 3*es," she said, brightening. "I remember it 
 well." 
 
 "You haven't forgotten, have you," he proceeded, 
 " how devotedly you loved Mr. Greyburn then ?" 
 
 "No, indeed !" laughed the beauty. " How much 
 we did care for each other ! It was really romantic. 
 How long ago was that ? It seems a century." 
 
 " Much less than two years," said Mr. Reycroft, 
 gravely. 
 
 " Oh, you are mistaken, surely!" she cried. "It 
 must have been before the war, at least. I was a 
 child then. Now I aui an old woman. I've almost 
 reached my twenty-second birthday. See the wrinkles 
 on my forehead." She knitted her fair brows and 
 laughed gaily. " I'm aging fast. Do look at my 
 hair. There must be silver threads in it." 
 
 She plunged herself down at his feet and submitted 
 her golden tresses for his inspection. He shook his 
 head, half smilingly, half sadly, and she rose again 
 and took a chair opposite to him. 
 
 " Only one man in a thousand would have let me 
 get up without a kiss," she said, with a bewitching 
 pout of her cherry lips. " Oh, don't think that I 
 mind it ! I'm glad there is somebody with such per- 
 fect control over their actions. It gives me confi- 
 dence in the universe. If I was out on a ship, you 
 know, and the passengers were all drinking cham-
 
 THOU SHALT NOT. 263 
 
 pagne, I would like to hear that the captain was sober. 
 So with you. Whenever I see how different you are 
 from others, I say, ' Here is a man who is standing 
 on the bridge and keeping a look-out.' Do you 
 understand ? Somebody must do it and it fits you 
 splendidly." 
 
 "They have never found his body," said Mr. Rey- 
 croft, to bring her back to his original subject. 
 
 " Ah !" she said. " I didn't know." 
 
 " Which, of course, leads us to hope a little longer 
 that he may be alive. And yet, if he were alive we 
 would be almost sure to get news of him." 
 
 " I should think so," she assented. " By the way, 
 this fellow who killed him called here one day. He 
 came into this very room and stood right where you 
 are sitting now." 
 
 He moved his chair involuntarily a little away from 
 the spot. 
 
 " Why did he come here ?" 
 
 " Oh, he would have it that Mr. Greyburn was in 
 the house. He had the impudence to say that as I 
 was here he could not be far off. When he left he 
 was breathing out threatenings and slaughter against 
 Hector if he ever did any harm to Miss Campbell. 
 He seemed to think that marriage was a capital crime. 
 I have always declared it foolish, but I never claimed 
 that we should condemn its votaries to death. I have 
 always thought their punishment severe enough of 
 itself. 
 
 She said this with an arch smile and Mr. Reycroft 
 replied : 
 
 " I see that you wish to draw me into another dis- 
 cussion. I am ready for you, but you must not look 
 for soft language. In speaking of things I shall call 
 them by their right names." 
 
 " I know what you would claim," said the girl. 
 " You would say that it is better to be married three
 
 264 THOU SHALT NOT. 
 
 weeks and then be shot dead, than to live as I do 
 under the 'mistaken impression ' that I am happy." 
 
 " I would say it were better to be shot dead a thou- 
 sand times than to go on from year to year preparing 
 for an eternity of remorse." 
 
 " I heard a minister preach once from this text," 
 said she, slowly : 
 
 " ' He knoweth our frame, 
 
 He remembereth that we are dust.' 
 
 Don't you think that our circumstances will have some- 
 thing to do with it when we go to be judged ?" 
 
 "Only God can answer that," said Mr. Reycroft, 
 devoutly, seeing that the girl had dropped her banter- 
 ing tone. " It is for us to live as nearly right as we 
 can, and not allow our weaknesses to master us with- 
 out a struggle. We must work out our own salva- 
 tion." 
 
 " They say that He is merciful," she answered. 
 " To whom should He show mercy unless it be to those 
 who need it most ?" 
 
 " He is merciful, truly," said Mr. Reycroft, "but 
 that does not excuse us from presuming on his mercy 
 and devoting a whole lifetime to breaking v His 
 laws." 
 
 "If you knew my life you would say that He might 
 well consider me a subject of mercy," said Gabrielle, 
 looking steadily at him. " Shall I tell it to you ?" 
 
 " If you would like to." 
 
 " I was born in the slums of this city," she began. 
 " My father was a longshoreman, when he did any- 
 thing. My mother did laundry work. She was of 
 good family, she has always told me, but sunk by her 
 marriage to the level of her husband. 
 
 " My mother supported us what support we got. 
 My father was generally drunk. Half a dozen of my
 
 THOU SHALT NOT. 265 
 
 little brothers and sisters did my mother bear, and 
 they all died because proper doctors and medicine are 
 not to be had for the poor. I was the last one, and I 
 lived, Heaven knows why ! They couldn't kill me. 
 I breathed the fetid air of a garret where, in one 
 room, we were expected to eat, sleep, wash, iron and 
 die. In that garret I was born. I do not see how 
 my mother found time to bear me. She was always 
 at work. Sometimes my father would strike her with 
 his fists, but she never complained. When she left a 
 good home to marry a young loafer she was told that 
 she would have to lie in the bed she made. And she 
 never tried to escape the chains which she had forged 
 for her own limbs. 
 
 " The first thing that I remember hearing was that 
 I was pretty. My father was a handsome man in his 
 younger days, and my mother but then, everybody's 
 mother is beautiful. As soon as I could carry small 
 bundles of laundered goods to the houses of ladies for 
 whom my mother worked, they all remarked how 
 pretty I was. They fondled me and gave me little 
 presents in the way of clothing, which my father stole 
 and pawned whenever he could get at them. I had a 
 taste for dress, and learned to hide things when my 
 father was around, and wear them when he was away. 
 I can remember sitting by my mother and caressing 
 the lace and edgings on the goods she ironed, as if 
 they were living things. 
 
 " When I grew older, not only the ladies admired 
 my beauty, but the men. They stopped me on the 
 street and gave me bits of silver in exchange for the 
 kisses I never dreamed of denying. Then my father 
 died, falling in a drunken fit, and my mother, till now 
 exempt from the habit, took to drink to drown the 
 sorrows which beset her. I had to take hold of the 
 irons to get work done when it was promised, and I 
 didn't like it. 1 was inexperienced, and the ladies
 
 266 THOU SHALT NOT. 
 
 for whom the work was done didn't like it, either. 
 My mother lay drunk a whole week once, and we got 
 out of bread. A young student of one of the divinity 
 colleges yes, I mean it ! relieved our necessities, 
 and 
 
 " But why go on ? I soon had good clothing, plenty 
 of food, and saw my poor old mother relieved of want 
 and work. Does she know where I get the money, 
 you would say. Certainly not. I tell her the best 
 story I can invent and she believes me. In her com- 
 fortable little home she blesses me over her bottle of 
 gin, and is seldom sober long enough to think much 
 about it. I'm sure I don't want her to think. The 
 more she drowns her thoughts the better !" 
 
 " Mr. Greyburn was not your first lover, then ?" said 
 Mr. Reycroft, as she hesitated. 
 
 " My first !" echoed the girl. " No, nor my oh ! 
 I've lived the whole life. I know the whole story. 
 To-day the favorite of a governor or a congressman, 
 and to-morrow soliciting the merchant or the clerk on 
 their way home at midnight. I could tell you things 
 which you would discredit, and yet they are true as 
 Heaven !" 
 
 " It is terrible !" said Mr. Reycroft. 
 
 " Terrible ? Perhaps so. But if this is terrible, 
 what word will describe the married misery of the 
 place where I was born ? My mother was once as 
 handsome as I, and better educated. Do you think it 
 was by deliberate choice that she sank to be a miser- 
 able washerwoman, bearing children whom she knew 
 were more likely to die than live, for a wretch who 
 repaid her devotion by curses and blows ? Poor food, 
 poor clothing, no comforts, nothing but slavery. That's 
 marriage ! that's the state the preachers would have 
 us be content in !" 
 
 The girl had wrought herself up to a high state of
 
 THOU SHALT NOT. 267 
 
 excitement. She began to pace the floor as she 
 talked. 
 
 " You should go and see the place where I lived. I 
 can find it. It was up six flights of rickety stairs. 
 There was no plastering on the walls. The roof 
 leaked. The room was half the time full of steam 
 from the boiler. We lived like hogs. Now, look 
 around you. See this room. Compare it in your 
 mental vision with the other. I wore then nothing 
 but what was given me in charity, and most of that 
 got stolen sooner or later. Many a time, after going 
 a long way and bringing home a little money for my 
 mother's work, my father has taken it away at the 
 street door and we have gone hungry. Come to the 
 pantry in this house. Look at the clothes I wear now. 
 This dress is silk. This basque is velvet. These 
 stones in my ears are diamonds. Why, these boots 
 were twenty dollars a pair. I wear nothing but what 
 is elegant, and I have grown to need them all. Do 
 you think I could go back to my old life ? Not until 
 the butterfly can become a chrysalis again !" 
 
 Mr. Reycroft was at a loss how to reply. He had 
 never seen Gabrielle look so magnificent as she did 
 while making this defense. 
 
 " You may talk to me of your heavens and your 
 after lives till you are tired," she said. " I am going 
 to live the life I have for all of later possibilities. I 
 must take the world as I find it. Men are the beings 
 in possession. Marry them and they will degrade you 
 until you are the mere slave of their caprice. Refuse 
 to wed and they come to your feet. What could I 
 have done in the life that you call virtuous ? The 
 same road that my mother trod was the only one open 
 to me. Do you think I would accept it ? Not for all 
 the heavens ever dreamed of would I live the life she 
 did !" 
 
 " All women in your place could not be sure that
 
 268 THOU SHALT NOT. 
 
 they would be treated as well as you have been," ven- 
 tured Mr. Reycroft, when she paused for breath. 
 
 " Let me tell you the truth," said the girl, stopping 
 in her walk. " I never really loved a man yet. I 
 liked my first lover very well, and am grateful for 
 what he did in lifting me out of my degraded sur- 
 roundings, but that is all. I liked Hector. I like 
 Walter, but I would leave even him to-morrow for 
 another lover without caring for the difference. It is 
 all a matter of expediency with me. Some people 
 have talents which they can turn to account. I have 
 nothing but beauty, and I must use it where it brings 
 the best returns. If I am punished for it there will 
 be others reckoned in the same account, and some 
 who hold their heads much higher in this world than 
 I have ever pretended to hold mine." 
 
 When the Rev. Arthur Reycroft took his leave it 
 was without much hope that he had succeeded in con- 
 verting Gabrielle from the error of her ways. 
 
 CHAPTER XXIV. 
 
 HECTOR GREYBURN established himself with Charlie 
 in an ordinary suite of apartments in a quiet side 
 street of the city; After his strange encounter with 
 his wife at Chatham he grew moody and was very 
 little like his former self. He stayed indoors most of 
 the day and only strayed out after nightfall, when he 
 took long walks which sometimes lasted until nearly 
 daybreak. In these walks Charlie usually accom- 
 panied him, though many of them were so severe as to 
 try the boy's slight strength. Sometimes they went 
 up the avenues, away out toward Harlem. Again 
 they crossed the ferries and plunged into the streets
 
 THOU SHALT NOT. 269 
 
 of Williamsburg, Brooklyn and Hoboken. Often their 
 walk led in and out among the devious ways of Five 
 Points, Bleecker Street and other old-town localities. 
 They penetrated places where murders have been 
 committed for ten dollars in money or jewelry, but 
 no one thought of disturbing the scarred man, dressed 
 in plain clothes, or the delicate child by his side. 
 This went on for weeks before the idea stole into 
 Greyburn's head that it might not be exactly the 
 sort of life which his young companion craved. 
 
 " This must be dull music for you, Charlie," he said, 
 then. " It's not what you expected, is it, staying 
 hived up in this den all day and wandering like a 
 ghoul over the city at night ?" 
 
 " I am content," said the lad, " that is for myself. 
 But for you it does not seem right ; you, who are 
 capable of doing so much in the world, if you only 
 would." 
 
 " I ?" said Greyburn. " Yes, I've done a good deal 
 in the world already, and it would have been con- 
 siderably better off if it had never made my acquaint- 
 ance. Do you know ihe sort of life I've lived ?" 
 
 "Yes," replied the boy, " I know. But the future 
 the great future, rich in possibilities that is open 
 to you still." 
 
 It reminded him unpleasantly of Clara's words. 
 He looked long and earnestly at the little speaker. 
 Then he said : 
 
 " Charlie, who taught you all the goodness you 
 know ? or did it spring up in you naturally, like the 
 violet in spring? What an oasis you are in this 
 desert- world !" 
 
 " My mother taught me to love right and hate 
 wrong," said the boy, " and everything that I have 
 seen elsewhere emphasizes her teaching." 
 
 " And she is-^"
 
 2/0 THOU SHALT NOT. 
 
 " Dead yes," said the lad, dashing a tear from his 
 eyes. 
 
 " Your father ?" said Greyburn. " Tell me about 
 him. Was he also of the angelic mould, or was he a 
 a man like other men, eating and drinking with 
 publicans and sinners ?" 
 
 "He was a bad man," said Charlie, quickly, "a 
 very bad man, unfit to live on the same planet with 
 my mother. Whatever good there may be in me 
 comes not by inheritance from him." 
 
 " At what age were you left an orphan ?" 
 
 " At nine. My grandfather took me home then 
 for a little while, but we could not agree and I ran 
 away. Next I stayed two years in a doctor's family. 
 Young as I was, he gave me wages besides my 
 board, and when he died suddenly, I had a hundred 
 dollars in my pocket. I came to New York to get 
 employment, and finally went South with a troupe 
 of theatrical people. They stranded in one of the 
 hill towns of Georgia, and I was walking to Macon 
 when I saw you lying on the banks of Rapid 
 River." 
 
 " If you had not seen me I should have been 
 ' down among the dead men' now," mused Greyburn. 
 " The fortunate stranding of that theatrical venture 
 enables me to sit here talking with you, instead of 
 accepting an invitation to dine with his Satanic 
 Majesty." 
 
 " It does seem providential," responded the lad, 
 " that I should have been there." 
 
 " Providence or luck, or whatever it was," replied 
 Greyburn, " it was very convenient. I suppose that 
 man would have thrown me back into the river like 
 a dog-fish after he had stolen my valuables." 
 
 " Do you know what became of Dinsmore ?" said 
 Charlie, changing the subject. 
 
 " I'm sure I don't," said Greyburn. " I haven't
 
 THOU SHALT NOT. 2/1 
 
 seen a soul that I used to know but Mr. Bird, 
 and I don't think I care to. They wouldn't know 
 me, any way." He turned to the mirror, and 
 added, bitterly : " What an injury that blacksmith 
 did ! Not for all the wealth in the world would I 
 have exchanged the face I used to have for this 
 one. And yet I can't explain why I don't feel at 
 all like seeking revenge on him." 
 
 "I should think he had been punished enough," 
 said Charlie. " He cannot speak a word, and it is a 
 question if he ever walks alone." 
 
 " What is that compared with my injuries ?" re- 
 sponded Greyburn. " Before he met me I had a face ; 
 now I have a mass of scars and disfigurations. They 
 said that I was the handsomest man in New York 
 look at me now ! Loss of voice ? that's a bagatelle ! 
 Loss of locomotion ? one can ride if he can't walk ! 
 But for a face like mine, what physician knows the 
 remedy !" 
 
 " It's not so very bad," said the boy, soothingly. 
 *' A cut across the forehead, and another scar or two, 
 that's all. You overrate your disfigurement, Mr. 
 Greyburn." 
 
 The man rose with a quick motion and pointed to a 
 handsome vase upon the mantel-piece, from which a 
 small fragment had been broken. 
 
 " Look at that Sevres," said he. " It will hold flow- 
 ers still ; it has lost none of its containing capacity ; 
 but who wants it in their parlor ? A piece of the rim 
 has been broken off, and the value of the article is 
 gone forever. It was a thing of beauty. What is it 
 good for now ? That /" 
 
 He struck the vase across the center, and it fell on 
 the floor in a hundred pieces. 
 
 " If somebody had struck me that way it would have 
 been better," he added. " Only that vase will not re- 
 appear somewhere again, and I might."
 
 2/2 THOU SHALT NOT. 
 
 "Beauty is not everything," ventured the boy. 
 
 "No, but when the beauty of a thing is gone, who 
 wants the rest ? You saw my first blow. My wife, 
 whose eyes rained tears because I did not fly instantly 
 to her side, shrank from this face. ' Take him away ! 
 he frightens me !' I can hear her now. I don't blame 
 her. I do look frightful. Unless that mirror lies I 
 would do to scare crows with." 
 
 Charlie did not reply. His fund of condolence was 
 exhausted. 
 
 " If you had known me," Greyburn went on, " before 
 that September morning when I went tumbling like 
 a beast to my doom, you would understand it better. 
 I had a complexion like a girl's, fair and rosy, not an 
 imperfection in it anywhere. Many are the red lips 
 which have been pressed to mine, many the bright 
 eyes which have wandered lovingly over my counte- 
 nance, caught in the meshes of its winning smiles. 
 Had my voice failed, I could have borne it ; had my 
 limbs refused their office, that were easily endured ; 
 but to lose that face is not a thing to bear with equa- 
 nimity, and until to-day I could not even trust myself 
 to speak about it." 
 
 "Feminine conquests are denied you by your mar- 
 riage vow," said Charlie, " and your masculine friends 
 will not mind." 
 
 "My marriage vow!" repeated Greyburn. "That 
 is dissolved by all the laws of reason when my wife 
 exclaims that I frighten her and demands to have me 
 taken from her presence. I do not profess to' be a 
 saint. No woman with any pretensions to beauty 
 would care for me now, but if no female eye looks 
 brightly into mine it will not be on account of my 
 marriage vow. You cannot understand me, Charlie, 
 and no wonder. You are of the skies, angelic. I am 
 of the earth, earthy." 
 
 " You wouldn't wish your wife, separated from you
 
 THOU SHALT NOT. 2/3 
 
 though she is, or your daughter if you had one to 
 entertain your views," ventured the lad. 
 
 " That is an old way of begging the question," 
 Greyburn responded. " I shouldn't wish my wife or 
 daughter to scrub floors or sell matches in the 
 streets." 
 
 " Death is a kinder fate than dishonor to a woman," 
 said Leslie, loftily. 
 
 " It is nonsense to say so," said Greyburn. " I have 
 had my trial with those ideas. When I met Clara I 
 took up the purity business, and it has done enough 
 for me. Had I let it alone I should have been to-day 
 contented in mind, fair in face, rich in friends and 
 comforts. Now I am an outcast, with no friend in the 
 world but you, and so hideous that I have to take the 
 kindly season of the night to make my walks abroad. 
 I've gained this by being virtuous, and, by all that's 
 worth an oath, I'm sick of it !" 
 
 "You reason strangely," said the lad. "You have 
 acknowledged to me that you dealt wrongfully with 
 Miss Campbell in order to win a wager, before you 
 were united. / should ascribe your fall over the cliffs 
 to the retribution of Heaven." 
 
 " What a lot of exploded ideas you carry in that 
 little head of yours !" exclaimed Greyburn. " Do not 
 the best people in the world meet with accidents as 
 well as the worst ? When a boiler blows up or a train 
 is derailed are the good separated from the evil ? I 
 have had love all my life and I can't live without it. 
 What affection will not buy, money will, and I shall 
 have a sharer of my apartments before another week 
 has passed over." 
 
 " Not while I stay here," said Charlie, firmly. 
 
 " It's no use balking me," said the man. " If I can- 
 not do one thing I shall break out in a new place. 
 Deny me the charms of woman and I will try those of 
 wine, drink in the pleasures of the opium-taster or
 
 274 THOU SHALT NOT. 
 
 frequent gambling shops. I shall go to the bad, rely 
 upon it, and shutting off one avenue will only open a 
 thousand others." 
 
 The next night, when Greyburn put on his wrap- 
 pings to sally forth, he said, " I don't want you to 
 come with me to-night, Charlie." 
 
 The boy made no reply except to advance toward 
 the door. 
 
 " I said," repeated Greyburn, slowly, " that I didn't 
 wish you to go with me to-night." 
 
 Without further parley he closed the door behind 
 him and went into the street. It was a rainy, drizzly 
 evening, not one to be chosen for a promenade, but it 
 was all the same to him. Up and down the streets 
 he walked ; along the wharves where the vessels lay ; 
 among the lanes, where poverty and vice, like twin 
 brothers, stalk hand in hand ; past houses whence 
 came the sound of music and dancing, and where the 
 shadows of women and sailors were thrown upon the 
 curtains ; past cellars, whence issued staggering 
 drunkards ; past all the many colored sides of the 
 great monster which is continually, day and night, 
 sucking the life blood from the body politic. 
 
 A noise, the loud voice of a woman in her cups, rose 
 above the other sounds of the street. Greyburn fol- 
 lowed with careless steps the crowd which was gath- 
 ering. An aged creature occupied the sidewalk in 
 front of a block of houses, and was answering in a high 
 key the taunts of several mischievous young men who 
 seemed to take great delight in annoying her. 
 
 " Ye're a pack of liars!" hissed the crone. "My 
 daughter's as honest a girl as ever breathed the air of 
 New York. Don't ye tell me she's not. Supposing 
 she does come here in her carriage, what of that ? 
 Don't I tell ye that she's housekeeper for a rich gen- 
 tleman ? Why shouldn't she come in his carriage if 
 he's willing ?"
 
 THOU SHALT NOT. 2/5 
 
 "Housekeeper! Oh, yes!" yelled the young fel- 
 lows, derisively. " That's very good, Mother Dela- 
 porte, very good !" 
 
 " Ye're fools, all of ye !" screamed the woman, grow- 
 ing frantic. " It's because she's a beauty and your 
 sisters are scraggy and homely that ye 're jealous of 
 my daughter. She wouldn't look at such as ye. Ye 
 judge her by your own kin, and she's not made of the 
 same dust as yer dirty mothers and sisters. Do ye 
 hear that ! I only wish my Edward was here. He'd 
 fix ye, villains that ye are, to malign an honest girl 
 who's working hard to keep her poor old mother from 
 starving." 
 
 " Where's her Edward ?" mockingly asked a by- 
 stander. 
 
 " He died drunk, long ago," replied another. p " Old 
 Mother's going like him, I guess." 
 
 The hubbub raised an immense crowd in the street, 
 and at last the unvaryingly tardy policeman made his 
 appearance. When he reached the old woman he 
 grasped her in no gentle manner by the arm. 
 
 " Here, get into the house, will you ! If I hear an- 
 other word out of you to-night I'll put you into the 
 station !" 
 
 " Oh, ye will, will ye !" cried the woman. "Ye'll 
 arrest me and never touch those lying villains who 
 followed me to cry down the name of my dear, good, 
 sweet daughter. Let me alone?" she screamed, as 
 the officer tightened his grip. " Drive this crowd off 
 and leave me in peace. It's them that's making all 
 the trouble." 
 
 The old woman caught hold of the fence by which 
 she was standing and clung with all her might to the 
 palings. The officer raised his club and struck her 
 across the fingers ; not severely, but yet enough to 
 elicit a howl of pain and rage. The creature struck 
 at him in blind fury and he raised his club again.
 
 276 THOU SHALT NOT. 
 
 This time the blow would have been harder, but his 
 arm did not descend. Greyburn, who had edged 
 near to the scene, caught the policeman's hand. The 
 crowd saw this and raised a shout of joy. An officer 
 in trouble is always a welcome sight to hoodlums. 
 
 The policeman's eyes met Greyburn's squarely 
 and the former quailed a little. 
 
 "If you think it your duty to arrest this woman I 
 will help you to take her to the station-house, but you 
 shall not strike her." 
 
 " Who are you ?" demanded the officer. 
 
 " I am a citizen of New York." 
 
 " I am doing my duty," said the officer, growing 
 bolder as he saw how quiet was Greyburn's demeanor, 
 " and I will not be interfered with. Come, old wo- 
 man, are you going along or shall! try to club you 
 again ?" 
 
 The officer raised the club, but Greyburn wrenched 
 it from him with a quick motion. At that instant a 
 carriage which was trying to make its way through 
 the street stopped, hemmed in by the dense assem- 
 blage, exactly opposite to the place where Greyburn 
 was. The faces of a young gentleman and lady ap- 
 peared at the window, and when they found that 
 they could not immediately proceed the gentleman 
 alighted. With that respect for good clothes which 
 comes instinctively to some people, the throng made 
 easy passage for him. 
 
 " Say, what's this ?" was his exclamation, as he 
 came to the scene of the disturbance. 
 
 " This man is assaulting me," said the officer. " If 
 you are a friend of the law, I call on you for assist- 
 ance." 
 
 Greyburn looked at the new comer and staggered 
 back a step. 
 
 " Walter !" he said, below his breath,
 
 THOU SHALT NOT. 2?/ 
 
 The young gentleman did not know him, but he 
 did recognize the officer. 
 
 " What, Daniels !" he exclaimed, " is it you ?" 
 
 "Yes, Mr. Campbell," replied the policeman, "and 
 I wish you'd assist me in locking this man up. I was 
 doing my duty here in arresting this woman, when he 
 interfered." 
 
 " You'd better let him and the old woman go, both 
 of them," was Walter's advice. " There's no use in 
 having more trouble. You won't make any further 
 disturbance, will you ?" he said, soothingly, turning 
 to Mother Delaporte. 
 
 " Ah ! but they said," she cried again, " that my 
 daughter my darling, sweet, pure and lovely daugh- 
 ter wasn't an honest girl. Had they a right to say 
 that, mister ? And she the sweetest and the most 
 beautiful girl in New York, and working hard to keep 
 her poor old mother in comfort. Wasn't it a mean 
 thing and a cruel thing to say ! Oh, dear ! Oh, 
 dear !" 
 
 The woman burst into loud lamentations. But in a 
 moment soft young arms were around her neck and 
 peach-like cheeks were nestled close to hers. The 
 young lady in the carriage had left it and knelt in all 
 her silks and velvets in the dirt of the street. 
 
 " Mother, darling mother ! It is I, Gabrielle. They 
 shall not abuse you. How could they! How could 
 any one in the semblance of a man be so cruel !" 
 
 Walter Campbell beheld this singular scene with 
 the utmost astonishment. He looked helplessly at his 
 carriage in a vain hope that his Gabrielle might still 
 be there and that this Gabrielle, so like her in dress 
 and tones, might be another. He looked at Daniels ; 
 he looked at Grey burn ; he looked at the crowd ; and 
 there was no hope for him anywhere. 
 
 Gabrielle assisted her mother to rise and succeeded
 
 278 THOU SHALT NOT. 
 
 in stilling the complaining voice. Then she turned to 
 her lover. 
 
 " Will you bring the carriage here so that I can get 
 her into it ? She lives but a few blocks away. The 
 crowd is so great that we could make little progress 
 on foot." 
 
 She lifted her beautiful eyes, all aglow with the 
 excitement of the scene, and placed her gloved hand 
 upon Walter's shoulder. He drew back as if some- 
 thing poisonous had touched him. 
 
 " Who is that woman ?" he demanded, roughly. 
 
 " My mother," replied Gabrielle, bridling. 
 
 " Then take her and go your way with her !" he 
 said. " You can't do it in my carriage, though. Did 
 you think I would have it used for a thing like that ?" 
 
 He looked with loathing upon the object of his 
 scorn and strode away. 
 
 Gabrielle checked a rising exclamation and turned 
 again to her mother. 
 
 " Never mind, mamma dear. I'll go home with 
 you. No one shall speak cross to you while I am 
 here. Come, lean on my arm." 
 
 The excitement of the last quarter of an hour had 
 removed all traces of liquor in the old woman's gait, 
 and she did as she was asked, but the crowd, more 
 from curiosity than ill humor, hemmed them in so 
 closely that they could only proceed with slowness. 
 Greyburn watched them for a few moments and then, 
 stepping forward, he said to the girl : " I beg your 
 pardon, but have you far to go ?" 
 
 "Only to Barnes court," she replied. "About ten 
 minutes' walk from here." 
 
 " Shall I get you a carriage ?" 
 
 "No, thank you. There is no stand near here and 
 it would take too long, I fear. But if you would be 
 so kind as to take my mother's other arm, I think we 
 could get along faster, Unless," she added, ironically,
 
 THOU SHALT NOT. 279 
 
 "you, like my late escort, are afraid of contamina- 
 tion." 
 
 The crowd, seeing that all interest to them in the 
 affair was ended, began to disperse, and when they 
 reached the comparatively quiet shades of Barnes 
 court they were nearly alone. 
 
 " Will you come in ?" said Gabrielle, as she opened 
 the door with a key obtained from her mother. 
 
 " For a moment ; just to see that all is well," he 
 responded. But, as he put his foot upon the thresh- 
 old a hand was laid upon his arm. He turned and 
 saw the face of Charlie Leslie. 
 
 " You here, Charlie ! Why, boy, this is two miles 
 from our home." 
 
 " I know it," said the boy, " and it is time we were 
 both there. Do not enter this house." 
 
 " Why not ? I must at least go in and take a decent 
 leave of the people here. I have just escorted an old 
 lady home who was in trouble in the street." 
 
 " She is in no trouble now," insisted the lad, "and 
 it is very late. 7 am going, and you will not let me 
 go alone." 
 
 " Well, give me just a moment, to say good-night, 
 and I will go with you." 
 
 " Then I must go in also," said Charlie. 
 
 "Certainly. That's all right," said Greyburn. 
 " Come in."
 
 280 THOU SHALT NOT. 
 
 CHAPTER XXV. 
 
 THEY went into the house. A gas jet was lighted 
 in a neatly furnished sitting-room, where Gabrielle and 
 her mother awaited their coming. When Greyburn 
 entered, the old lady poured out her thanks for his 
 assistance in saving her from being clubbed to death, 
 as she insisted on putting it. After these thanks had 
 been given over and over again, for some minutes, 
 Gabrielle suggested that her mother ought to retire 
 and get her rest. 
 
 " I shall stay over night, mamma dear," she said. 
 " Go right to your room and get to sleep. In the 
 morning I will tell you all the news, as I always do." 
 
 After her mother had gone, Gabrielle turned to 
 Greyburn. 
 
 " I owe you many thanks, sir, for your kindness to 
 my mother this evening, both in rescuing her from 
 the brutality of that policeman and in assisting us 
 home. In such a dilemma it was a surprise and de- 
 light to receive the services of so true a gentleman." 
 
 Greyburn hesitated a moment and then said : 
 
 " Gabrielle, don't you know who I am ?" 
 
 She looked up the least bit startled. Her eyes 
 wandered over his face and she shook her head. 
 
 " I thought when you first spoke to me that I had 
 seen you somewhere, but I cannot remember defin- 
 itely. That is not strange, however. I have known 
 so many people." 
 
 " Charlie," said Greyburn, looking at the boy, " you 
 can see now whether I have changed or not. This 
 woman has eaten at my table, sat by my side, lain
 
 THOU SHALT NOT. 28 1 
 
 in my arms. Not for once or twice, but for months. 
 And she does not know that she ever saw me." 
 
 " Ah ! now I do," said Gabrielle, rising and offering 
 her hand. " It's Hector." 
 
 He took the hand and held it. 
 
 "But you did not know me," he said. 
 
 " Not at first, truly," said the girl, assuming her 
 most winning manner, " but that is easily accounted 
 for. It is a wonder that I know anything after what 
 I have just passed through. My head has been in a 
 whirl, and how could I have expected to see you in 
 this out of the way place. Now that I am getting 
 calmer, I know you well enough. And I am very, 
 very glad to see you." 
 
 " I am not at all changed, of course," he said. 
 
 " Oh, I won't say that !" she exclaimed. " You 
 are a little more slender and you've let your beard 
 grow and and you must excuse me for saying 
 it you're just the least mite older." 
 
 " What do you think of that ?" he said, bitterly, 
 pointing to the scar across his forehead. 
 
 "What do I think of it?" cried she. "Why, I 
 think it's a long, red beauty mark. I think it's just 
 lovely ! If you belonged to me, Hector, as you did 
 once, I would kiss that forehead fifty times a day. 
 I'd make you shave off that ugly beard, so as to 
 let that mustache out in all its pristine loveliness ; 
 and there isn't another thing I'd change about you, to 
 make you perfection." 
 
 He had to smile ; more at the extravagance of the 
 flattery, than because he allowed it to flatter him ; 
 and not a little at the ingenuity with which she made 
 the answer. Besides, he found this sweet face and 
 girlish prattle a relief after the long months in which 
 he had kept himself from his kind. It was like com- 
 ing out of a cave into an atmosphere full of sunshine
 
 282 THOU SHALT NOT. 
 
 and singing birds and gaily colored flowers. Gabrielle 
 began to affect him like new wine. 
 
 " Do you really mean," he asked, " that any price 
 which I could pay would induce you to receive me as 
 a lover, with these disfigurations ?" 
 
 Gabrielle laughed her sweet, low, mellow laugh. 
 
 " What a way you have of putting things ! I 
 wouldn't be hired to love any man whom I didn't 
 wish to love. You know we were great friends until 
 Walter's sister came between us. I should have loved 
 you ' forever and ever, amen,' if you hadn't thrown 
 me aside. As for those little scratches on your face, 
 they're not worth speaking of. They wouldn't make 
 the slightest difference to me." 
 
 Greyburn's eyes brightened. His face bore the first 
 real smile it had seen for months. 
 
 " You give me hope," he said, " that my life is not 
 wholly gone that I can yet save something out of its 
 wreck. But I have committed a breach of courtesy," 
 he added, as his eye rested upon Charlie. " I should 
 have introduced rny young friend here. Miss Dela- 
 porte, Mr. Leslie." 
 
 " I am delighted to meet him, I'm sure," said the 
 girl, advancing, and offering her hand. 
 
 Charlie did not take it. Indeed, he shrank from its 
 touch, more from instinct than willful impoliteness. 
 
 " Mr. Greyburu is disposed to be facetious," he said. 
 " I am his servant, nothing more. I know my place, 
 and I also know that the customs of society do not 
 place me on a level with the friends of my em- 
 ployer." 
 
 The girl stood looking from one to the other in 
 complete bewilderment. 
 
 " Servant or friend," she said, " I offer you my 
 hand. Won't you take it ?" 
 
 Stouter hearts than Charlie's had melted beneath
 
 THOU SHALT NOT. 283 
 
 the glance of those lovely eyes, but he showed no 
 signs of capitulation. 
 
 " I cannot," he said. 
 
 "And why?" asked Gabrielle, smiling upon him 
 like a very fairy. " What is there in that little hand 
 which can harm a child like you ?" 
 
 " It is not for me to say," said the boy, lifting his 
 eyes to hers, and never flinching before her gaze, 
 " that there is wrong in your hand. I will leave it to 
 you is it a pure hand ?" 
 
 Gabrielle uttered a little cry of pain. 
 
 " Is it a hand which points to a better life ? Or 
 does it beckon its followers downward toward the 
 gates of death ?" 
 
 " You must not mind him," interposed Greyburn. 
 " He is nothing if not preachy. I keep him as a foil to 
 my sinfulness. He marches ahead where the sun can 
 shine on him. I am the shadow creeping along in 
 his wake. He is interesting and I love him. Besides, 
 he saved my life at Chatham. As for heeding all he 
 says, that were impossible." 
 
 " It were better if you heeded some of it," cried the 
 boy. " I urged you not to enter this house." 
 
 " Why, what harm has happened to him here ?" 
 cried Gabrielle. " One would think that I were a 
 viper whose touch would poison him." 
 
 The lad turned once more to Greyburn. " Please 
 go. It is nearly morning." 
 
 " There is no need of haste," replied the man. " We 
 have nothing to do but sleep when we get home. I 
 have found an old friend here and I wish to talk with 
 her. You may go. Get a carriage, that will be best, 
 and I will come later." 
 
 " No," said the lad, firmly, " I cannot leave you. I 
 have followed you all night and you must come with 
 me now. We will take the carriage together."
 
 284 THOU SHA.LT NOT. - 
 
 " I am not going," said Greyburn, raising his voice 
 a little. 
 
 " You shall." 
 
 The boy took him by the arm as if he would abduct 
 him by main force. 
 
 " By what right do you say that ?" queried the man, 
 sharply. 
 
 " By every right. Here is temptation, which to you 
 means sin. Come, I have counseled you for many 
 weeks. I conjure you, listen to me now." 
 
 " Go with him," said Gabrielle, seeing that he hesi- 
 tated. " You may get infected by breathing the same 
 air with me." 
 
 " Come," repeated Charlie. " Even she joins with 
 me in asking it." 
 
 "I will not !" cried Greyburn, losing all control of 
 himself. " I have been a slave too long. What have 
 I to gain or lose ? The woman who swore before God 
 to love me shrinks from my scarred face. This 
 woman, as fair as she, offers me her affection, and I 
 will accept it. Go to my home, or where you will, I 
 shall remain here." 
 
 The boy grew very pale during the last words. He 
 lurched dizzily toward a chair, tried to grasp it, and 
 fell lifeless upon the floor. The scene changed in- 
 stantly. Greyburn caught up the slender form and 
 laid it on a sofa, while the impulsive girl ran to a cup- 
 board for restoratives. Before she could fetch them 
 she was startled by a loud exclamation, and turned to 
 see Greyburn with his arm extended toward her in a 
 beckoning attitude. 
 
 Charlie lay in a dead faint. Greyburn had unbut- 
 toned the child's coat and loosened his collar, in order 
 to give him all the air that could be got into his lungs. 
 The breath was so still that for a moment he feared 
 it had departed. Tearing open the shirt, he was
 
 THOU SHALT NOT. 285 
 
 about to apply his ear to the heart when he made the 
 discovery which caused him to cry out. 
 
 "Good God !" cried Gabrielle. " It is a girl." 
 
 Greyburn bowed his head in his hands and uttered 
 not a word. 
 
 " Did you not know it ?" she asked, suspiciously. 
 
 He shook his head and she saw that he trembled a 
 little. 
 
 " How long have you known her ?" 
 
 " Six months," he said in a whisper. " I can't com- 
 prehend it. Little Charlie." 
 
 " You must get a doctor." 
 
 " Yes, where ?" 
 
 " Just around the corner. The first door. There is 
 a night bell." 
 
 The doctor was procured, and by his directions 
 Gabrielle put the child to bed and applied the neces- 
 sary remedies. The medical man thought that he 
 understood the situation when he found his girl-patient 
 dressed in boy's clothes, and he said : 
 
 " Don't let her get excited when she wakes. This 
 masquerading business is always dangerous. It acts 
 on the nerves of a girl to be on the street in man's 
 garments." 
 
 When the faint was changed into a quiet sleep under 
 the influence of the medicine, and the doctor had 
 taken his departure, Greyburn and Gabrielle con- 
 versed in low tones over the" strange affair. He told 
 her all he had to tell. When he finished, she said, 
 with a woman's intuition : 
 
 " One thing is certain, Hector, the poor child had a 
 reason for her jealousy of me. She is terribly in love 
 with you, herself." 
 
 " I am afraid so," he responded, gloomily. " And 
 yet, how can it be ? She is the soul of virtue, and she 
 knows that I am married." 
 
 " That makes no difference," replied the girl.
 
 286 THOU SHALT NOT. 
 
 " Virtue can control a woman's conduct, but not her 
 heart. It was so romantic. She saved your life, and 
 all the forces of nature combine to make us love that 
 to which we have given being. Did you never have the 
 slightest suspicion that she was other than what she 
 seemed ?" 
 
 " Not the least. She has been with me. on tramps 
 of miles, lasting all night, and showed no more signs 
 of weariness than would be expected of a frail boy. 
 Think how she carried me through my illness at Macon 
 and restored me to my friends. It seemed remark- 
 able for a boy ; it seems doubly so for a young, inex- 
 perienced girl. What could have been the object of 
 her assuming boy's clothing ! It is more like a romance 
 than a real occurrence." 
 
 It was ten o'clock in the morning when Charlie 
 awoke. As she glanced around the unfamiliar room the 
 scenes of the preceding night came slowly back. She 
 lay very still, thinking what to do and say, now that 
 her secret was discovered. When Gabrielle looked 
 in, Charlie smiled to her and put out her hand. 
 
 "I was impolite to you last night, I fear," said the 
 sick girl, " but I meant well. You will forgive me, 
 won't you ?" 
 
 " Don't speak of it," said Gabrielle. " What can I 
 do for you !" 
 
 " Do you think I could rise ?" 
 
 " Not to-day. ' 
 
 " To-morrow, then, or whenever it is safe for me to 
 get up, would you get me something to wear suitable 
 for my sex ! You know," she added, blushing a little, 
 " I cannot be a boy any longer." 
 
 " I will get anything you desire," said Gabrielle. 
 
 " You will find money in my pocket-book. Has he 
 has Mr. Grey burn gone away ?" 
 
 " No, he is near at hand and very anxious about 
 your recovery."
 
 THOU SHALT NOT. 287 
 
 "Will it be improper for him to come in here a 
 minute ?" said Charlie, hesitatingly. 
 
 " I cannot see why. You are ill. That excuses 
 everything." 
 
 " Please speak to him, then," said Charlie. " And, 
 would you mind ? I wish to see him a little while 
 alone." 
 
 Greyburn came in, closed the door softly behind 
 him, and sat down in a chair by the bed. 
 
 " Dear little Charlie," he said, in tones of infinite 
 tenderness, " can you ever forgive me for my harsh- 
 ness last night ? I feel so guilty, after all your kind- 
 ness to me." 
 
 "Hush!" said Charlie, taking the man's hand in 
 hers. " We were both unreasonable. We did not 
 understand each other." 
 
 "I cannot believe," he continued, "that the boy I 
 have traveled with these long months is, after all, a 
 woman. I could not understand how so much good- 
 ness could lurk in a masculine frame, but this 
 hypothesis I never dreamed of." 
 
 " I knew you did not," Charlie smiled, " but it can 
 no longer be denied. When I rise from this bed it 
 will be to assume the garments of my own sex." 
 
 " Why did you don those of the other ? ' 
 
 " To get work more easily," she said." " As I told 
 you, I left my grandfather's house at the age of ten 
 years. What could a girl do ? I tried in vain to get 
 anywhere except into a kitchen. Then I put on a 
 boy's suit and had no more trouble. As a boy I was 
 a success, as a girl a miserable failure." 
 
 " What will you do now ?" 
 
 " That," she answered, smilingly, " is for you to 
 say. My contract with you should not be broken be- 
 cause my sex is changed." 
 
 " It is impossible," he said, decidedly, " for us to be 
 together under these altered circumstances."
 
 288 THOU SHALT NOT. 
 
 " Why ?" 
 
 " Because," he answered, turning his face away, 
 " my reputation will blast yours wherever we are 
 known. You must go where no one will ever hear 
 that you lived these months under my roof, or you are 
 ruined. I could not, after this, walk or ride with you 
 in public and leave you a particle of character in the 
 eyes of New York." 
 
 "Once more," she said, softly, "you will begin to 
 lead a life of virtue. I will be your guide. You will 
 win the regard of him that overcometh." 
 
 " No ! no !" he cried, " it cannot be. You could not 
 lift me up and I should drag you down. The love for 
 me which is developing in your heart is a dangerous 
 thing. Strike it down ! crush it out, as you would an 
 infant serpent, or it will throttle you ! I am a wicked 
 man. I must run my course, but I will never-consent 
 to destroy you with me !" 
 
 " You need not fear for me," replied Charlie, look- 
 ing at him with an expression of ineffable tender- 
 ness. " I had a mother who taught me that the great- 
 est of supplications was this, ' Lead us not into 
 temptation.' She knew what punishment follows 
 wrong-doing, even when the evil one appears in the 
 brightest and most pleasing of shapes. No one could 
 ever persuade me to sin, and if violence were used I 
 would not hesitate to send my soul to that mother 
 who gave it to me white, and taught me not to let it 
 be sullied." 
 
 " I cannot listen to you," he said, in tones of expos- 
 tulation. " No matter what your intentions or mine 
 may be there would always be danger." 
 
 ." You cannot refuse me," persisted Charlie. " You 
 will not turn from your door one who loves you as I 
 do." 
 
 " But you shall not love me !" he cried with ve- 
 hemence. " I refuse to allow it, I will send you
 
 THOU SHALT NOT. 2&9 
 
 where you please, so that it be away from me ; and I 
 shall, of course, bear all your expenses. My love is 
 the only thing I shall refuse you, and that I must not 
 give." 
 
 " Oh, yes ! you will love me," said the girl, raising 
 herself upon her pillow, and looking at him with eyes 
 from which the tears were flowing. " You must love 
 me ! Do you not know why ? Can you not guess ? 
 i am your daughter /" 
 
 CHAPTER XXVI. 
 
 WHEN Clara Greyburn came to realize what she 
 had done that the being at whose appearance she 
 had manifested terror, and whom she had driven from 
 her door, was her husband she fell into a fever 
 which lasted for weeks. Mr. John Bird, who was in- 
 structed by Greyburn to arrange a settlement with 
 her, came on from New York, waited several days, 
 and then, by advice of Dr. Robinson, returned again 
 to the city to await her recovery, which the good doc- 
 tor warned him would be very slow. The lawyer 
 made arrangements that all charges should be paid 
 by himself and that he should be sent for at the ear- 
 liest practicable date. The winter and spring passed 
 before Clara's mental and physical strength were con- 
 sidered equal to the transaction of business, and the 
 physician would have postponed the matter still 
 longer except that her inquiries became so imperative 
 that he feared lest her anxiety to know what had 
 become of her husband might retard her improve- 
 ment. 
 
 One day m June Mr. John Bird made his second
 
 2QO THOU SHALT NOT. 
 
 appearance at Chatham, and alighted from the stage 
 coach in front of Mrs. Baldwin's house. Clara was 
 still far from strong, and received him in an easy 
 chair. The landlady left them alone, after showing 
 Mr. Bird into the room, and the man of business pro- 
 ceeded with his errand. 
 
 " Mrs. Greyburn," he began, but she interrupted 
 him. 
 
 " Tell me first if he is well ! Has Hector has 
 Mr. Greyburn entirely recovered from his terrible 
 accident ?" 
 
 " In one sense, yes ; in another, no," answered the 
 lawyer. " With the exception of a few scars, which 
 he will probably carry with him to the grave, his 
 bodily hurts are mended. Mentally, his condition is 
 not so good. He is moody, reticent and evidently 
 unhappy. The loss to his facial appearance seems to 
 weigh heavily upon his mind." 
 
 She caught eagerly at every word. 
 
 " How does he live alone ?" 
 
 " Almost. He has only the boy for a companion ; 
 the one who testified at the trial, you remember. 
 They live with a servant or two, hardly ever appear- 
 ing out, and seeming to shrink from publicity. As 
 far as any of Mr. Greyburn's old companions are 
 aware, he is literally dead to the world. I doubt if 
 any of them know that he is in the city, and I am 
 sure he doesn't desire that they should." 
 
 There was a slight pause and then -she said : 
 
 " Do you include me in that list, Mr. Bird ? Am / 
 one of those old acquaintances from whose presence 
 he desires to hide ? Sir, you are a lawyer his 
 lawyer but you are a man, and I believe, a gentle- 
 man. I must talk to you in what may seem a plain 
 manner, but I have no one else to speak to. Have 
 you come to tell me that my husband will insist on 
 our living apart, or is there any hope that in time I
 
 THOU SHALT NOT. 29! 
 
 may take my rightful place? Do not hesitate, sir. 
 You see I am very calm." 
 
 " The attorney coughed, and looked considerably 
 disturbed. 
 
 " I did not anticipate this turn in the conversation," 
 he said, " but if I proceed with my business, as ordered 
 by my client, you can perhaps judge as well as I in 
 relation to the matter of which you speak. Mr. Grey- 
 burn instructs me to offer you whatever part of his 
 fortune you will consent to receive." 
 
 " I will never touch a penny of it !" she burst out, 
 indignantly. "I have told him so. You came here 
 when I was ill, and in his name ordered all my bills 
 charged to you. I shall not allow it. I have half of 
 a house in Springdale, which I can sell, and pay all I 
 owe here. As soon as I am strong I can teach school 
 again. Hector may hate me, but he shall never 
 despise me ! I would rather starve than receive a 
 dollar of his money under such conditions !" 
 
 Mr. Bird coughed a good deal after this, and was 
 more disconcerted than he remembered to have been 
 in the whole course of his professional career. 
 
 <l Of course no one can compel you against your 
 will," he said, finally. " But you must excuse a man a 
 good deal older than yourself if he tells you plainly 
 that you reason quite erroneously. As I have been 
 given to understand it, Mr. Greyburn drove here one 
 night with the intention of discussing these matters 
 with you. Instead of giving him the slightest en- 
 couragement this is the way I hear it you expressed 
 in a violent manner your wish that he should leave at 
 once. As you seem to desire me to speak plainly, I 
 should like to understand this point." 
 
 " It was a most unfortunate error on my part," she 
 replied, " and it has cost me hours of agony. I was 
 highly wrought up with the knowledge that Hector 
 was still living, and when the boy called and began
 
 292 THOU SHALT NOT. 
 
 to talk with me I had no idea that my husband was 
 within many miles. When he stepped into the room 
 he was so changed that I never suspected who he was. 
 He stood by that door, half in the shadow, and the 
 only effect of his presence was to inspire me with 
 terror. When he was beyond reach and they told me 
 whom I had sent away, I fainted, and my long illness 
 followed. Could Hector understand this, could he 
 know how dearly I craved his presence at the very 
 moment when my eyes failed to recognize him, would 
 he not forgive me ? Oh, Mr. Bird ! don't you think 
 he would ?" 
 
 " He is greatly changed I mean in appearance," 
 mused the attorney. " The handsome face you used 
 to know will never come back to him." 
 
 " Do you think I would mind that ?" said the girl, 
 eagerly. "Does he think can that be his reason? 
 Is he afraid that scars or disfigurements will affect my 
 love ? Rather would they make it deeper, by remind- 
 ing me every hour that he owed them to my blind, 
 foolish, wicked conduct." 
 
 Mr. Bird started. 
 
 "To yours ?" he said. 
 
 " To mine. I drove him from my heart when he 
 yearned for my affection. The evening before the 
 accident he begged me to relent and I would not. In 
 his distress of mind he found sleep impossible and 
 arose in the middle of the night to walk in the open 
 air. Oh ! I am all to blame all ! all !" 
 
 " Mr. Greyburn does not so consider it," said the 
 lawyer, comfortingly. 
 
 "And when he understands what I have told you, 
 will he let me come to him ?" 
 
 The lawyer slowly shook his head. 
 
 " I cannot encourage such a hope," he said, " with- 
 out being false to my trust. 'Tell my wife,' said Mr. 
 Greyburn, that we can never be happy together ;
 
 THOU SHALT NOT. 293 
 
 that I must live my life in my own way and endure 
 my sorrows as I can ; tell her that I am a bruised 
 and broken man, body and soul, and wish to be con- 
 sidered as one dead.' These were his words, and I 
 am sure nothing- will turn him from his decision." 
 
 Alow moan escaped her lips. 
 
 " If this be so," she said, " let us bring this interview 
 to a close, as it is very painful to me. Tell my hus- 
 band that I shall never trouble him again. As soon 
 as I am able to travel I shall go to some distant place 
 where he will never hear of me. I have no one in 
 the wide world now who cares where I go, or what I 
 do. I wrote to my brother last week and he answered 
 my letter in the harshest manner. He is my only 
 near relation. Mr. Bird, I must bid you good-by. I 
 really am not strong enough to bear more." 
 
 The lawyer persisted until he saw that further 
 argument was useless. Unless he could say that he 
 believed that Greyburn would consent to receive his 
 wife as a wife she would not live on his bounty. There 
 was no middle course. The weak little woman was 
 very strong in her resolutions, and Mr. Bird left 
 Chatham without accomplishing anything whatever. 
 
 He told the story to Greyburn with great minute- 
 ness, but found him as obdurate as his wife had been. 
 " I can never make her happy, and I am better alone," 
 he said. " Now, is there no way in which we can 
 compel her to accept something? It seems pre- 
 posterous for a woman to insist in the technicalities 
 which she raises." 
 
 "There is one way in which something might be 
 done," said the lawyer. He unfolded a plan which 
 he had invented, and which, for want of anything- 
 better, was at once decided upon. 
 
 What this plan was, the reader may perhaps sur- 
 mise when he learns that Mr. Bird called within a 
 few days upon Mr. Walter Campbell to ask him
 
 294 THOU SHALT NOT. 
 
 whether he would sell his interest in the parsonage 
 at Springdale. 
 
 " Yes, I'll sell it," said Walter, grimly, " and the 
 sooner the better. I don't want to own a thing in 
 common with either of them. Find out what the 
 place is worth and make out your deed. I'll take the 
 money and give it to the Magdalen's Home to estab- 
 lish a free bed in their name." He laughed discord- 
 antly at the idea. 
 
 When, a few weeks later, Clara offered her portion 
 of the homestead for sale, the bidding was so spirited 
 as to start from its propriety the staid old village. 
 
 " Gentlemen," said the auctioneer, " I offer you to- 
 day a most desirable piece of property. This house 
 is well known to you as the house of a former be- 
 loved pastor of the church in this place, and later of 
 a" here he caught the frowning eyes of several vil- 
 lage matrons "of a of another perton who who 
 has moved away. The property consists of the 
 house, garden, and about four acres of meadow. I 
 offer one undivided half of the estate. Who will 
 start it ? Come, gentlemen, anything for a beginning." 
 
 " One thousand dollars," said a stranger, who stood 
 in the crowd. 
 
 "One thou look here !" said the auctioneer, "this 
 is not the place for any foolishness. I offer one-half 
 of this property and I ask for a bid. Let me say, be- 
 fore I go any further, that the terms are cash. Now 
 gentlemen, we will begin again." 
 
 "One thousand dollars," repeated the strange 
 bidder. 
 
 " You understand I am only selling half of the 
 place ?" said the auctioneer, hardly able to credit his 
 sense of hearing. 
 
 " Certainly," said the bidder. 
 
 "Well, then," said the auctioneer, recovering himself,
 
 THOU SHALT NOT. 295 
 
 *' I am offered one thousand dollars. Will any gentle- 
 man raise the bid ?" 
 
 " Two thousand," said a voice in the crowd. Every- 
 body knew this bidder. It was Squire Sawyer, from 
 Brewster. 
 
 " It's all right," said the Squire. " I'm bidding for 
 another party, but I've got the money here. Go 
 ahead, Martin. I guess that'll take it." 
 
 The excitement in the little party was now at fever 
 heat. What was the matter ! Had gold been dis- 
 covered in the orchard ? Had oil been prospected in 
 the rocky side hill ? Two thousand dollars for half 
 a place which would have sold high at eight hun- 
 dred ! What could it mean ! 
 
 "Squire Sawyer bids two thousand," said the con- 
 fused auctioneer, " and 
 
 " I bid three thousand," said the stranger. 
 
 " Who are you bidding for ?" demanded Mr. Martin. 
 
 " I should like to know that, too," added Squire 
 Sawyer. 
 
 " Cash," replied the stranger, taking a heavy roll 
 of bills from his pocket. " Go on with the sale, or I 
 shall miss the next train at Brewster." 
 
 " Three thousand I am offered," repeated Mr. 
 Martin, in a shaking voice, "for one-half of this 
 property. Three thousand do I hear anything more ? 
 Three thousand " 
 
 " Thirty-one hundred," called out Squire Sawyer, 
 desperately. 
 
 " Four thousand," responded the imperturbable 
 stranger, and at this sum it was knocked down. The 
 purchaser gave the name of George A. Severance. 
 After receiving his papers and paying down the 
 money, he stepped into a carriage and departed, the 
 center of a hundred pairs of astonished eyes. 
 
 Mr. Severance had a few minutes to wait for his 
 train, and Squire Sawyer, who had followed him as
 
 296 THOU SHALT NOT. 
 
 far as his own residence, strolled down to ask him a 
 few questions. 
 
 " Who is the real purchaser of the Campbell par- 
 sonage ?" he asked. " I am interested to know, as the 
 only other bidder." 
 
 " Didn't ) 7 ou hear me give my name to the auc- 
 tioneer ?" said Mr. Severance, evasively. 
 
 " Yes, but there's some mystery about it. Now, I'd 
 just as lief tell you whom I was bidding for, as long as 
 the affair is all over. Of course, you know that five 
 hundred dollars is more than the thing is worth, and 
 I bid thirty-one hundred dollars. I was bidding for 
 a fellow who used to live here John Dinsmore, by 
 name who had a great attachment for the parson's 
 daughter, though no one suspected it until that affair 
 out South got into the papers. This Dinsmore is a 
 cripple, probably for life, but he wanted to give the 
 girl a lift, and sent word to me to run the place up as 
 high as was necessary. I think he wanted to come 
 back and live in it. Now, I've been confidential with 
 you, and you ought to be the same. For whom did 
 you really buy it ?" 
 
 The iron horse came snorting and screaming up to 
 the platform. 
 
 " Look in the Registry of Deeds next week, and 
 you'll be convinced that I've told the truth," said Mr. 
 Severance, as he stepped aboard. 
 
 " Would you take forty-five hundred dollars for the 
 property if I can raise it within a week ?" called the 
 Squire, as the train started. 
 
 " No," said Mr. Severance. " It isn't for sale." 
 
 Clara received the money for her little home, with 
 the greatest astonishment. The agent who arranged 
 the sale wrote merely that two bidders " got to run- 
 ning each other," and that the sale was perfectly leg- 
 itimate and honorable. The faintest idea of the real
 
 THOU SHALT NOT. 297 
 
 truth of the matter never occurred to her. She paid 
 up all her bills at Chatham and departed, promising 
 good Mrs. Baldwin to write whenever she got " set- 
 tled " in her new place. 
 
 When Mr. Severance, who was one of the clerks in 
 the employ of Bird & Bird, recited the particulars of 
 the sale to Grey burn, he was much pleased. The ex- 
 planation made by Squire Sawyer also interested him 
 greatly. 
 
 " I'm glad that blacksmith didn't get a chance to 
 live in the house where she was born and reared," he 
 said to himself. " I'm very glad. And I don't see 
 why, either ; for it never can make any difference to 
 
 CHAPTER XXVII. 
 
 WALTER CAMPBELL was in no enviable frame of 
 mind that night when he left his beautiful inamorata 
 embracing a drunken old woman in the dirt of the 
 street, and rode away in his carriage toward his Mad- 
 ison avenue residence. It seemed to him that he had 
 used Gabrielle extremely well, and that she made a 
 very poor return when she thus disgraced him in the 
 eyes of a common police officer and a motley crowd of 
 street canaille. He thought, as he rolled away, how 
 unpleasant his house would be with its fair mistress 
 forever absent, as her return after what had hap- 
 pened was not among the possibilities. He did not 
 like the picture which came to his mind. Selfish to 
 a degree, he thought of nothing but his own conven- 
 ience, and it seemed as if misfortune in one form
 
 298 THOU SHALT NOT. 
 
 or another was continually dogging his footsteps. 
 While indulging in such gloomy fancies he happened 
 to notice, strolling along the almost neglected pave- 
 ment, no less a person than Mr. Chester Bolton ; and, 
 signaling to the driver, he was driven to the curb, 
 where he could accost him. 
 
 "Hullo!" said Bolton. "It's you, is it? What's 
 up ?" 
 
 " Get in here and drive np to the house with me," 
 said Walter. " I'm in a oretty mess and I want to 
 talk with you." 
 
 " All right," said Bolton. " By the way, where's 
 Gabe ? Thought I saw you at the Fifth Ave !" 
 
 " You did," said Walter, " curse the luck ! You'll 
 never see us there or anywhere else together again, 
 though " 
 
 " Sho !" ejaculated Mr. Bolton. " What's the mat ? 
 Course of true love, eh ? No ! Not jell, are you ? 
 No hated rive ?" 
 
 " Nothing of the sort," said Walter. " I'll tell you, 
 but don't you ever mention it. It might set the boys 
 to laughing at me, if they knew it. There's only one 
 man, a policeman, in the secret, and I can shut his 
 mouth." 
 
 "All right," said Mr. Bolton. " Drive ahead. Pro- 
 duce your anec. I'll be dumb as a lob." 
 
 " Well, you see," said Walter, " after the theatre we 
 drove down to Mendall's office for a minute, and were 
 coming back, when we found a devilish mob in one of 
 the streets, where an officer was trying to arrest an 
 old woman who was drunk. I found that we had got 
 to wait, so I jumped out to see the row. The old 
 woman set up a fearful howl because some one had 
 been saying that her daughter wasn't strictly V., and 
 the next thing I knew would you believe it ? Miss 
 Mademoiselle Gabrielle was out of the carriage, hug- 
 ging the old gal and calling her ' mamma !' "
 
 THOU SHALT NOT. 299 
 
 " Joseph and his brethren !" ejaculated Mr. Bolton, 
 with surprising inappropriateness. " Case of temp 
 iusan, was it ? Down to Blackwell'snow, I suppose." 
 
 "Not at all," replied Walter. I couldn't doubt 
 what she said in the way she said it. The old woman 
 knew her, too. All I could do was to leave them 
 there." 
 
 " When she comes back to-morrow you must talk 
 to her," said Bolton, with a vague idea that it was the 
 proper thing to say. 
 
 " Come back !" repeated Walter. " Not to me ! 
 She may go with the sort of trash she belongs with. 
 It makes me shiver to think I have had her so long. 
 There should be a law to keep such creatures in their 
 native element. Ugh ! Who would have thought, 
 with all her fancy airs, that she belonged in that 
 sphere ?" 
 
 They alighted at Walter's residence and ascended 
 to his private parlor on the third floor, where, over 
 a bottle of wine and a couple of havanas, they re- 
 sumed their conversation. It dwelt a little longer on 
 Gabrielle, until both gentlemen agreed that it was a 
 waste of time to discuss that subject further, and 
 turned it into another channel. 
 
 " I can't help thinking," said Mr. Bolton, " of the 
 gay old times I've had in this house when Hector 
 Greyburn owned it. It seems queer, don't it, to think 
 how soon he went to the dogs." 
 
 " He was a fool," said Walter, in a tone which 
 showed that he did not like the subject. 
 
 "At the lastyes," assented Bolton, "but not in 
 the old days. His house was always the property of 
 his guests. I never knew him to say a word, what- 
 ever happened, and sometimes things used to happen 
 which would have made trouble anywhere else. 
 Where the deuce did he spring from, all at once, and 
 where did he 'get the quantities of money that he
 
 300 THOU SHALT NOT. 
 
 used to throw away ? That's the question that's 
 bothered a good many of us." 
 
 " Stole it, probably," said Walter. " He wouldn't 
 have got it honestly, if there was any other way. Be 
 sure of that." 
 
 "Why, I didn't know you was so down on him," 
 said Bolton, with some surprise in his voice. " I re- 
 member, when you first came to town, you seemed to 
 think he was old Jupe himself." 
 
 ' I've had reasons to think he is old Nick himself, 
 since," said Walter, pettishly. " The way he used me 
 at the end wasn't a thing to make me fall in love 
 with him." 
 
 " Ah ! I didn't think you knew," said Bolton, incau- 
 tiously. " None of the boys thought so, and, of course, 
 none of us felt like coming to you with the news." 
 
 "Didn't think I knew!" repeated Walter, with a 
 sneer. " Didn't you think I could read ? The mar- 
 riage notice was printed in every paper in New York." 
 
 " The marriage," echoed Bolton. " The marriage ! 
 oh, yes ! But I meant the other events, you know 
 preceding that. There, of course is is where the 
 the feeling comes in." 
 
 The hesitation with which Mr. Bolton launched 
 upon his unpleasant theme was not lessened by the 
 glare which appeared in his companion's eyes as he 
 proceeded. He wished heartily that he had never 
 thought of Greyburn, or had smothered his ideas in- 
 stead of giving them utterance. 
 
 Walter struck his fist upon the table with a loud 
 noise. 
 
 " What in the name of the infernal devils do you 
 mean by that ? he shouted. " The ' preceding events,' 
 do you say ? What in hades were the preceding 
 events? D n it, man, answer me ! What do you 
 mean ?" 
 
 "'Pon my soul !" cried Bolton, thrown completely
 
 THOU SHALT NOT. ^OI 
 
 off his guard. " I thought by what you said that you 
 knew it all." 
 
 " Knew it all ! Knew what?" 
 
 " Why, that that they were at the Hampden 
 together." 
 
 " At the Hampden ! Well, supposing they were at 
 the Hampden ! What is there so terrible in a man 
 and his wife going to a respectable hotel ?" 
 
 " They went before they were married, though," 
 said Bolton, desperately. 
 
 " Well," said Walter, nervously. " What of it ? 
 They went there to supper, perhaps ? To secure 
 rooms ? Well, well ?" 
 
 " D n the thing !" said Bolton, " I thought you 
 knew. I'm getting into a pretty fix. If you don't 
 know, go somewhere and find out. I won't say an- 
 other word." 
 
 Walter gazed at him stupidly for a moment. A 
 terrible conflict was going on in his mind. Suspicion 
 followed suspicion, until he could bear it no longer. 
 
 " Chet," he said at last, in a lower tone, u tell me. 
 What is it ? You claim to be my friend and I can't 
 run around town asking such questions. You have 
 something which I ought to know. Tell me !" 
 
 " I wish the imps had had me before I came here 
 to-night," said Bolton, " but if you will have it so, I'll 
 tell you. They were at the hotel together all of 
 one night and didn't get married until the next day." 
 
 " It's a wicked lie !" cried Walter, indignantly. 
 " Somebody has deceived you. I know it would be 
 impossible. My sister married this man, which is bad 
 enough, but she never disgraced herself with him in 
 any other way. I could swear it ! Bolton, you don't 
 know her, or you wouldn't even repeat so gross a 
 slander." 
 
 " I've seen the register," said Bolton, "so there's no 
 hope on that score, I wish there were, Campbell, I'm
 
 3O2 THOU SHALT NOT. 
 
 sorry for you, but you know Greyburn was a terrible 
 fellow among the women. In marrying your sister 
 he did what he could to right his wrong. From all I 
 know of him, it is the best act he ever did." 
 
 " I don't believe it yet," said Walter, growing paler, 
 however. " It is easy to fix a hotel register much 
 easier than to win a girl like that to shame. There is 
 deception here, Bolton, somewhere. There must be. 
 Own up now. The register could have been tam- 
 pered with." 
 
 "I'd like to help you, if I could," said his friend, 
 " but it's no use. You might as well have it out now 
 as at another time. There's more proof than the reg- 
 ister. Have you forgotten Middleby's wager ? 
 Perkyns paid Greyburn the money the morning be- 
 fore he was married." 
 
 Walter looked for a minute as if he had experienced 
 a paralytic shock. He stared at Bolton like a drunken 
 man. When he spoke, his tongue was thick and his 
 voice unsteady. 
 
 " Do you say Middleby's money went to Greyburn ? 
 And on her account ?" 
 
 Mr. Bolton bowed. 
 
 " Everybody knows it ?" 
 
 Mr. Bolton assented. 
 
 " Where do you suppose Greyburn is ?" 
 
 " No one can tell," said Bolton. " He disappeared 
 after the acquittal of the man charged with his mur- 
 der." 
 
 " Dinsmore ?" said Walter. 
 
 " Yes, I think that was the name." 
 
 "Zfcknew." 
 
 " You think so ?" 
 
 " No doubt of it," said Walter. " It wasn't like him 
 to try and kill a man without cause. I wish I could 
 find Greyburn." 
 
 " What do you want of him ?"
 
 THOU SHALT NOT. 303 
 
 " I want to see him," said Walter, still in that 
 thick, low voice. " He is my brother. I want to 
 shake hands with him. He has done me great honor 
 in marrying my sister. It was very kind of him to 
 save her from disgrace after her folly. I want to 
 meet him and tell him how much I appreciate it." 
 
 "You want to keep away from him, that's what jw* 
 want," said Bolton. " The affair has all died out now 
 and you don't want to make it public again. I hear 
 that his lawyers offered his wife any sum she pleased, 
 to be settled on her, but she refused to take anything 
 and has also disappeared. He seems to have been 
 perfectly honorable in everything connected with the 
 separation." 
 
 " Oh, he's honorable !" said Walter. " He knows 
 what's right. A few dollars will heal a family dis- 
 grace. He won fifty thousand dollars by my sister, 
 and, like a gentleman, he offers her part of it. He is 
 magnanimous, noble ! I must find him and thank 
 him personally." 
 
 " I wish you'd drop the mat, I do, really," said 
 Bolton. " I feel as if it was my fault that you ever 
 heard of it. Of course it isn't pleasant when these 
 things come into one's own family, but you know they 
 do happen, and happen every day. You've had your 
 share in them ; so have I ; so has Greyburn. Ton 
 my soul, Walter, we are not the ones who should cry 
 baby." 
 
 "You're right," assented Walter, still with that 
 terrible calmness. " We have often, I remember dis- 
 tinctly, gone into the houses of our dearest friends 
 or those whom we pretended were dearest and 
 treated their sisters as if they were those of perfect 
 strangers. We have shaken dice for the honor of our 
 mothers. When we have been invited to dinner we 
 have invariably stolen the silver. When they have 
 asked us to remain over night we have always risen
 
 304 THOU SHALT NOT. 
 
 in the darkness and strangled the children, taking 
 occasion at the same time to stab our hosts to the heart 
 as they lay aleep. It's a little thing that Greyburn 
 has done to me not worth talking about. Of course, 
 as you say, I'll drop the matter." 
 
 There was something almost blood-curdling in the 
 manner in which Walter uttered these ironical words. 
 Mr. Bolton rose, shivered a little, said he was sorry, 
 and hoped his friend would feel better by the next 
 morning. Then he looked at his watch, declared that 
 it was getting altogether too late, and took his de- 
 parture, feeling very uneasy over the result of his 
 unhappy error. 
 
 The next day Walter was not at his desk at City 
 Hall, and a messenger, who was sent to inquire about 
 him, returned with the answer that he was not well. 
 Mr. Mendall, upon learning this news, also called at 
 the house, but was informed by Williams that Mr. 
 Campbell would positively refuse to see anybody. 
 The succeeding day he still remained in his room, 
 still claiming illness, though no medical man passed 
 over his threshold. In the afternoon he gave Williams 
 a note to deliver ; and early in the evening a dark 
 complexioned man of medium build rang the bell and 
 was at once escorted up to Walter's room. 
 
 This man was Mr. Maurice Stager, a private detec- 
 tive. As soon as the customary salutations had passed, 
 they proceeded to business. 
 
 " I want you to find Greyburn," said Walter. 
 
 " Umph ! Have you any idea where he is ?" 
 
 " Not the slightest." 
 
 " Not a very encouraging outlook," remarked 
 Stager. 
 
 " Then you don't think you can find him ?" 
 
 " Oh, I can find him, but it will take time, unless I 
 get a good clue to start with. I can go right out to 
 Georgia and then trail him along. We might put a
 
 THOU SHALT NOT. 30$ 
 
 personal in the Herald. Or, perhaps you want this 
 thing perfectly quiet." 
 
 " That's just what I want. You must not say a 
 word to any one that we have spoken on the subject." 
 
 " Do you mind telling me what you want him for ?" 
 said Stager. 
 
 " He is my brother by marriage." 
 
 " Yes, I know that." 
 
 "You know the rest, too, probably, "said Walter, 
 finally. " How he went to the Hampden " 
 
 " And stayed there with his girl the night before 
 he married her ? Yes." 
 
 " Well, I haven't seen him since ; and I wish to 
 speak with him." 
 
 " All right," smiled Stager, knowingly. " I'll go to 
 work at once." 
 
 CHAPTER XXVIII. 
 
 THE next morning Walter was back at his desk, 
 but the effect of his illness was marked by his fellow 
 clerks in his reserved demeanor, as well as the un- 
 usual paleness of his face. To Mendall, who met him 
 as he was leaving in the afternoon, his answers were 
 short and hardly polite. 
 
 " I hear you've been ill," said the bankei. 
 
 " Yes.' : 
 
 " I called to see you, but Williams said you could 
 not be disturbed." 
 
 No answer. 
 
 " You are better to-day, I hope ? w 
 
 "Yes." 
 
 " And Gabrfelle ? How is she ?"
 
 306 THOU SHALT NOT. 
 
 " I don't know nor care," snapped Walter. " She's 
 gone, and I'm glad of it." 
 
 " Gone !" echoed the banker. 
 
 " That's what I said." 
 
 ".Since when ?" 
 
 " Several days ; nearly a week." 
 
 " So that's what's the matter," said the banker with 
 a look which was meant to be roguish. " Well, don't 
 mind her. There are plenty just as good, She was 
 expensive, too." 
 
 " Bah !" snarled Walter. " I didn't want her. I sent 
 her away. Don't take me for a fool !" 
 
 " Certainly not," said Mendall. " But where is she ? 
 Where did she go ?" 
 
 " To the slums which she came from, I suppose ! 
 Do you want her ? Go down around the wharves 
 where such vermin breed Look along the streets 
 below the Five Points. You'll find her there, prob- 
 ably, with the sailors and stevedores." 
 
 He departed with the utmost abruptness, leaving 
 Mendall very much astonished, and not a little indig- 
 nant at his curt manner. 
 
 " The little jackanapes !" he muttered. " I wish I 
 could get along without him. I wonder what he'll do 
 next? The idea of his treating me in this way! 
 Wouldn't let me into my own building yesterday !" 
 
 A passing policeman touched his hat to the banker. 
 
 " Hallo, Daniels," said Mendall. 
 
 " How do you do," responded the officer. 
 
 " Did you notice young Campbell ?" said Mendall. 
 " He's all broke up to-day. Lost his girl, he says." 
 
 "Oh, I know all about that," said the officer, glad 
 to air his knowledge, and proceeded to give the 
 banker an account of the affair with Mother 
 Delaporte." 
 
 " You don't tell me !" said Mendall, as he concluded.
 
 THOU SHALT NOT. 307 
 
 " Where is this Barnes court where you say the old 
 lady lives ?" 
 
 The officer described its location, and the banker 
 started at once in that direction, first cautioning 
 Daniels not to mention the affair to any one. As the 
 officer had secured his position through Kendall's in- 
 fluence, he promised compliance, and the banker had 
 full confidence that he would keep his word. 
 
 Mendall found Gabrielle still at her mother's. 
 With characteristic good-nature, she allowed the 
 banker to clasp her in his arms as he entered the hall, 
 telegraphing him a warning at the same time that he 
 must be sure and not repeat the operation in her 
 mother's presence. When they entered the room 
 where Mrs. Delaporte was sitting, Gabrielle introduced 
 her visitor, and the old lady rose to welcome him 
 with every mark of courtesy. 
 
 "Mr. Mendall is an old acquaintance of mine, 
 mamma dear," said Gabrielle. " He tells me that he 
 and his wife wish a housekeeper, and he wants me to 
 agree to fill the place. He is not like Mr. Campbell, 
 to despise us because we are not rich." 
 
 The banker listened with astonishment and delight 
 to this speech. The soft, sweet way in which she 
 addressed her mother, charmed him. There was 
 nothing of the aristocrat in Mendall's composition. 
 The flower he sought lost none of its fragrance when 
 he learned that it grew upon a dunghill. 
 
 " Is it not time, mamma," Gabrielle continued, 
 " that you took your medicine ? It is nearly six o'clock. 
 My mother is not well," she explained, " and I have 
 to be very careful of her." So, speaking alternately 
 to her mother and to Mendall, she escorted the old 
 lady into another room, from which, in about fifteen 
 minutes, she returned alone. 
 
 "All quiet- along the Potomac?" he asked, slyly. 
 
 " Yes," she smiled. " My not.b^r *s sound
 
 308 THOU SHALT NOT. 
 
 " It must be wonderful medicine that you give 
 her." 
 
 " It is gin," she said. " Nothing else soothes her. 
 She is out of all trouble now until to-morrow morn- 
 ing. No care, no sorrow, no pain will disturb her 
 for fifteen hours." 
 
 " What do you think I came here for ?" he asked, 
 changing the subject. 
 
 " To get me to live with you," she replied, viva- 
 ciously. " And to offer me that pretty house on 
 Madison avenue, to be all my own, with a deed re- 
 corded in my name, if I consent." 
 
 His countenance fell a little. 
 
 " Not that house," he said. "That one is too big, 
 and, besides, Walter has a claim upon it, and I 
 couldn't get him out. I'll buy you a nice little place, 
 though, somewhere else. Something in the bijou 
 style." 
 
 " Worth how much ?" said Gabrielle, calculatingly. 
 
 " Oh, a nice one. You wouldn't understand the 
 figures if I told you. What do a nest of martens 
 know about the cost of their box ? I'll guarantee it 
 will suit you." 
 
 " And you will furnish it all new ? And I may go 
 and pick out just what I want in the way of furni- 
 ture ?" 
 
 " Yes, yes !" he said, impatiently. 
 
 "And the title deeds shall be mine ?" 
 
 " What do you want of title deeds ? You would lose 
 them if you had them." 
 
 " Oh, no, I wouldn't ! Say, am I to have the title 
 deeds ?" 
 
 He gave in under her bewitching smile, and said 
 yes, she should have them. 
 
 " And now, for how long am I to sell myself in ex- 
 change for this piece of real estate ?" 
 
 " How long ?" he echoed.
 
 THOU SHALT NOT. * 309 
 
 " Yes. It's a bargain and sale, you know. You are 
 going to give me so many dollars' worth of property 
 for my company. So I ask for how long ?" 
 
 " Why, forever !" said he. " I never want to lose 
 you." 
 
 " Then," she said, with a pretty toss of her head, 
 " I decline your offer. It isn't high enough." 
 
 " How strange you are ! ' said Mendall. 
 
 " Not at all. This is business. Your house and 
 furniture will be worth how much ? Perhaps eighteen 
 thousand dollars or twenty thousand dollars. In ex- 
 change, you want me for life, and you want too much! 
 You are driving too hard a bargain. I can do better." 
 
 " But your expenses your dresses jewelry, ser- 
 vants, household charges, etc. they will cost a pretty 
 penny," he said. 
 
 " Still not enough for a life lease," she responded 
 with a laugh. " And you quite forget that I must 
 have spending money." 
 
 " Oh, that is one of the etceteras, of course," he 
 admitted. 
 
 " Well," she said, " we won't quarrel. Pick out 
 your house and let me see it. If it doesn't suit, nego- 
 tiations are off. If it does, and the other preliminaries 
 are all right, I will take the deeds, and you shall have 
 me till till I get tired of you." 
 
 "Which may be the next morning." 
 
 " Precisely. Now give me a kiss and go. Get the 
 house this week sure and let me know at once." 
 
 She rose on tiptoe to kiss the bronzed face which 
 he bent down to her, and he half lifted her petite 
 form from the floor with his strong arm. 
 
 "You will love me a little ?" he said, as the contact 
 with her red lips brought back the youthful touch 
 to his veins. 
 
 " Love you ! I shall adore you. Especially if the 
 house suits.' It must be in a good location and where
 
 3IO* THOU SHALT NOT. 
 
 there is plenty of sun. Don't be long deciding ; and 
 don't come here again until you come in a carriage to 
 take me to see the place. Good-bye." 
 
 The banker drew a bill from his pocket-book and 
 pressed it into her hand. There was a figure five and 
 two cyphers in the corner. 
 
 " I will have a house ready for you to-morrow," he 
 said, warmly. " Now, once more." 
 
 " You've had enough," she responded, evading the 
 attempted embrace, and wafting him a kiss across her 
 fingers instead. She placed the money in the bosom 
 of her dress and sweetly but firmly bowed him out. 
 
 Within a week she had the coveted deeds in her 
 possession and soon after was comfortably installed 
 in her cosy home. 
 
 Meanwhile, Maurice Stager hunted for Greyburn. 
 He went to Johnsbury, to Chatham, back to Johns- 
 bury again, then to Macon, getting more and more puz- 
 zled. It became evident that the party for whom he 
 searched had gone back to New York, but had he re- 
 mained there ? Could he be in a place where so 
 many people knew him and yet escape notice ? Stager 
 came back to the city, where he met Mendall one day 
 by accident. In the course of a brief conversation 
 Mendall disclosed to Stager the facts relating to the 
 discovery of Charlie's identity, which he had learned 
 through Gabrielle. Further investigation showed 
 the detective that both Greyburn and the girl had 
 suddenly been missed from their residence and gone 
 no one knew whither. 
 
 When Stager came back to his employer and told 
 him what he had learned, Walter drew a deep breath 
 of joy. 
 
 "You need not hunt any longer for Mr. Greyburn," 
 he said, gaily. " I have a new piece of work for you,
 
 THOU SHALT NOT. 311 
 
 for which I will pay double the reward that I prom- 
 ised for the other." 
 
 " What is it ?" asked the detective. 
 
 " Find me his daughter /" 
 
 CHAPTER XXIX. 
 
 THE revelations which Charlie made in the little bed- 
 room in Barnes court completed the change in Hector 
 Greyburn which his love for Clara Campbell had im- 
 perfectly begun. All of his life seemed to centre 
 upon his daughter. Her every movement, as she went 
 about the house, was followed by his watchful eye. 
 When she retired at night he would go to her door 
 and catch the sound of her quiet breathing before he 
 consented to seek his own rest. Could he have lain 
 like a dog on the mat before her chamber he would 
 have been quite content. 
 
 The first day that she felt well enough to talk so 
 long, she told him her story : 
 
 " I was brought up at my grandfather's in the 
 northern part of the State. I played around his farm 
 as any child might until I was nine years old, when 
 my mother died. I was always under a cloud. My 
 childish days were darkened with a something which 
 I could feel, but not comprehend. Neighbors whis- 
 pered when they passed me. Strangers looked over 
 their shoulders and made remarks when I was pointed 
 out to them. Children at school threw taunts at me, 
 none the less aggravating because I did not then 
 know what they meant. My mother never went into 
 society. When we had company she did not come to
 
 312 THOU SHALT NOT. 
 
 the table. Her life seemed to be made up of inces- 
 sant tears. I knew that she was included in the ban 
 which hung over my head, and I knew that in some 
 way I was the cause of her trouble, as she was of 
 mine. 
 
 " Driven from other companions we learned to be 
 much together. We climbed over the hills and lost 
 ourselves in the big woods, day after day, all the sum- 
 mer. After two terms at school she said I need not 
 go again. She taught me after that herself, and I 
 learned much faster than before. She was always 
 frail, as I remember her, and she faded gradually 
 until the end. 
 
 " I was older than most children of my age, and we 
 seemed more like companions than is usual with a 
 mother and child. One day, only a few months before 
 she died, I asked her : 
 
 " Why do they say that I never had a father ? The 
 children alwa)^ tell me that. Was it so ?" 
 
 " I never saw her weep as she did that day. ' My 
 poor child,' she said, 'you are punished for your 
 mother's sins." 
 
 " Then she told me, as well as she was able to reach 
 my childish comprehension, that there had been a bad 
 and cruel man who would have been my father but 
 that he was so wicked. She said that she knew her 
 life would not last much longer, and she wanted me to 
 fall on my knees and promise her before God that I 
 would sooner die than ever do wrong. I promised, 
 with uplifted hand, in the attitude she prescribed. 
 Then she told me the name of the man who had 
 wrought our shame. She made me promise never to 
 forget it, and to pray every night as long as I lived, 
 4 God keep me from being such as he made my dear 
 mother.' 
 
 "When they buried her in the village churchyard 
 my life was wholly desolate. My grandfather was a
 
 THOU SHALT NOT. 313 
 
 stern man whose disposition had not been sweetened 
 by his adversities. Existence with him became un- 
 bearable and I ran away. To get better opportunities 
 I assumed a boy's dress. I had lived apart from the 
 world, and it was as natural for me to associate with one 
 sex as the other. I think no one ever suspected my 
 secret until my swoon revealed it to you. 
 
 " My work in saving your life at Chatham was done 
 without hardly any premeditation. You were a 
 stranger to me, but I saw that you were in danger, 
 and did what I could under the circumstances. I 
 intended, as soon as you should recover, to take an 
 honorable leave of you and pursue the next path into 
 which fortune led me. When I learned from Sarony 
 who you were when he pronounced the name I had 
 heard from my mother's lips I shrank from going 
 back to you, and wrote the letter which you received 
 from Mr. Bird. I had hardly any money of my own, 
 and after what I had discovered I would not touch 
 another penny of yours. The next day I saw an 
 account of Dinsmore's trial in a newspaper and 
 hastened to Georgia to save him. I told my story to 
 the conductors and they passed me without a ticket 
 all the way. As soon as I saw that I was no longer 
 needed, I started for the woods, where you found me, 
 with the distinct purpose of lying down to die. I had 
 no money and I would not beg. I had never known 
 but one friend and she was in heaven. 
 
 "While I was protesting to you that I would not be 
 disturbed, I seemed to hear my mother's voice, saying, 
 'Go with him, you can do him good.' I yielded, but 
 even then I could not endure that you should touch 
 me. You remember how I insisted that you should 
 call the coachman. The rest, you know." 
 
 Greyburn heard her story with mingled emotions. 
 Her allusions to her childhood and her mother's sor- 
 rows touched him deeply.
 
 314 THOU SHALT NOT. 
 
 " My child," he said, wiping the tears from his eyes, 
 " I deserve all the odium with which your mother's 
 teachings have taught yot to regard me. I met her 
 at a time in my life when the ruin of a confiding girl 
 was the pastime of any summer's afternoon. It is the 
 old story too much trust on her part, too much 
 villainy on mine. Day after day she prayed me to 
 marry her for the sake of the child, until I grew 
 weary and brought a new love to share our home. 
 Your mother could bear no more. She went back to 
 her father's house. In my new attachment I soon for- 
 got her. You see, I confess everything." 
 
 Soon after this, Greyburn disposed of his furniture, 
 gave up the rooms he occupied, and, with his daughter, 
 bade farewell to New York. They went first to the 
 village of Fairfield and visited the little cemetery. In 
 a quiet corner they found a tall shaft of granite, 
 marked " Walbridge," and smaller stones reading : 
 
 " William g H. Walbridge, died January 12, 18 , aged 
 
 73-" 
 
 "Susan, beloved wife of William H. Walbridge, died 
 March 3, 18 , aged 61." 
 
 " Charlotte Helena, only daughter of William H. and 
 Susan Walbridge, died August 7, 18 , aged 26. 
 ' There the wicked cease from troubling.' " 
 
 Greyburn broke down a little as he read the latter 
 inscription, but a touch on his arm recalled him to 
 himself. 
 
 " She gave me her own name Charlotte Helena. 
 When I became a boy I called myself Charlie, but 
 mother always called me Lena." 
 
 " Here lies the woman whom I so greatly injured,'* 
 he said. " In her presence, Lena, can you do you 
 forgive me ?" 
 
 "With all my soul!" she answered. "But my 
 mother is not here." She pointed to the cloudless sky.
 
 THOU SHALT NOT. 315 
 
 " There ! she will wait for you and me until we shall 
 be ready to join her." 
 
 " For you, yes," he said, " but not for me. I have 
 sinned too deeply." 
 
 " Though they be as scarlet," she whispered. " But 
 see, they are bringing the stone." 
 
 A wagon came up the graveled road. Several 
 brawny men lifted out a piece of marble, cut in the 
 prevailing form of memorial tablets. The workmen 
 removed the stone which marked the grave of Lena's 
 mother, and placed the new one in its stead. The 
 work occupied but a few minutes, and when the men 
 were gone Lena bent down to examine the stone. 
 There was a pure white lily, broken at the stem, and 
 below it these words : 
 
 " To Charlotte Helena, dearly regretted wife of 
 Hector Grey burn, who died August 7, 18 , aged 26 
 years. This stone is raised by the husband who 
 wronged her." 
 
 "You should not have used the last words. They 
 are too harsh," said Lena. 
 
 " It is in expiation," he replied. " I have called her 
 my wife, and by all the laws of Heaven she was so. 
 Those who come here and see that the stone is changed 
 will also witness my repentance. Let us go." 
 
 It was at Boston that they finally settled. Lena 
 was to have the best of educational advantages. They 
 installed themselves in a quiet house at the Highlands. 
 Lena applied herself to her tasks with avidity. Grey- 
 burn hardly ever left her for an hour excepting at 
 night. He held his book and pretended to read while 
 her tutors gave their lessons. He walked or rode with 
 her daily. She filled his whole life, and when she 
 was not in view all else became a blank. 
 
 So passed the autumn and succeeding winter. 
 When the roses came again Lena had blossomed into 
 a beautiful young woman. Her hair, which had been
 
 316 THOU SHALT NOT. 
 
 cut in boy's style formerly, now reached to her waist 
 unbraided, or shone like an aureole when it encircled 
 her queenly head. Her figure had developed into one 
 of surpassing loveliness. She had made such progress 
 in her studies that her teachers were astonished. The 
 devotion which she and Greyburn showed to each 
 other was marked by all who knew them. There 
 was but one thought in his mind, one aspiration in 
 his soul, one prayer on his lips Lena ! 
 
 It is at the zenith of our happiness that we seem 
 the most certain to experience the reverse. One 
 evening Lena stepped out of the front gate and 
 strolled slowly down the street, waiting for her father, 
 who was getting ready for their usual walk. She had 
 gone but a little way, when a carriage passing by, 
 stopped, and a man stepped out. 
 
 "Could you give me assistance for a moment?" he 
 said. " A lady has fainted." 
 
 Wholly unsuspecting evil, Lena went instantly to 
 the carriage door. As she reached it, a sponge sat- 
 urated with chloroform was pressed over her mouth 
 and nose and she became unconscious. The man 
 who had accosted her, and another inside the carriage 
 drew her hastily within the door, and the vehicle 
 rolled rapidly away. 
 
 Greyburn came out of the house a few minutes 
 later and looked up and down the street for his daugh- 
 ter. They had not agreed upon any particular direc- 
 tion for their stroll, and he was a little surprised that 
 she was not to be seen. He went back into the house, 
 and ascertaining that she had certainly passed out, he 
 returned to the gate by no means reassured. A police 
 officer making his evening rounds came along, and 
 Greyburn learned that he had passed no lady answer- 
 ing Lena's description. The officer soon learned the 
 cause of his uneasiness. 
 
 " Something has happened to her," said Greyburn,
 
 THOU SHALT NOT. 317 
 
 with a very pale face. " She would never have 
 walked so far away alone." 
 
 " What do you imagine ?" asked the officer. 
 
 " I don't know," he replied, despairingly. " Are 
 you sure that you did not pass her coming up the 
 street ?" 
 
 " Positive," said the officer " I met only a boy, and 
 that was some distance below here. Nothing but a 
 boy and a carriage." 
 
 " Then," said Greyburn, paling still more at the 
 thought, " my daughter is in the carriage. Could you 
 see its occupants ?" 
 
 " I could not. But why do you suspect this ? Did 
 you fear an elopement ?" 
 
 " No," replied Greyburn, quickly. " She has been 
 stolen. What can we do ? Speak, man ! The treas- 
 ure of my life is lost !" 
 
 "First, let us be sure that she went in the car- 
 riage," said the policeman. " Who would have taken 
 such means to secure her possession !" 
 
 " I don't know, I couldn't guess," exclaimed the 
 tortured man. " But I know that she is there. This 
 is the first time that she has ever left me for a mo- 
 ment since we came to Boston. We must find that 
 carriage. Tell me what to do. Help me to find my 
 child and you may name your own reward." 
 
 "Come with me to Station IX.," said the officer. 
 " From there we can send word to headquarters, and 
 thus all over the city." 
 
 They repaired with all possible speed to the station, 
 and soon every police officer in Boston knew that a 
 young lady, sixteen years of age, slender, rather tall, 
 with chestnut hair inclined to be wavy, and dressed in 
 brown silk, was supposed to have been carried away 
 in a public carriage from the vicinity of Warren 
 street, about seven o'clock that evening. 
 
 The officer could give no description of the car-
 
 318 THOU SHALT NOT. 
 
 riage, horses or driver. It was rather dark when 
 they passed him, and there was nothing about them 
 to especially attract his attention. The Lieutenant 
 in charge of the station, having done all that he 
 could in recording the description and sending mes- 
 sages, ordered the officer to return to his beat, and 
 suggested to Greyburn that he had best get a car- 
 riage and go to the central office at City Hall. 
 
 The unhappy father complied with these sugges- 
 tions, and half an hour later was in consultation with 
 Deputy Chief Quinn, who had already despatched 
 several of his detectives in search of the lost girl. 
 The absolute despair which was painted on Grey- 
 burn's face drew genuine expressions of pity from 
 the Deputy, used as he was to sorrow and crime. 
 
 "And you can imagine no one who might have 
 done this thing ?" said he. " Try to think." 
 
 " I have tried," said Greyburn. " There are men 
 who might wish to revenge themselves upon me, but 
 who could harbor ill to that innocent girl ? She 
 knows no one. We have lived secluded. I tremble 
 to think what must be the motive for her capture." 
 
 He wiped the perspiration from his forehead and 
 shook like a palsied man.. 
 
 " Some one may have taken her to hold for a re- 
 ward," said the Deputy. 
 
 " God grant it !" said Greyburn, solemnly. " I 
 would give every dollar I have yes, bind myself to 
 work and earn as much more, to have her safe in my 
 arms again." 
 
 " We will hope that that is the secret of this 
 mystery," said the Deputy, "but think once more. 
 One of your enemies might try and revenge himself 
 on you through her." 
 
 " Yes," he admitted, " but those who might do that 
 do not know that we are in Boston. We have lived
 
 THOU SHALT NOT. 319 
 
 here quietly, even passing under assumed names, in 
 order to avoid everybody we have ever known." 
 
 " Will yon tell me your real name ?" said Mr 
 Quinn. " It may help us." 
 
 " It could not," replied Greyburn, desperately. 
 " Find me my daughter. She went out into one of 
 your streets and disappeared. Good Heavens ! to 
 think that I must stand here, while she is in, God 
 knows what peril ! I have told you all I can. I will 
 pay any reward in reason for the first news of her." 
 Then he staggered a little and added : " I will re- 
 turn in a few minutes, but I must get the outdoor air 
 or I shall faint." So saying the unhappy man left 
 the office and passed out into School street. 
 
 Mechanically he walked along. The cool air of the 
 night swept over his heated face, and brought a slight 
 sense of relief. His loss was too great for him to 
 realize yet. He walked on. The old days at Macon 
 and Chatham Corners came into his mind. He 
 seemed again to stand in the court-room and see that 
 boyish figure in the witness box. He seemed to kneel 
 once more in the grass at the foot of the tree and beg 
 the child to let him save his life. Then he was back 
 in New York City with Charlie. Then they were at 
 Gabrielle's, and the boy changed into a young 
 woman, who was throwing her arms around his neck, 
 and crying, " I am your daughter !" Then they were 
 in Boston. And at last, he came out of the house to 
 find her gone, and to learn that she had been stolen. 
 
 Hush ! 
 
 He stopped in his walk and looked around. He did 
 not recognize the locality. Had he been asleep and 
 dreaming ? He pressed his hand to his head. It was 
 very hot ! Was he dreaming still ? Was it all a 
 dream, and Lena now safe at home ? His brain felt 
 a little as it tlid after the fall over the Chatham rocks,
 
 320 THOU SHALT NOT. 
 
 during those weeks when he did not know who or 
 what he was. 
 
 He looked at the houses. The street was a very 
 quiet one, and hardly any passers were to be seen. 
 How could he have walked here without knowing it ? 
 Horrible thoughts began to suggest themselves. Was 
 he insane ? Lena was lost, and he who ought to be 
 engaged in searching for her was wandering almost 
 in a trance, and whither even himself knew not. 
 
 Lena ! 
 
 The door of the house in front of which he stood 
 opened and a man stepped out. Was this another 
 dream ? The face was one he had known but here ! 
 And at this time ! He resolved to test whether it 
 were real or no, and, springing up the steps, he caught 
 the man by the shoulder and turned him as quick as 
 lightning toward the broad glare of the street lamp. 
 
 WALTER !" 
 
 CHAPTER XXX. 
 
 ONE was as white as the other. In the face of the 
 younger man the elder read guilt. In the face of the 
 elder the younger read something that was not venge- 
 ance, not despair, not . horror but a worse thing 
 than all three. 
 
 " Walter Campbell !" 
 
 " What do you want ?" 
 
 " My daughter." 
 
 " What do I know about her ?" 
 
 " Give her to me !" 
 
 The grip on the shoulder tightened. There was no
 
 THOU SHALT NOT. 321 
 
 way to escape the maniac, and Walter's thoughts 
 took another turn. 
 
 "Come in. We don't want a row in the street." 
 
 They stepped into the parlor, Walter closing- the 
 door behind them. The grip had never once left his 
 shoulder. 
 
 "Now," he repeated, mustering more courage, 
 " what do you want ?" 
 
 " My child !" said Greyburn, glowering into his eyes 
 like a tiger at bay. 
 
 " Take your hands off, or I will say nothing. If I 
 am to reply to your questions, you must treat me like 
 a gentleman." 
 
 "Give her back to me," he said, releasing his hold, 
 and changing his voice to a pleading tone. 
 
 " Who ?" demanded Walter, striving to collect his 
 thoughts and decide what was best to do. 
 
 " Lena, my child. Why do you delay ?" 
 
 " I have not seen her." 
 
 " Now you are lying !" said Greyburn, fixing his 
 eyes upon him with increased fierceness. "You 
 seized her this evening and took her away in a car- 
 riage. Where is she ?" 
 
 " Who told you that story ?" said Walter. 
 
 " It is true," said Greyburn, earnestly. " Don't 
 deny it ! I will never let it do you harm, only give 
 her back to me ! I pledge you my sacred word. 
 Don't you see how I suffer !" 
 
 Walter Campbell stepped back several paces and 
 the color came into his white face. 
 
 " you suffer !" he cried. " You! And you ask 
 sympathy and aid of me ? Whose sister did you lure 
 to her betrayal ? The honor of whose family did you 
 tarnish forever ? What brother's name did you make 
 the laughing stock of New York ? Come a step 
 nearer and I will kill you !" 
 
 When Greyburn recovered enough from this out-
 
 322 THOU SHALT NOT. 
 
 burst, which filled him with renewed alarm, to see 
 what was going- on, he beheld Campbell standing in 
 front of him with a revolver in his hand. 
 
 " I do not fear your weapon," said Greyburn, sadly. 
 ' As to what you say, you have been misinformed." 
 
 " What ! Have you the effrontery to deny what all 
 New York knows ? Are you a coward as well as a 
 villain ?" 
 
 Greyburn shook his head deprecatingly. 
 
 " If I stood with a loaded pistol in front of an un- 
 armed and nearly crazed man whom I had wronged, 
 I wouldn't ask him that question." 
 
 Walter threw the pistol upon a sofa at the farther 
 end of the room and said : 
 
 " Now we are on equal terms and I ask it again." 
 
 " And I reply as I did before, that you have been 
 misinformed. I never betrayed your sister. I never 
 said a word to her that was not dictated by blind, re- 
 sistless love. She became my wife as pure as an 
 angel. She was too pure, too good for me, and we 
 separated. They who have told you differently are to 
 blame. If this is your revenge for Clara, it is ill done. 
 Give me my child and let me go !" 
 
 The young man looked upon him with contempt 
 written in every feature. 
 
 " Did you not wager to defile her ?" he said, bitterly. 
 " Did you not covenant with Otis Middleby for so 
 much money to make her name a by- word ? Did you 
 not go to Clarence Perkyns and claim the forfeit ? 
 Answer ?" 
 
 Greyburn drew a disheartened breath. 
 
 " Walter, that I did wrong I do not deny, but you 
 accuse me of too much. You were there when the 
 wager was made. You are aware that I did not know 
 what name was to be inserted in the compact. You 
 remember you saw me how affected I was when I 
 found it to be that of the woman I loved the best in all
 
 Give me my child." Page 322.
 
 THOU SHALT NOT. 323 
 
 the world. You know how they had surrounded me. 
 They had half of all I was worth in their hands. I 
 did claim the money. I did make them think I had a 
 right to it, but my dishonor went no further. I de- 
 ceived them as they tried to deceive me. I could con- 
 vince you, had I time and the witnesses, but while we 
 are talking, where is my child ? Tell me that she is 
 safe ; assure me that no one will harm her, and I will 
 wait as long as you please." 
 
 " You don't believe me, then," said Walter, " when 
 I tell you that I haven't seen her ? Well, let us sup- 
 pose that you are right. Let us suppose that I have 
 her safe somewhere under lock and key. I may have 
 good cause, for all you know. I may have bet money on 
 her /" 
 
 The sarcasm with which he uttered these words 
 and the cruel effect which they had on his victim may 
 be imagined. 
 
 "Walter Walter," he stammered, "you are carry- 
 ing this thing too far. You ought not you " 
 
 ''Or, supposing merely supposing," continued 
 Campbell, "that I am as noble a man as you, I ma-y 
 keep the girl over night where the associations will 
 blast her reputation, and then, as a balm to her sor- 
 rows, offer myself to her in the morning in marriage. 
 That you wouldn't call unfair. That would be hon- 
 est, honorable, worthy of commendation, wouldn't 
 it?" 
 
 " Walter !" 
 
 "And," he proceeded, in the same caustic vein, 
 "after doing this high-minded thing, I might live 
 with her for a few weeks and then, concluding that 
 she was ' too good ' for me, desert her. Do you 
 see ?" 
 
 Greyburn threw himself at his companion's feet. 
 
 " Revenge yourself on me," he cried, "and not on 
 an innocent child. See ! I am at your feet ! I beg,
 
 324 THOU SHALT NOT. 
 
 I entreat you, give me my danghter. You may take 
 all else I have, I freely promise it to you. Give me 
 Lena and let me go !" 
 
 Tears and sobs, the tears and sobs of a strong man 
 unused to weeping, mingled with these entreaties. 
 Walter smiled grimly down upon the suppliant figure. 
 
 " You are touched at last !" he said, between his 
 set teeth. " You have a vulnerable spot and I have 
 found it. Why, what a fool you are ! One girl's 
 honor, more or less, what is it worth ? How often 
 you have instructed me in that school ! Can't you 
 take one single glass of your own medicine ? How 
 many women havejw/ lured to their ruin ? A dozen ? 
 a score ? a hundred ? See how sweet it is to have the 
 viper rear his head on your own hearthstone !" 
 
 " No, no !" cried Grey burn. " Say not so ! I never 
 was a kidnapper. I never used force. Walter ! I 
 beg, I implore you, give me Lena and let me go !" 
 
 " You never used force !" repeated Walter, bitterly. 
 " No, you had more subtle weapons ! The rattlesnake 
 fascinates the bird for whose quick flight he is inade- 
 quate. The spider spins his gossamer for the fly who 
 could never be caught by the fleetness of his feet. 
 Of that ilk are you. Why then should you complain 
 that the hawk or the panther seizes its prey boldly and 
 openly. Is their way less honorable than yours ?" 
 
 " Oh, Walter !" cried the unhappy man, writhing un- 
 der the torture of his words, " for what evil I have done 
 Heaven is meting me my punishment. I would blot 
 it all out were that possible. Since I recovered my 
 child I have lived a life of honor, learning from her 
 pure mind how much better it is than sin, which 
 pleases for the time only, to scorch and curse at last. 
 I am sufficiently abased. You know what it has 
 taken to make me kneel. You know that, for my own 
 life, though it were menaced by the slow agonies of 
 torture, I would not beg, if one word would save it.
 
 THOU SHALT NOT. 325 
 
 Once more, for the sake of all you hold dear, in the 
 name of your mother in heaven, I ask you give me 
 my child and let me go !" 
 
 For answer, Walter threw a look of hate and con- 
 tempt upon him, and pulled a bell rope which hung 
 near where he stood. Two stalwart fellows answered 
 the summons. 
 
 " Secure that man !" said Walter. Greyburn 
 sprang to his feet and glanced hurriedly at the men, 
 who advanced toward him. 
 
 " Stand off !" he cried, all his manliness returning. 
 "Touch me at your peril !" 
 
 The men did not seem to relish their task, and at 
 this sign of resistance they halted, looking to Walter 
 for instructions. 
 
 " D n you, why don't you obey ?" he said, angrily. 
 " You are to be well paid. Secure him, as I tell you. 
 He is not armed." 
 
 Thus assured, the men with one impulse dashed 
 upon Greyburn. He struck the foremost a blow with 
 his right fist which sent him reeling to the floor, arid 
 gave the other a "left-hander" under the chin, which 
 caused him to retreat with a loud yell of pain. Seeing 
 the fate of his employes, Walter bounded to their 
 assistance, but Greyburn reached the sofa where the 
 revolver lay, and its ugly muzzle confronted the 
 young man. With the pistol in his right hand and 
 his left on Walter's throat, the now thoroughly 
 aroused Greyburn stood, demanding his child in 
 louder tones than ever, wholly unmindful of the fact 
 that the person he was addressing had lost all power, 
 from the. compression on his vocal organs, to make 
 any answer whatever. 
 
 The grip on Walter's throat was like a clasp of 
 iron, and rendered him entirely powerless. Had it 
 continued much longer, he would never have been 
 able to speak again in this world. An interruption
 
 326 THOU SHALT NOT. 
 
 caused the pressure to be withdrawn. It was a loud 
 peal at the door-bell. 
 
 The man who had been knocked to the floor was 
 still insensible. The other started at the sound of 
 the bell to escape through a rear door, but Greyburn 
 leveled his revolver at him, and cried : 
 
 " Answer that bell, or you are a dead man !" 
 
 " Don't shoot !" cried the fellow, dropping upon his 
 knees in abject terror. 
 
 " Answer that bell !" Greyburn cried again, in a 
 voice of thunder. 
 
 The bell pealed louder than before, and the fright- 
 ened wretch did as he was bid. Directly the door 
 was opened, half a dozen policemen in citizens' clothes 
 sprang into the house, and in less time than it re- 
 quires to tell it, had each of the occupants securely 
 handcuffed. 
 
 " Not a sound !" whispered each officer. One, a 
 sergeant, who seemed to be in command, noticed the 
 unconscious man on the carpet and said : " So you 
 have been fighting among yourselves, eh ? Pity you 
 hadn't all got killed. Say, where's the gal ?" 
 
 " For God's sake," said Greyburn, who at last found 
 words to speak, " who are you ?" 
 
 " We're police officers, as I guess you'll find out to 
 your sorrow," responded the official, opening his coat 
 to show a badge. " Come, where's the gal ? Be 
 quick about it. It'll be just as well, you know. We've 
 traced her here and we know she's in the house. Do 
 you want us to bust in all the doors, or will you give 
 her up like sensible men ?" 
 
 "Thank Heaven !" cried Greyburn, devoutly. "I 
 am her father, and will reward you well. Take these 
 things off my wrists. Walter, tell them where she 
 is. What can you gain now by delay ?" 
 
 The sergeant looked incredulous at first and then 
 seemed partially convinced.
 
 THOU SHALT NOT. 327 
 
 " Take 'em off," he whispered, " but look out for 
 him." Visions of losing the reward by making a pos- 
 sible mistake came into his mind. 
 
 " Walter, where is she ?" Greyburn asked again. 
 
 " What good will it do me to tell ?" he replied, dog- 
 gedly. " Will you make these cops let me out of here?" 
 
 " I can't do that, but I will do all I can to get you 
 free afterwards. Where is she ? Every second is 
 an hour to me." 
 
 " She's in the top story, in the large back room," 
 was the sullen reply. " She isn't hurt any. You'll 
 find her all right except a little dizzy from the chloro- 
 form. Take these irons off and I'll give you the keys." 
 
 Greyburn grasped the keys and started up the 
 stairs, closely followed by the sergeant and two of 
 his men. The others remained with the prisoners. 
 
 " How came he here ?" said the officer, who guarded 
 Walter, pointing to the staircase. 
 
 " I don't know," was the reply. " The devil sent 
 him, I reckon. He's choked me nearly to death. If 
 you're a man take me to the door, where I can get a 
 breath of air. I'm swooning away." 
 
 He looked terribly pale and the officer willingly 
 complied with his request. As they reached the 
 doorway, Walter put his hand into his vest pocket and 
 produced a roll of bills. No words passed between 
 him and the officer, but they understood each other. 
 The money was placed in the policeman's hand al- 
 most before he was aware of it, and his prisoner fled 
 down the street. Several pistol-shots sent in the 
 direction of the cloudy sky above, and a brisk chase 
 up a side street where Walter had not gone followed, 
 and the officer returned after fifteen or twenty 
 minutes very much out of breath. 
 
 " Dern the cuss !" he said to his associates. " He 
 pretended to be so near dead that I thought he was 
 going to faint, when all at once he tipped me over
 
 328 THOU SHALT NOT. 
 
 and run like a deer. I fired at him four times and I 
 think I winged him, but he got away. He went like 
 the wind. I guess I'll go to the station and leave 
 word. They'll be sure to catch him to-morrow." 
 
 When Greyburn reached the door in the attic, his 
 hand trembled so violently that he could not use the 
 keys. The sergeant took them and turned them in 
 their respective locks. The room was perfectly 
 dark, and a shudder passed over even the stout- 
 hearted sergeant of police as he entered it. A girl's 
 voice, and a very weak one, broke the silence of the 
 terrible place. 
 
 "Not yet !" it cried. " Give me a little longer. 
 I cannot escape. The windows are all barred, 
 and the door is strong. Come in an hour and I 
 will not ask you to wait longer." 
 
 Greyburn's eyes were brimming over with scald- 
 ing tears. He made his way in the direction of the 
 sound, while the sergeant was searching in his pock- 
 ets for a match. The girl heard him approaching 
 and cried out again in terror, and yet hardly above a 
 whisper : 
 
 " Oh, not yet ! Please, please, not yet ?" 
 
 " Lena !" he called. 
 
 "Whose voice is that ?" she cried. " Speak !" 
 
 " It is I, darling, your father." 
 
 The flash of the match showed the girl lying upon a 
 bed on the farther side of the room. Her hair was 
 disheveled, her dress torn, and her white face hardly 
 looked as if she was still alive. 
 
 " Father !" she gasped, trying to lift herself from 
 the pillow. " Oh, have you come at last !" 
 
 The policeman found the gas-jet and lit it, and 
 then, .at a motion from the sergeant, all thoughtfully 
 retired outside and closed the door. 
 
 " Lena, has he hurt you ?" were Greyburn's first 
 words. " You are very pale. Has he done you
 
 THOU SHALT NOT. 329 
 
 wrong ? If he has," he sprang to his feet with a 
 wild look, "I will kill him now." 
 
 The girl put out her hands and recalled him to 
 her side. 
 
 "'Vengeance is mine; I will repay, saith the 
 Lord,' " she repeated, faintly. " Papa ?" 
 
 " Yes, my darling," he answered, broken down at 
 the childish word she had never used before. 
 
 " Papa, listen to me and hear all I have to say. 
 You know what I promised my mother before she 
 went away that I would choose death rather than 
 do wrong. Papa, I have kept my word." 
 
 " It is well for him" he muttered. 
 
 " They seized me, with some drug to make me in- 
 sensible, and brought me here. The man who led 
 them offered me insult no ! don't speak hear me 
 out. I persuaded him to give me an hour in which 
 to compose myself. The drug I had taken made 
 my head unsteady. He gave me the time. God 
 answered that prayer. Papa, I shall go to my mother 
 pure." 
 
 She pressed his hand against her cheek, while he 
 sobbed out that she was all purity, all goodness. 
 
 " Papa, my voice is weak. 1 can only whisper." 
 
 " I know it, my angel ! I will send for a carriage 
 and take you home, where a doctor shall prescribe for 
 you. They have frightened you to death poor little 
 white dove !" 
 
 " Papa," she whispered, as he stooped low to hear 
 the words, coming yet fainter than before. " Be brave, 
 be strong. See, I do not cry. I am going to my 
 mother." 
 
 The terror in her words seemed to turn him into 
 stone. 
 
 " It is not the fright," she continued, speaking very 
 slowly. " I could not do wrong. I knew God would
 
 33O THOU SHALT NOT. 
 
 forgive me, and I had no hope in that man's mercy. 
 Papa, I am bleeding to death." 
 
 He roused himself to call loudly for help and to 
 tell the men outside to go for the love of God ! and 
 get a physician. 
 
 " There's no need, "she whispered. " Before he can 
 get here I shall be gone. Listen, papa. I am going 
 to my mother. What can I tell her tor you ?" 
 
 "Oh Lena! Lena!" he cried, "your words are 
 killing me !" 
 
 "Shall I tell her that you will always do right? 
 that you will meet us there ? that " 
 
 The sergeant, who had sent his men in opposite 
 directions for medical aid, stole into the room, and 
 stood with uncovered head, watching the heartrending 
 spectacle. 
 
 " They have murdered her !" cried Greyburn. 
 
 The girl roused herself a little. 
 
 "Understand," she said, in a whisper hardly to be 
 heard even in that still room, and showing a small stil- 
 letto, " I did it myself. I always kept it by me. 
 I promised my dying mother that I would sooner die 
 than " 
 
 She fell back. 
 
 A moment later a physician entered the room and 
 looked at the quiet face. 
 
 " I fear I am too late, sir," he said.
 
 THOU SHALT NOT. 331 
 
 CHAPTER XXXI. 
 
 MONTHS have gone by, and the violets are blooming 
 on Lena Greyburn's grave. Hector has borne his 
 loss, as such losses must be borne, so long as Death 
 stalks into our homes and makes our hearts desolate. 
 He would have welcomed the destroyer gladly, had it 
 come for him, but his fate was to wait and to suffer. 
 
 Lena was buried at Fairfield, and in this secluded 
 village Greyburn made his home. He boarded with 
 an aged couple, who respected his evident wish for 
 privacy. Month after month he lived there, staying 
 a great deal in his rooms, and never receiving a visi- 
 tor of any sort. The only thing for which he ever left 
 the house was to take an early horseback ride, a thing 
 absolutely necessary for his health, and a walk in the 
 evening to the cemetery, where he would sit often very 
 late, lost in reverie, by the side of her with whom all 
 his love, all his life, all his ambition lay buried. Twice 
 during the first few weeks the sexton, who could see 
 from his residence all who went in and out of the 
 cemetery, found Gre"yburn at nearly midnight uncon- 
 scious on his daughter's grave. On being roused by 
 the application of simple restoratives, he was able to 
 walk home with assistance, but seemed like a man 
 dazed, and never alluded to the circumstance when he 
 met the sexton afterwards. 
 
 Mr. John Bird came up to see him once and made 
 arrangements about sending at regular intervals the 
 small sums of money required for his inexpensive way 
 of living. He also sent a number of books, which 
 proved the onjy solace left to his disconsolate client. 
 Greyburn had never been a great reader, but now he
 
 332 THOU SHALT NOT. 
 
 devoured volume after volume. History, philosophy, 
 science, religion or romance it was all one to him. 
 At first he read thoughtlessly, but soon the medicine 
 of aroused thought began to work, and he turned to 
 his books with something akin to satisfaction, if not 
 pleasure. 
 
 It will seem a strange thing, but not one idea of 
 vengeance on Walter Campbell ever entered his head. 
 He did not forget, in those horrible hours when the 
 minutest particulars of his tragedy used to run through 
 and through his mind, that Walter was the real mur- 
 derer of Lena. He recalled the abduction, the im- 
 prisonment, the threats which had driven the unhappy 
 girl to suicide. But through the confused channels 
 of his memory there was no trace of vindictiveness, 
 no special blame for any one unless, indeed, himself. 
 For Hector Greyburn had come to realize that had 
 his own life been different, had his own acts been 
 other than what they were, the present deplorable 
 condition of things could not have existed. 
 
 He thought of Clara, as he thought of everything 
 and everybody. He wondered where she was, and 
 whether she ever thought of him. He wondered if 
 she had read in the newspapers of Lena's death, or 
 had heard in any way the part her brother had in the 
 matter. He hoped that she would not write or come. 
 Not that he felt any sentiment of animosity toward 
 her not by any means but he did not wish to be 
 disturbed. He was so changed that his only desire 
 was to be left alone. You might have searched his 
 heart and found in it no particle of hatred toward a 
 living soul, but he would make no new friendships nor 
 renew old ones. 
 
 Among the books which he read with the greatest 
 interest was the Bible. He had a superficial knowl- 
 edge of its contents, but now he read it with the 
 greatest interest. He surprised Mr. John Bird by a
 
 THOU SHALT NOT. 333 
 
 request for half a dozen of the best commentaries, 
 and when he received them, he studied the Holy 
 Book by their aid with the zeal of a theological stu- 
 dent. One Sunday he appeared at the village meet- 
 ing-house, to the astonishment of pastor and people, 
 but as he engaged a seat and never missed a service 
 after that, the wonder soon died away. When the 
 minister called to express his gratification at Grey- 
 burn's sudden interest in religion, he found him 
 buried in his Bible and commentaries. The conver- 
 sation was very brief, however. 
 
 " I thank you for your call," Greyburn said, " but I 
 am living alone and make it a rule to receive no one. 
 You will not take it unkindly when I say that here- 
 after I can make no exception." 
 
 Where was Clara ? In a country town out in Wis- 
 consin she was again living the quiet life of a school 
 teacher. When she left Chatham she would not 
 take with her of Greyburn's property, even his name. 
 She was known to her scholars as Miss Campbell. 
 With her modest salary, and the proceeds from the 
 sale of the parsonage placed in the savings bank, she 
 reckoned herself out of the reach of poverty, as her 
 wants were very few. Fully convinced that her hus- 
 band would never relent, she resigned herself to cir- 
 cumstances. While hardly what one could call happy, 
 she experienced that quiet comfort which must al- 
 ways proceed from a pure mind and clear conscience. 
 If there were nights when she wept herself to sleep, 
 they were followed by mornings when she rose with 
 renewed strength and confidence in the ultimate good- 
 ness and wisdom of all the dispensations of Heaven. 
 She would not even read a newspaper, for fear that 
 something in it might disturb that serenity of mind 
 which she sought to cultivate. Thus it happened 
 that even the circumstances attending Lena's death,
 
 334 THOU SHALT NOT. 
 
 which were reported by the Associated Press and 
 spread broadcast over the country, failed to reach her 
 eyes. 
 
 John Dinsmore : When his trial was over, and he 
 was pronounced a free man, he elected to return to 
 New York city, where he sought to keep himself in- 
 formed of what the principal personages in this story 
 were doing. His success was only partial. He learned 
 that Clara had separated from her husband, and that 
 Hector was living with Charlie, but when Greyburn 
 and his newly-discovered daughter left the city, the 
 blacksmith completely lost the trail. Dinsmore was a 
 very religious man, albeit his faith was more in a God 
 of vengeance than a Saviour who delights in forgive- 
 ness. When he read in the newspaper the story of 
 Lena's death, he offered a devout prayer of thanks- 
 giving. He moved his soundless lips in praise to the 
 Almighty, that the wicked had at last been overtaken 
 in his sin, and just punishment meted out to the de- 
 stroyer. Unable to walk without crutches, and then 
 only very slowly ; not capable of enunciating a single 
 syllable ; changed in a moment from a brawny man 
 with a giant's strength into a creature more helpless 
 than a child Dinsmore forgot it all when he read of 
 Greyburn 's loss. It proved to his mind that the Om- 
 nipotent does not sleep, and that there is something 
 more than empty sound in the words, "I will repay, 
 saith the Lord !" 
 
 Walter Campbell kept in hiding for several weeks 
 after he escaped from the police, but learning through 
 Stager how quietly Greyburn was living at Fairfield, 
 and feeling sure that the prosecution against himself 
 would never be pushed, he turned up one day at his 
 desk in City Hall, which Mendall's influence had 
 retained for him. But he was not a happy man. The 
 money which he once believed would give him all he
 
 THOU SHALT NOT. 335 
 
 wanted in this world, failed to satisfy. He plunged 
 into the wildest dissipation, and was almost useless in 
 his position, as well as a sore trial to Mendall, who 
 could neither induce him to reform nor rid himself of 
 what soon became an intolerable nuisance. 
 
 A crash in the affairs of the men who had been en- 
 riching themselves at the expense of the public treas- 
 ury came soon later, and all the world was astounded 
 at the developments which the New York Times made 
 in relation to what was popularly called the " Tweed 
 Ring." Most of the parties inculcated directly, big 
 and little, fled the country ; a few were arrested and 
 sentenced to terms in jail ; others surrendered a part 
 of their gains ; some died in foreign lands. A very 
 large number who profited by the rascalities were 
 never prosecuted, but were left to enjoy their wealth 
 unmolested. 
 
 Among those who fled at the first alarm was Jacob 
 Mendall. It may be as well to state here that he 
 never returned, but died within a few years in a 
 European city. Walter was accepted as a govern- 
 ment witness, and after a week in jail was released on 
 bail. The house on Madison avenue was attached by 
 the sheriff as Mendall's property, and he had to vacate 
 it. With his occupation gone and not even a roof 
 over his head, Walter's decline was rapid. But for 
 occasional aid received from the District Attorney, 
 who relied somewhat upon his evidence in the forth- 
 coming trials, this youth, so recently revelling in lux- 
 ury, might have had to go to the police station for a 
 bed and breakfast. He would have applied even to 
 his sister in his extremity, for his pride vanished in 
 the face of cold and hunger, but he had no means of 
 obtaining her address. All his other friends, as is 
 usual in such cases, gave him the go-by as soon as his 
 cash was exhausted. Some of them would not have 
 minded his disgrace, but none could forgive his im-
 
 336 THOU SHALT NOT. 
 
 pecuniosity. One day he sank so low as to write a 
 note to Gabrielle Delaporte, asking her for a " loan " 
 of fifty dollars. She sent him the money, with a few 
 lines to the effect that he must never apply again, 
 and that he must not dream, on any account, of com- 
 ing to her house. These chilling words from the 
 beauty on whom he had lavished thousands quite 
 crushed him, and he did not venture to disregard her 
 injunctions. 
 
 CHAPTER XXXII. 
 
 GABRIELLE heard the crash which crushed her late 
 friends to the earth with the utmost indifference. 
 She was possessed of a cosy residence, quite a stock 
 of valuable jewelry and furniture, and a snug sum of 
 money invested in eligible securities. What was it 
 to her that Jacob Mendall was hiding in Paris, Walter 
 Campbell begging the authorities for the price of a 
 drink, and Hector Greyburn living desolate and 
 broken-hearted within sight of his darling daughter's 
 grave ? Gabrielle was absolutely incapable of feel- 
 ing any suffering which was not her own. Her early 
 life and later experiences had made her what she 
 was. During those days when other women tore 
 their hair and wept their eyes red because husbands 
 and lovers were in trouble with the law, she sang 
 like a linnet in her elegant parlors, ate her dainty 
 repasts, tried on new costumes and jewels before 
 the long mirrors, and rode every evening in Central 
 Park in her private carriage, with the indispensable 
 Williams on the box and a brass-buttoned footman 
 beside him.
 
 THOU SHALT NOT. 337 
 
 One evening, when she returned from her drive, 
 she called in her French maid a recent addition to 
 her household and passed an hour in making herself 
 as beautiful as possible. She tried on four different 
 costumes before she could get suited, and discussed 
 with great animation the arrangement of her jewels. 
 When all was finished, she looked superbly, if such a 
 word can be applied to one hundred and twenty 
 pounds of avoirdupois, for Gabrielle, though exquis- 
 itely shaped, was not a large woman. She looked 
 with perfect satisfaction at her reflection in the 
 mirror, as her eyes swept over everything from the 
 ornaments in her hair to the satin slippers on her 
 feet. 
 
 " If he is a man, he must be moved to-night," she 
 murmured. 
 
 Then she went to the front bay-window, drew the 
 curtains about her and peered down the street. 
 Many people were passing, but the one she looked for 
 was not in sight. She arose impatiently after a little 
 while and sought her writing-desk, from whence she 
 took a note and read it over carefully, and whispered 
 to herself, " It is almost nine o'clock. Why should he 
 be so late ?" 
 
 As she thus mused, the door bell rang and she gave 
 a joyous start. 
 
 " It is his ring," she cried, softly. " I would know 
 it among a million." She glanced at the mirror once 
 more. " Gracious, what a color ! All the blood I 
 have is in my cheeks !" 
 
 A servant entered and handed her a card. She 
 told the girl to say that she would come presently, 
 and, as she left the room, Gabrielle kissed the name on 
 the card passionately. Then she tried to control her- 
 self, and, after a minute's practise before the pier- 
 glass, succeeded in resuming her ordinary demeanor. 
 
 " Mr. Arthur," she said, in her sweetest manner, as
 
 338 THOU SHALT NOT. 
 
 she entered the room where that gentleman awaited 
 her, " I am very glad indeed to see you. But are you 
 not quke late ?" 
 
 "lam a little behind time," he admitted, looking 
 into her eyes, and holding her hand a second longer 
 than was necessary, " but the sun sets very late at 
 this season of the year, and " 
 
 " And you did not wish to be seen calling here now 
 that you are a full-fledged clergyman. Don't dispute 
 it. That was your real reason. And you were quite 
 right." 
 
 " I don't know why I should object to being seen 
 calling here," said Mr. Rey croft, confusedly. " Surely 
 a clergyman ought to be trusted to go wherever he 
 feels that his presence will benefit." 
 
 "Quite so," said his fair companion. " And yet, the 
 most important lady in New York would make a 
 terrible fuss if she knew that you would even look up to 
 my window. You know whom I mean Mrs. Grundy." 
 
 " It is in your power," said the clergyman, point- 
 edly, " to silence even Mrs. Grundy's voice ; I mean, 
 by giving her no further cause for comment." 
 
 " Excuse me," replied Gabrielle, with her uswal 
 vivacity, "but you know very well that she would 
 never forgive me though I should blossom into a 
 saint and live like an anchorite from this day on. As 
 for that matter, she might bend her condescension a 
 little even now. Since Jacob left, six months ago, 
 I've been here all alone except the servants, and 
 Diana herself could not have given less cause for 
 complaint. Not for reasons of a lack of suitors, 
 either, as you might think. Every mail has brought 
 me the most persuasive missives, and I have been 
 obliged to say " not at home" to a hundred callers. I 
 am growing poor, too I mean in money," she ex- 
 plained, clasping her plump left arm with her right 
 hand and laughing "just spending all my income
 
 THOU SHALT NOT. 339 
 
 and eating into the principal in the most unbusiness- 
 like way. Here is a tax bill which came this morning, 
 three hundred dollars, to pay on this house and lot. 
 Isn't it outrageous ! I think the municipality is 
 bound to ruin me." 
 
 Mr. Reycroft looked at the bill. 
 
 " It is paid, I see. So that need not worry you, and 
 there won't be another for a whole year." 
 
 " Yes, it's paid," she laughed. "A despairing ad- 
 mirer of mine, a down-town merchant, happened to 
 be here when the collector called. Nothing would do 
 but he must settle it. Oh, you needn't look at me in 
 that way ! I can't bear him. He demanded a kiss 
 for his three hundred dollars, and I gave him a boxed 
 ear instead. Probably he'll be around to-morrow 
 again. Ugh !" 
 
 Mr. Reycroft looked at the girl earnestly. He was 
 trying to see how much seriousness there was under 
 her bantering tones. 
 
 " Miss Delaporte " 
 
 " Stop," she said. " You shall not say one word to 
 me unless you can call me Gabrielle." 
 ," Gabrielle, I wish to talk to you seriously." 
 
 " It's the only way you ever do talk to me," she in- 
 terrupted. 
 
 " Perhaps," he continued. " But this time I want 
 you to answer me seriously in return. Will you ?" 
 
 " Yes." 
 
 The color, which distressed her a few minutes be- 
 fore, faded all at once away. 
 
 " I want you very much," he said, earnestly, " to 
 promise me that you will spend the rest of your life 
 in purity. You can do untold good in this city if you 
 will give yourself to the forces of right." 
 
 " Haven't I told you," she answered, evasively, " that 
 Mendall was. my last lover? Of what do you com- 
 plain ? Why, am I not living as you^desire ?"
 
 340 THOU SHALT NOT. 
 
 The clergyman hesitated. 
 
 " Is your life what it might be in its influence ?" he 
 said. "Ought you, for instance, to meet a gentleman 
 in that dress which you are wearing now?" 
 
 Gabrielle started to her feet and faced the nearest 
 pier-glass. Her arms were bare and the neck of the 
 offending garment was cut very low ; not lower, how- 
 ever, than is seen at many fashionable balls. 
 
 " I thought you would like it," she said, with a little 
 quiver of the lip, like a disappointed child. She 
 caught up a big knit shawl of white zephyr, and 
 wrapped it around herself. " There ! I hope you are 
 satisfied now ! I'll wear a Queen Elizabeth ruff here- 
 after." 
 
 He smiled in spite of himself at the absurdity of 
 her tone and manner. 
 
 " That is better," he said. " Now listen to me, 
 Gabrielle, I have much faith in you and believe that 
 you will keep any promise you make. Say to me 
 that you will never have another lover. That will be 
 an excellent beginning. Afterward, we can proceed 
 to something more than mere negatives." 
 
 " I had decided to do what you asked before ypu 
 put the question," she responded, a little wearily. " I 
 am very tired of men. There is but one in the world 
 that I could care for, and I am certain he would never 
 like me." 
 
 He looked a good deal more disturbed than could 
 have been expected from the nature of her answer. 
 
 " That man is Hector Greyburn ?" he said, interrog- 
 atively. 
 
 She looked up, stamped her dainty foot impatiently, 
 and said : 
 
 " Of course not !" 
 
 "Then it is Mr. Campbell." 
 
 " You haven't seen him lately, I think," she 
 answered, " or you wouldn't make such a ridiculous
 
 THOU SHALT NOT. 341 
 
 guess. He is a little drunkard, living 1 on what he can 
 borrow and beg. If you had happened to meet htm 
 this summer I should feel quite insulted." 
 
 " Then it is evident that I do not know the man to 
 whom you refer," said Mr. Reycroft. 
 
 "You know him well," said Gabrielle, turning her 
 head in an opposite direction, " but his name is of no 
 consequence in this discussion, for, as I said, he 
 wouldn't look at me. He would count me the dust 
 beneath his feet. And yet, I love him. Yes ; after 
 years when I have only endured or tolerated my 
 lovers, at the most, I love and love hopelessly." 
 
 She stopped and burst into tears. 
 
 The Reverend Arthur Reycroft was as pale as his 
 companion. 
 
 " His name I insist upon his name !" he cried, 
 huskily. 
 
 " You do ?" said the girl, looking up, her face all 
 damp with the unaccustomed torrent from her eyes. 
 " You insist ? But I shall not tell you." 
 
 Gabrielle had spent an hour with her maid's assist- 
 ance in preparing herself to look lovely in Arthur 
 Reycroft's eyes. Dress, jewelry, and her brightest 
 and most winning smile, had been lavished in vain. 
 All that she had gained by her pains was to be told 
 that she ought to be ashamed to meet a gentleman in 
 such a costume. But now, with her hair half dishev- 
 elled, with her cheeks covered with tears and her 
 eyes flashing something which was almost defiance, 
 she captivated and enthralled him ; and before he re- 
 alized what he was doing, he was at her side, lifting 
 her in his strong arms and soothing her against his 
 breast, her fair head lying upon his shoulder and his 
 kisses raining upon her mouth. 
 
 *' Gabrielle, tell me ! am I right ? Is it 7 who am so 
 happy as to oossess your heart ! Is it can it be
 
 342 THOU SHALT NOT. 
 
 She tried to release herself from his grasp, but he 
 insisted that she must answer. 
 
 " I have said that I will not tell you," she protested, 
 looking saucily into his eyes for one moment. Then, 
 growing suddenly sober, she added, " You forget 
 what you are doing, Mr. Arthur. You forget who 
 you are and what I am. When you recall this scene 
 you will regret it and blame me because I permitted 
 it." 
 
 " I will never blame you," he said, passionately. 
 " I love you so intensely that the world's opinion is 
 nothing in comparison. This is not the fancy of the 
 hour ; it has been growing upon me for two years. 
 If, as you have said, you will consent to love one man 
 onty, and I am that happy one, I will devote myself 
 to you, and a thousand Mrs. Grundys shall not stand 
 in the way." 
 
 The girl was not prepared for this tremendous out- 
 burst. 
 
 " Let me get a chair," she said, striving gently to 
 disengage herself from his clinging arm. 
 
 " Not until you say that you will be my wife," he 
 answered, firmly. 
 
 "Your wife!" She sprang suddenly away. "Your 
 wife ! That I will never be ! Are you quite mad ? 
 You are a clergyman and a gentleman, occupying an 
 exalted place in the world. I am a street girl, with 
 all the name implies. I love you I cannot help 
 owning what you already know 1 will love you as 
 long as I live, and love you only, but marry you 
 never !" 
 
 He looked quite bewildered. 
 
 " What do you mean do you think " he stam- 
 mered.'' 
 
 " I think nothing," she said, " except that our love 
 is hopeless. I will give you myself, my life, if you 
 will take it, but it must be in such a way that when
 
 THOU SHALT NOT. 343 
 
 you weary of the bargain you can give it up. I will 
 not let you tie yourself so that you cannot loose the 
 cords if they become irksome. There is nothing 
 about me fit for a clergyman's wife, and if you were 
 in your sober senses you would know it. I know 
 what you are going to say that you would give up 
 the ministry for my sake. Such an idea is the result 
 of temporary dementia. I am more sensible than 
 you, and I must make you listen to reason." 
 
 The clergyman gazed at the girl with unutterable 
 affection. 
 
 " Gabrielle," he said, " I am nearly thirty years of 
 age, and I never cared for a woman before I met you. 
 My father left me a fortune which makes labor no 
 necessity. I adopted the ministry because I thought 
 that I could do more good to my fellow men in that 
 sphere of life than any other. Consent to marry me, 
 become my inspiration and my valued assistant in the 
 work of reforming the world, and I shall go to my 
 task with twice the strength and courage I have hith- 
 erto had. If you object to the ministry I will will- 
 ingly resign it, as it is not the only field of usefulness 
 open to me ; but, my dear, dear girl, do not refuse 
 the heart and hand I offer you a heart never touched 
 by another, and a hand of which no true woman need 
 be ashamed." 
 
 He reached out toward her, but she only shrank 
 farther away. 
 
 " Again I tell you that you are mad !" she answered. 
 " I doubt not that your heart is pure, that your life 
 has been all you claim for it but mine, what has 
 that been ? I have concealed nothing from you. Let 
 me tell you that men do not marry women like me. 
 They must not, they should not ! You have thought 
 me heartless ; and so 1 am to all but you. Arthur 
 Reycroft, I love you. I will repeat it a thousand 
 times, if you wish, and no number of repetitions can
 
 344 THOU SHALT NOT. 
 
 convey to you the depth of my passion. Do you 
 think that such a love is a mere selfish thing ? Every 
 breath I draw is permeated with my affection for 
 you, and I would rather fall dead at your feet than 
 become your wife and see you gradually growing to 
 dislike, and at last to hate me." 
 
 "I should never dislike you," he replied, earnestly. 
 " My love is deep enough to last an eternity. But 
 what would you have an unholy alliance which would 
 torment me hourly with the stings of conscience ?" 
 
 She shuddered a little and said : 
 
 " How horribly you name things ! I told you that 
 our love was hopeless." 
 
 " If I were not a clergyman, you would marry 
 me ?" he said. 
 
 " No, I would not. Neither would I have you for 
 the world leave that profession." 
 
 " But you would have me," he said, " if I under- 
 stand you, continue to preach one thing in my pulpit 
 and act another. You would have my life a perpetual 
 lie. You would have me violate the most sacred in- 
 junctions of my creed." 
 
 " It is no more than others do," she pouted. 
 " There's Bishop " 
 
 " Don't, I beseech you," he interrupted. " I don't 
 wish to hear the name." 
 
 There was a few moments of silence and then a new 
 resolve came to Gabrielle. She went to him, placed 
 one hand on his shoulder and stroked the hair back 
 from his forehead with the ojher. She was astonished 
 to find how hot and throbbing were his temples. 
 
 " Mr. Reycroft," she said, softly, " I am to blame for 
 introducing this discussion and it is for me to end it. 
 Do you know what the hour is ?" 
 
 " It matters little," he said gloomily. " One hour is 
 the same to me as another now."
 
 THOU SHALT NOT. 345 
 
 She drew a tiny gold watch from her bosom and 
 showed it to him. 
 
 " Half past one o'clock at night. Not the hour that 
 the Rev. Arthur Reycroft should find himself in the 
 house of a cocotte." 
 
 It did not seem to startle him, as he made no move 
 to leave. 
 
 "Do you understand ?" she repeated. "It is half 
 past one, and my bedtime." 
 
 He looked at her with an expression which was very 
 new to his eyes. 
 
 " Do you turn me out ?" 
 
 " No," she replied. " But if you stay I must pre- 
 pare for sleep. Probably you won't mind." 
 
 She threw off the worsted shawl, and exposed her 
 white arms and neck. Then she began on the buttons 
 of her dress. 
 
 " You would not dare !" he muttered with a gasp. 
 
 " Not dare ? Do you think I am going to sit up all 
 night ? I always disrobe in this room." 
 
 She proceeded leisurely, and he set his teeth. 
 
 " The servants are all a-bed," she said, with forced 
 composure. " I usually have Ernestine to help me, 
 but I can get along very well without her. If you 
 were real polite, you would turn your face away for a 
 little while. This is one of the cases where it is ex- 
 cusable." 
 
 He never moved. 
 
 She finished disrobing, and then put on a loose 
 gown of crimson silk, bordered with ancient lace, and 
 began to take down her hair. 
 
 " Confession is good for the soul," she said, with a 
 poor assumption of gaiety, shaking out the braids, 
 which fell almost to her feet. " I told you a little 
 while ago that I loved you. Well I don't." 
 
 Even that did not move him. If he heard, he gave
 
 346 THOU SHALT NOT. 
 
 no sign, but sat with his eyes fixed upon her as if 
 charmed. 
 
 " No," she proceeded, after a slight pause, with her 
 voice trembling violently. " I do not love you. I only 
 said so to see what you would do. I made it all up 
 tears and everything." 
 
 She laughed a little, not very naturally, and the 
 tears gathered in her eyes again before she had fin- 
 ished. 
 
 " You see," she continued, turning toward him, 
 "how easily I can cry. Didn't I fool you well ?" 
 
 It was sadly ludicrous to see the smiles and tears 
 struggling for mastery on her cheek. 
 
 " Mr. Reycroft," she added, presently, " I hate to 
 ask a gentlemen to go, but " 
 
 She hesitated, a little startled at his appearance. 
 She found courage to touch his shoulder, and the 
 slight motion of his body showed her that he was un- 
 conscious. 
 
 Gabrielle was not easily frightened, but she was a 
 good deal disturbed at this turn of affairs. She rang 
 for Williams and Ernestine and, snatching a bottle of 
 camphor from the mantel, applied it to the nostrils 
 of the sick man. Williams came in a few minutes 
 and, after helping to get Mr. Reycroft's inanimate 
 form upon the nearest bed, went in haste for a physi- 
 cian. The French maid took a pair of scissors and 
 cut away the collar and the upper part of the shirt in 
 order to allow the fullest opportunity for breathing, 
 but all they could do had apparently been of no effect 
 when the doctor arrived. 
 
 Luckily Williams had met Dr. Eldredge, one of the 
 best physicians in the city, returning from a visit to 
 another patient. The doctor made a hasty examina- 
 tion, wrote a prescription and dispatched Williams 
 with it. Then he motioned to Gabrielle to have 
 Ernestine leave the room.
 
 THOU SHALT NOT. 347 
 
 " Tell me as quickly as possible all that you know 
 about this," he said, when the door closed behind 
 the French woman. " I recognize Mr. Reycroft, and 
 I know him to be a man of apparent soundness of 
 health. It must have taken a great mental shock to 
 prostrate him like this. Speak freely, and remember 
 that as a physician I shall disclose no secret which 
 I may learn professionally.'' 
 
 Gabrielle colored to the roots of her flaxen hair. 
 
 " He asked me to marry him, and I refused." 
 
 "He asked you to marry him !" 
 
 " Yes. Wasn't it ridiculous ?" 
 
 The tears were flowing freely again. 
 
 " Preposterous !" agreed Doctor Eldredge. " He is 
 the wealthy son of a proud family, a rising light in 
 the Christian ministry ; and you " 
 
 " It is easy to see what I am," said Gabrielle, very 
 quietly. " And yet, he is here, in my house, at two 
 o'clock in the morning." 
 
 " Not for marriage, I should say," said the blunt 
 physician. 
 
 " You asked me and I told you," said the girl. " It 
 is the truth. For his sake, when he recovers, I beg 
 you to keep my admission sacred." 
 
 " Perhaps he will not recover," ventured the doctor. 
 
 " Surely you jest !" cried the girl, now thoroughly 
 alarmed. " A man in health could not die because of 
 a mere disappointment." 
 
 "A man in health would not ordinarily get into 
 this condition, but when the shock is great enough to 
 put him there, the most serious consequences are to 
 be apprehended," said the doctor, gravely. Williams 
 came at this juncture with the medicines, and the phy- 
 sician busied himself with his patient for the next 
 half hour without continuing the conversation. 
 
 Perceiving at last signs of returning consciousness, 
 he whispered to Gabrielle that it would be wise for
 
 348 THOU SHALT NOT. 
 
 her to leave the room for a few moments. She had 
 been weeping quietly by herself, and complied with- 
 out hesitation. 
 
 When Mr. Reycroft opened his eyes he looked at 
 the doctor ; then his glance passed about the room, 
 as if he missed something. 
 
 " Where is Gabrielle ?" 
 
 " She is in the house. Do you wish to see her ?" 
 
 " She will not marry me," he said, looking a little 
 vacantly at the physician. 
 
 " We will see about that," responded Dr. Eldredge, 
 cheerily. " I will go and call her." 
 
 He met Gabrielle in the hall. 
 
 " Do you wish to save that man's life?" he demanded. 
 
 " I would give my own to do it," she replied, wiping 
 her eyes. Her lips were trembling. 
 
 " Come in where he is. If he asks you to marry 
 him, promise that you will do so. Never mind 
 whether you intend to keep your word or not. Sick 
 people must be humored. If you fail, he may be 
 dead to-morrow, or he may be in a lunatic asylum." 
 
 She followed him to Mr. Reycroft's bedside. His 
 eyes lit up as he saw her. She stooped down and 
 kissed his lips. 
 
 " You will not marry me !" he repeated, faintly. 
 " Did you not say so?" 
 
 She looked up at the doctor. He regarded her with 
 a stern expression and nodded his head abruptly. 
 
 " I did not mean it," she said with great effort. 
 
 The clergyman's eyes kindled with seraphic joy. 
 
 " My own my darling !" he murmured, taking her 
 hand and putting it to his lips. 
 
 Five minutes later, he was in a sound slumber. 
 
 " He is saved !" said Dr. Eldredge, triumphantly.
 
 THOU SHALT NOT. 349 
 
 CHAPTER XXXIII. 
 
 ONE lovely Sunday morning, not long after the visit 
 of Rev. Arthur Reycroft to Miss Gabrielle Delaporte, 
 described in the preceding chapter, the congregation 
 over which he presided gathered as usual at their 
 house of worship in a small town near the metropolis. 
 It was rather a fashionable congregation and took 
 great pride in its pastor, who was considered one of 
 the ablest speakers of his age in his denomination, and 
 had refused several "calls" to other and larger 
 churches because of the deep interest which had 
 grown up between himself and his people. He had 
 been absent for several Sundays, his place being filled 
 by special arrangement. To-day he was expected to 
 return, and the house was crowded in every part by 
 an expectant audience. 
 
 It was a few minutes beyond the usual time when 
 the minister arrived. As he went into the pulpit 
 everybody noticed that he looked quite pale and care- 
 worn. He gave out the opening hymn in a low voice, 
 and after it was sung rose and stood at his desk. It 
 was the time for the invocation. The more devout 
 among the congregation had already bowed their 
 heads, when the pastor's voice broke the stillness. 
 
 " My friends, I came here to-day full)' intending to 
 officiate as usual, but I find myself unable to do so. I 
 cannot address the Throne of Grace in a public man- 
 ner and give you words of counsel and instruction 
 when conscience smites me for sins of my own. For 
 the kindness you have shown in a hundred ways you 
 have my sincerest thanks, but I feel no longer worthy
 
 3 SO THOU SHALT NOT. 
 
 to occupy this pulpit. Unless there is some other 
 clergyman in the audience, or some layman who feels 
 competent to continue the service, I must dismiss 
 you." 
 
 To say that these words created a sensation faintly 
 expresses that effect. Men looked at each other as 
 though they could hardly credit their hearing. It was 
 a crushing blow, all the harder because totally unan- 
 ticipated. As the young clergyman descended the 
 pulpit stairs, with faltering steps and pallid counte- 
 nance, an aged deacon rose and said, " Let us unite in 
 prayer." The fervent petition of the old man, beg- 
 ging forgiveness for his pastor, whatever his unknown 
 sin might be, and asking that grace be given him to 
 withstand future temptation, was a great relief to all 
 present. Mr. Reycroft took a seat in one of the side 
 aisles, and waited for the audience to pass out before 
 him. 
 
 At this Juncture a gentleman, who was a stranger 
 to most of those present, and who had come to town 
 that morning on horseback, walked with a quick step 
 up the broad aisle and entered the pulpit. Mr. Rey- 
 croft half started to his feet as he recognized the 
 stranger, but something in the latter's manner in- 
 duced the minister to sit down again. The gentleman 
 opened the large Bible, and saying, " We will read a 
 portion of the eighth chapter of the Gospel of St. 
 John," proceeded, amidst oppressive silence, to recite 
 the simple story of the sinful woman whom the 
 Scribes and Pharisees brought to Jesus, demanding 
 of him whether she ought to be stoned to death 
 according to the Law of Moses. He read with 
 clearness, and his manner was impressive. When he 
 came to the words, " He that is without sin among 
 you, let him first cast a stone at her," his eye roamed 
 over the large congregation, and several present felt 
 as though his glance rested especially upon them,
 
 THOU SHALT NOT. 351 
 
 Some of the nearest noticed that he had a scar across 
 the length of his forehead, and that other marks were 
 visible upon his face, caused apparently by not recent 
 bruises. He closed the reading at the end of the 
 words, " And Jesus said unto her, Neither do I con- 
 demn thee ; go and sin no more," and turning back- 
 ward the leaves of the Holy Volume, he proceeded : 
 " I will now speak to you briefly on the words found 
 in Exodus, twentieth chapter, fourteenth verse : 
 
 " * Thou shalt not commit adultery ' " 
 
 There was a sudden stir in the church. Several 
 elderly ladies rose and walked out. A woman with 
 three young daughters tried to persuade her husband 
 that he ought to take his family and do likewise, but 
 he did not seem convinced. The deacons exchanged 
 looks of bewilderment. The occupant of the pulpit 
 waited a few seconds, partly to secure order and 
 partly to allow his text to impress itself upon his 
 hearers. Then he continued : 
 
 " Thousands of years ago the Almighty Father of 
 heaven and earth wrote with His omnipotent finger 
 ten special commands for the government of His chil- 
 dren. He forbade them to have other gods, to make 
 images to adore, to take His Holy Name in vain, to 
 commit murder, adultery or theft, to bear false wit- 
 ness or to covet what belongs to .others ; and he en- 
 joined them to rest on the seventh day and to honor 
 their parents. 
 
 " These commands were given amid thunderings 
 and lightnings so terrible that the people feared lest 
 their end was come. They are plain, explicit, direct. 
 There is no room for argument, no opportunity for 
 equivocation. 
 
 " I believe that the most vital of these injunctions 
 is the one usually called the Seventh Command,
 
 352 THOU SHALT NOT. 
 
 which T have read to you. So far as human sight 
 can reach, the violation of no other carries with it 
 such a weight of sin and suffering." 
 
 The husband of the woman with the three daugh- 
 ters yielded to his wife's persuasions and they quietly 
 left the church. A number of others took occasion 
 to follow their example. The speaker paused until 
 quiet was restored, when he proceeded : 
 
 " If a man or woman should worship all of the gods 
 in the heathen mythology ; if they should ask Ceres 
 to bless their fields, Neptune to give favorable winds 
 to their ships, or Bacchus to furnish increase to their 
 vineyards, no human eye would be filled with tears, 
 no brother or sister would be condemned to misery. 
 If they should bow down to images of wood or stone, 
 the worship of those senseless things would injure the 
 idolaters alone. Taking the name of God in vain is a 
 wicked and foolish act, but its consequences are 
 between him who does it and his Maker. A wise and 
 beneficent law enjoins us to rest on the seventh day, 
 but a man may work each Sabbath and yet do his 
 neighbor no injury. Honoring our parents is a high 
 privilege and duty, but only the old people who gave 
 us birth will suffer if we forget to do it. Murder is a 
 most terrible crime, but Christ has bidden us not to 
 fear them that kill the body so much as them that 
 can also destroy the soul. If my neighbor steals 
 what is mine, or covets my goods, or bears false wit- 
 ness against me, the injury is not irreparable. But 
 the results of that awful crime adultery who can fol- 
 low to their end ?" 
 
 Fifty or sixty persons more, whose curiosity was evi- 
 dently satisfied, took the opportunity of the slight 
 pause at the end of this sentence to go out. The 
 speaker did not seem in the least disturbed, but pro- 
 ceeded with increasing vehemence : 
 
 ''In the neighboring city of New York there are
 
 THOU SHALT NOT. 353 
 
 twenty-five thousand unhappy women this day living 
 on the wages of sin, a standing disgrace to the men of 
 that city, without whose concurrence they could not 
 continue in their wicked lives for an hour. Children 
 are born of these unions, to die of neglect or grow up 
 worse than orphans. Truly the sins of the fathers 
 are upon these little ones to the third and fourth 
 generation. And not in the lower ranks alone is this 
 most detestable vice found. Among the men highest 
 in repute, and among the women who lead society, it 
 stalks like a spectre, breaking hearts, disrupting 
 families, tearing down every barrier which religion 
 and morality strive to erect around the hearthstone." 
 
 Nearly every lady left the church during these re- 
 marks, but the speaker did not pause again. 
 
 " Let me tell you of a man I knew who came to 
 New York in his youth and lived the life of a prof- 
 ligate for years. His curse fell upon more than one 
 young head, and the extent of the evil wrought by 
 his violations of the Seventh Command only God may 
 know. He became the father of a daughter, whom 
 he abandoned with her mother when a new fancy 
 met his eye. In the mysterious ways of Providence 
 this daughter, grown to young womanhood, became 
 the means of saving her father's life and converting 
 him from the errors he had followed so long. She 
 grew to be as the apple of his eye. But in revenge 
 for injuries inflicted upon his sister, another man 
 abducted this girl, and when in danger of what was 
 to her a worse, fate than death, she made her own 
 end with a stiletto. From only one of the many sins 
 of that miserable father, a beautiful woman and her 
 daughter lie in early graves, a man who had the 
 strength of a Hercules goes on crutches and with 
 voiceless tongue, and another wanders an outcast on 
 the face of the earth. Where will these dreadful 
 results find an end? As well might the man who
 
 354 THOU SHALT NOT. 
 
 flings a stone into the ocean endeavor to measure the 
 circles which spread out over the deep." 
 
 The men did not go. They listened to him with 
 eager faces. 
 
 " You are all careful of your daughters, but what 
 good will that do you if you neglect to warn your 
 sons ? Not one of your homes is safe. Girls, as well 
 taught as yours, are walking the street of yonder city 
 to-night. Until the standard of masculine morality 
 is raised you may hope in vain for the purity of your 
 families. If your daughter is accused by popular 
 report of unchastity, you are horrified, and well you 
 may be. If your son is so accused, you smile and say, 
 ' The young man must sow his wild oats.' His wild 
 oats yes and somebody else's daughter will reap 
 the damning harvest somebody's girl, who but yes- 
 terday said her prayers at her mother's knee and lay 
 down to dreams as pure as those of the angels." 
 
 The speaker's voice rose louder and louder as he 
 proceeded : 
 
 " I charge ye, men, protect your sons. If I had a 
 boy who was profane, I would talk to him ; if he got 
 intoxicated, I would try to cure him ; if he committed 
 murder, I would strive to save him from the gallows, 
 for he would be still my son. But if he became a 
 seducer of women, I would no, I would not kill him, 
 though I think a wolf deserves death no more than 
 he but I would pray God to end his life. 
 
 " This is not a popular subject. I have said no 
 word unfit for the pulpit of a Christian church, no 
 word that any Christian minister ought not to say, but 
 half of the people who sat in these seats when I began 
 have left them. I am sorry for the delicacy of ears 
 which find themselves offended by an application of 
 one of the most solemn adjurations of the Most High ; 
 but I hope that the good seed which I have tried to 
 scatter has not all fallen on stony ground ; that some
 
 THOU SHALT NOT. 355 
 
 grain may spring up and bear fruit to the salvation of 
 souls, which might otherwise have perished because 
 unwarned of their danger." 
 
 The congregation went slowly out. Greyburn for 
 it was he went down the pulpit steps to where 
 Arthur Reycroft sat, and put one arm around his neck 
 as a woman might have done. 
 
 " Did I do right in speaking to them ?" he asked. 
 
 Mr. Reycroft looked up with a countenance like 
 one despairing. 
 
 "What a change !" he articulated. "You preach- 
 ing purity, and I " 
 
 " How bad is it ?" said Greyburn, soothingly, and 
 speaking in a low tone. " Walk along with me and 
 tell me all. It will do you good." 
 
 They strolled out together and went down a shaded 
 road in the rear of the church. 
 
 " You remember the young woman whom you 
 brought to show me one night when I first knew 
 you ?" 
 
 " Gabrielle ?" 
 
 "Yes." 
 
 "Well?" 
 
 ' She possesses me, body and soul." 
 
 ' What do you mean ?" 
 
 " I mean that I love that girl and that this love is 
 incompatible with -the place I have occupied." 
 
 " Is the attachment really so strong ?" said Grey- 
 burn, incredulously. 
 
 "Judge for yourself. When she declined to marry 
 me as she did at first I had an attack of catelepsy, 
 and lay for a week in bed at her house, under the 
 care of a physician. It is contrary to his advice that 
 I am out to-day." 
 
 Greyburn was silent for several minutes. 
 
 " You must drop her," he said, firmly, when he 
 spoke again.
 
 356 THOU SHALT NOT. 
 
 The clergyman clasped his hands together. 
 
 " So easy to say so hard to do," he answered. 
 
 "What became of Mendall ?" inquired Greyburn, 
 with a desire to change the subject until he could 
 collect his thoughts. 
 
 " Escaped to Europe when the Times disclosures 
 were made. Are you in any personal danger ? I 
 have guessed lately at the meaning of the hints you 
 gave me once." 
 
 " Not the slightest. I bought and sold land where 
 improvements were to be made, but I mixed in no 
 contracts and shared in no steals. However, I do nut 
 feel guiltless and shall do something soon to ease my 
 mind. Did you hear anything about young Camp- 
 bell ?" 
 
 " Yes," said the clergyman. " I heard that he was 
 dissipated and penniless. What a terrible retaliation 
 he made upon your daughter." 
 
 " I must find and try to save him," said Greyburn, 
 quietly. "I am much to blame for his present condi- 
 tion, and he is also, you remember, my wife's brother." 
 
 " Where is she, your wife ?" asked Mr. Rey croft. 
 
 " I have no idea. That is the woman you should 
 have married, Arthur." 
 
 The clergyman shuddered. 
 
 " Come," added Greyburn, " you have no right to 
 be in this frame of mind. Look at me. My heart is 
 buried under the sods of the Fail-field cemetery. For 
 long months I have hoped and prayed for death. A 
 few days ago I roused myself and determined to as- 
 certain whether there was not something I could do 
 in the part of life which is left to me to atone for the 
 years I have wasted. I wanted advice from you and 
 came to your church to-day to seek it, little anticipat- 
 ing this denouement. If / can endure the weight 
 of my past, thickly sown as it is with briers and thorns, 
 surely yeu can rise after one slip."
 
 THOU SHALT NOT. 357 
 
 Mr. Reycroft blushed and stammered. "There has 
 been nothing criminal ; but had she persisted in her 
 refusal to marry me, I know not what might have 
 happened, as I was madly infatuated that night. Dr. 
 Eldredge admits that he was seriously alarmed about 
 me." 
 
 " But you are calmer now," said Greyburn, " and 
 more sensible. You have been following a will-o'-the- 
 wisp, Gabrielle has had a dozen lovers and will have 
 a dozen more. Marriage with you would please her 
 for a few weeks. After that she would go back to 
 her old ways, leaving you to the reflection that you 
 ought to have expected as much. I know her. She 
 is pretty, brilliant, fascinating. A dangerous play- 
 thing for a man of the world, and a fatal one to a 
 good-hearted, innocent fellow like you." 
 
 u I have hopes to reform her," ventured Mr. Rey- 
 croft. " She has a noble nature underneath the 
 frivolities which her experiences have brought to the 
 surface." 
 
 " You are incredulous, but she is becoming a true 
 Christian, I'm sure of it." 
 
 " You will marry her, then ?" 
 
 " She has hardly consented yet. She is so fearful 
 of dragging me down, as she calls it." 
 
 "She //'// drag you down," said Greyburn, bluntly. 
 
 " How ?" 
 
 " Socially, for one thing. Your class of society 
 won't receive her. Morally, for another. Mark me, 
 Arthur, when the first flush of what you call her ' love ' 
 is over, her real nature will re-appear and you will be 
 the sufferer. Put a spoonful of ink into a pail of 
 milk, and if the whole mass isn't darkened, never be- 
 lieve me." 
 
 " I shall marry her if she will have me," reiterated 
 the clergyman, doggedly. 
 
 " See here !" cried Greyburn, stopping in the street,
 
 358 THOU SHALT NOT. 
 
 " I am going to talk plainly to you. I've got to talk 
 plainly. You cant marry that kind of a girl. How 
 could you endure to walk or ride with her or take her 
 to a public place where men you might meet could 
 say, ' That's a former mistress of mine.' You would 
 never want to meet me, nor Walter Campbell, nor 
 Jacob Mendall, and God knows how many more, that 
 you will never know about, and that she herself has 
 forgotten. Think ! It is of a wife that we are speak- 
 ing a wife, whose name, if not above reproach, is 
 beyond all things the most hideous !" 
 
 Reycroft was very white. He leaned against a 
 building for support. 
 
 " It is terrible," he said. 
 
 An hour later Greyburn rode toward the city, and 
 that evening presented himself at the door of the 
 residence of his former sweetheart. He was ushered 
 into the parlor, and waited a quarter of an hour be- 
 fore she entered. When she came in he saw that she 
 had been weeping violently ; and this man, who had 
 never seen aught but the sunniest smiles on her face, 
 was shocked at her appearance. 
 
 She touched the hand which he extended and mo- 
 tioned him to be seated. 
 
 " I wish to speak of Arthur Reycroft," he said, 
 thinking it wisest to reach the point at once. 
 
 "You see my condition," replied the girl. "This 
 morning there were two persons in the world whom 
 I loved with my whole soul. One of them has just 
 left it my mother." 
 
 She sobbed aloud as she pronounced the words, 
 and Greyburn rose, instinctively feeling that her grief 
 was too sacred for his errand. 
 
 " I am very sorry indeed," he said. " If I had 
 known, be sure I would not have intruded,"
 
 THOU SHALT NOT. 359 
 
 She choked down her sobs and looked him full in 
 the face. 
 
 " I had two friends," she said, hysterically. " One 
 of them, the best, the dearest, has gone. I have only 
 Arthur left, and you shall not take him from me. No, 
 you shall UQ\. !" 
 
 He did not know what to answer her. 
 
 "His place is here," she continued. "He has 
 vowed to love me as long as he lives. I need him 
 now. Tell him that I have no other friend in the 
 wide world and am alone with my dead mother. I 
 will not hurt him. I will kneel at his side and pray 
 if he asks me. Hector, will you tell him ?" 
 
 " I will tell him," he answered, gravely, and left 
 the house, very much troubled. 
 
 CHAPTER XXXIV. 
 
 THAT evening Greyburn packed up his movables, 
 ordered a carriage, and drove to an obscure hotel in a 
 remote corner of the city, where he took a room, stat- 
 ing to the clerk that he desired to see no callers. All 
 the afternoon he sat silent in his chamber, but after 
 dark he commenced writing. He made several copies, 
 tore them up and made others, until at last he pro- 
 duced the following : 
 
 Last Will and Testament of Hector Greyburn. 
 
 This is my last and only will and testament. I be- 
 queath all my property to John Bird, Esq., attorney, 
 Astor House Buildings, unreservedly, to be applied 
 by him to the purposes explained in a letter of even
 
 360 THOU SHALT NOT. 
 
 date herewith. And I direct that no bonds be re- 
 quired of him on account of the said trust by the Pro- 
 bate Court. 
 
 John Bird, Esq.: When I am dead you will take all 
 my property, convert it into money and after deduct- 
 ing the amount of your own charges, send the balance 
 under seal to the Treasurer of the City of New York, 
 endorsed " For the conscience fund." Send the pack- 
 age secretly, but take pains to see that the amount is 
 properly covered into the treasury of the city. 
 
 If my body comes to you, have it buried in some 
 swamp where no human being can ever be contamin- 
 ated by it. Sink it in the mud with stones and make 
 no mark to show what is there. I am particular about 
 this. 
 
 You are a lawyer and I feel sure that you will obey 
 these requests without question. 
 
 HECTOR GREYBURN. 
 
 This was endorsed : " To be opened only after my 
 death." 
 
 He slept soundly all night, ate a good breakfast in 
 the morning, and at ten o'clock presented himself at 
 the office of Bird & Bird. The wil. was executed, 
 and, with the accompanying letter, was placed in Mr. 
 John's capacious safe. 
 
 Greyburn walked down toward the North River, 
 gazing at the various signs on the pier-houses as he 
 passed along. He was so preoccupied that he almost 
 fell over a man whom he encountered at one of the 
 corners. On recovering himself he saw that it was 
 Walter Campbell, very dirty and rather drunk. 
 
 " Hullo, Hector !" said Walter, who was the first to 
 recover from his surprise. " D d glad to see you, 
 'pon m' honor. Couldn't lend me a V, could you, for 
 a day or two ?"
 
 THOU SHALT NOT. 361 
 
 Greyburn's face was a study. How many things 
 crowded upon his mind at that instant. 
 
 l< Come with me," he said. 
 
 They walked down one of the wharves, where a ves- 
 sel was waiting which would sail that afternoon for a 
 Southern port. Greyburn bought two tickets, and 
 taking Walter aboard, went directly to his state-room 
 and put him to bed, where he fell almost instantly 
 into slumber. Then he went ashore again, but 
 returned in a short time with his baggage. As he was 
 going on board for the last time, a seedy-looking man 
 touched his arm and beckoned him mysteriously 
 aside. 
 
 " Are you going on that steamer, sir ?" 
 
 " Yes ; why ?" 
 
 " You did me a favor once," said the man. <l You 
 see I know you, Mr. Greyburn. You've forgotten it, 
 and it's no matter what it was, but I owe you good 
 will. Now, that vessel isn't safe at this season of the 
 year, and I know it. She just missed being con- 
 demned the last time she was inspected. She's in- 
 sured way up, and her owners wouldn't care if she 
 went down to-morrow. You'd better go by rail." 
 
 " You think the boat is very unsafe ?" said Grey- 
 burn, absently. 
 
 " Yes, sir, I'm sure of it." 
 
 Greyburn walked up the plank and went aboard. 
 
 The vessel steamed out into the bay and took her 
 course along the coast. She seemed safe enough and 
 the passengers who gathered in the cabin after dinner 
 evidently had no doubt that they were in a secure 
 situation. Little card parties gathered around some 
 of the tables. Several groups listened to amusing- 
 stories from fellow-travelers. A few persons wrote 
 letter home, while others passed their time in reading. 
 It was daik and cold on deck, but Greyburn went
 
 362 THOU SHALT NOT. 
 
 there and walked up and down in his thick wrap- 
 pings. 
 
 All at once there was a thrill of excitement in the 
 cabin. A young passenger, with dishevelled hair and 
 blood-shot eyes, reeled into the room and looked 
 vacantly about him. As the steamer lurched a little 
 to one side, he caught at the nearest tablecloth and 
 pulled off with it, a set of dishes and glassware, 
 making a loud crash. He balanced himself for a 
 moment, gave another maudlin look around, made a 
 quick plunge toward the chair in which sat the pret- 
 tiest girl on board and, before either she or any one 
 else dreamed what he was intending, had his arms 
 around her neck. She screamed with absolute fright, 
 and several of the stewards sprang to her assistance. 
 It was easy to see that he was irresponsible for his 
 acts. They tried to secure him without injury, but 
 he proved a hard subject to handle. 
 
 " Why, Gab'relle," he stammered, wrenching him- 
 self free from those who held him. "What's the 
 matter, girl ? Ain't you got a kiss for me, to-night ?" 
 
 As often as they grasped his arms, he threw them 
 away. The consternation in the cabin became fright- 
 ful. Part of the women clustered in a group in one 
 corner, while the others clung to their male escorts, 
 begging them not to go near him for fear they would 
 get hurt. 
 
 " Hullo !" said the young man, fixing his vacant 
 gaze on another fair passenger. " Is that you, 
 Susanne ? And Nettie, too, b'George ! Old girl, 
 come to m'arms ; I've got the whole house, now, 
 y'know." 
 
 Somebody brought the purser at last, whose pres- 
 ence restored, in a slight degree, the confidence of 
 the ladies. 
 
 " Who is he ?" cried several voices at once. 
 
 " His name is Campbell. He's got a friend who's
 
 THOU SHALT NOT. 363 
 
 up on the deck somewhere. Won't someboby go for 
 him ?" 
 
 Walter was doing no greater harm than staring at 
 everybody in a maudlin way and talking nothing 
 with rapidity when Grey burn arrived. 
 
 " Take him to his room," was his immediate de- 
 cision. 
 
 But it was much easier to say this than to accom- 
 plish it. Walter had become possessed of the extra 
 ordinary physical powers which so frequently 
 accompany great mental activity, and pushed the 
 men away easily. His eye lightened for a moment 
 when he saw Greyburn's face. 
 
 " Hec," he said, with thicker utterance than before, 
 " you've got y'money on th'girl and y'want to win 
 it. Young, d'y' say ? And beaut'ful, and 'n orphan ? 
 If you can't do that, never brag t'me ag'iii." 
 
 Then he fell in a heap on the floor. 
 
 A medical gentleman, who had gone to bed, was 
 roused by the purser and went to look at the body 
 for it was only a body and said he could give no 
 hope. 
 
 Greyburn did not say much when the stewards 
 took the form and laid it out ready for burial. He 
 did not care much. If he had any definite thought 
 about it, it was that Walter had escaped from a life 
 of suffering, while he had his own still to endure. 
 
 He went back to the deck and walked up and down 
 again. Some of the passengers commented on his 
 coldness of manner and lack of feeling on account of 
 the death of his friend, as they talked over the sad 
 event of the evening. He did not hear them, and 
 would have paid no attention if he had. 
 
 A gale sprang up about midnight. The captain, 
 who had turned in, was sent f9r to take his place on 
 the bridge. He soon saw that he had a furious storm 
 to encounter, and a very anxious look came over his
 
 364 THOU SHALT NOT. 
 
 weather-beaten features. A description of the scenes 
 between that hour and sunrise was published in the 
 New York papers two days after, and need not be re- 
 peated here at length. It is enough to say that the 
 wintry storm was too much for the old vessel. At 
 three o'clock the passengers were ordered to dress 
 and to be in readiness to take the small boats if it 
 should prove necessary. Before this hour most of 
 them had become aware that they were in a certain 
 danger, but this authentic announcement filled all 
 hearts with dismay. At least, all hearts but one. 
 
 About five o'clock, when only the faintest glimmer 
 of dawn was visible, it became evident that the 
 steamer was sinking. The fury of the gale had some- 
 what abated and it was believed that the small boats 
 might live in the sea long enough to reach land, 
 which was supposed to be some miles away. The 
 boats were lowered and manned. Cries and tears 
 were heard on all sides and were not confined to 
 the female passengers. It was a time when the 
 stoutest heart might well quake. The sea rose and 
 fell in huge waves and the cold was biting. Ice 
 covered the masts and sheets and made the deck 
 slippery. 
 
 The boats were lowered in very good order, but one 
 of them, old like the ship itself, was dashed to pieces 
 against the vessel's side, leaving the capacity of the 
 others to be so severely tested. The sailors helped 
 the ladies down the ladders. One, apparently about 
 sixty years of age, seemed traveling alone. She 
 shrank back when the man tried to help her in, cry- 
 ing out that the boats were not safe. Greyburn 
 caught her slight form in his strong arms and carried 
 her like a child to a seat with the others. She shiv- 
 ered and said, it was freezing cold. He took off his 
 heavy, fur-trimmed over coat and wrapped it about 
 her. She tried to remonstrate but he was gone.
 
 THOU SHALT NOT. 365 
 
 The boats were crowded. Only one man remained 
 on the deck. He had assisted several to reach the 
 boats, but always went back himself. All the boats 
 had pushed off but one, and every moment which that 
 one remained lashed to the vessel was fraught with 
 danger. The captain called to the solitary passenger 
 to hasten, but instead of doing so, he reached down 
 and cut the painter. 
 
 " Push off!" he cried, above the noise of the wind 
 and sea, "lam not going." 
 
 A wave carried the frail craft a dozen yards the 
 next instant, and the stout-hearted captain turned 
 pale as he realized what had happened. But it was 
 impossible to return for one man without imperilling 
 all the others. 
 
 Greyburn's great coat was gone, but he felt no chill. 
 He clung to a mast and unconsciously spoke his 
 thoughts aloud : 
 
 "Lena took her life rather than endure prof anation. 2 
 take mine to save others from it. God must be merciful" 
 
 Then a great wave broke over the decks, and when 
 it subsided the vessel had disappeared. 
 
 THE END.
 
 His PRIVATE CHARACTER 
 
 IROSS. 
 
 A Novel Uniform with "Thou Shalt Not.' 9 
 
 OPINIONS OF THE PRESS. 
 
 "There is a great difference between the productions of Albert 
 Ross and those of some of the sensational writers of recent date. When 
 he depicts vice he does it with an artistic touch, but he never makes it 
 attractive. Mr. Ross' dramatic instincts are strong. His characters 
 become in his hands living, moving creatures." Boston Globe. 
 
 " The author is a genius. He has the great gifts of originality 
 and ingenuity." Metropolis. 
 
 "The conversation and experiences of the men and women in 
 'His Private Character' are remarkable and startling. The descrip- 
 tion of a stormy honeymoon at Montreal, a scandalous supper at a 
 New York restaurant, and the resuscitation of one of the heroines in 
 3pi River cave, are realistic to a degree." Sun. 
 
 "Lovers of the drama are talking a good deal just now of the 
 'Cleopatra' debut of 'Mrs. John Smith Johnson,' in Albert Ross' 
 novel, 'His Private Character.' The actress, whose main attraction is 
 her notoriety rather than her histrionic ability, receives a scathing 
 rebuke." Herald. 
 
 "Albert Ross, the now famous author of 'Thou Shalt Not,' has 
 produced another entrancing piece of fiction under the title 'His 
 Private Character.' Though told with less boldness than the former 
 story, it is quite its equal in absorbing interest." Telegram. 
 
 "Its interest never flags. 'The inevitable law that punishment 
 follows sin, dragging down the innocent as well as the guilty, is set 
 forth with a strong hand." Cambridge Tribune. 
 
 " As a tale it is very original, one whose progress never flags, and 
 very cleverly constructed as to plot. It is clever and original." 
 
 Sunday Times. 
 
 "The characters are distinctly individualized, and the volume is 
 absolutely devoid of dull pages." Sw* ^'yncisco Call.
 
 HER HUSBAND'S FRIEND 
 
 BY .AXJBBKRT ROSS. 
 
 A jTavel Uniform with "Thou Shalt 
 
 OPINIONS OF THE PRESS. 
 
 '"Thoroughly original." St. Paul Dispatch. 
 " A story well constructed." New Orleans States. 
 **The situations are strong." Cleveland Plaindealer* 
 " The author has decided talent." Cambridge Chronicle. 
 
 * Many dramatic complications." Philadelphia Bulletin. 
 
 * His large circle of interested readers." Boston Beacon. 
 
 " Bright and interesting to the last chapter." Boston 
 Courier. 
 
 "A first edition of forty thousand is being issued.** Nash- 
 title Herald. 
 
 "Within the bounds of a healthy literary taste." Neu 
 Orleans Picayune. 
 
 " The heroine, Anna Darrell, is a very beautiful character." 
 ^-Boston Home Journal. 
 
 " An interesting story. The threads of the novel are inter- 
 woven very neatly." N. Y. Telegram. 
 
 u The book teaches the wholesome lesson of the folly o( 
 toasty and conventional marriages." Minneapolis Journal. 
 
 "Mr. Ross has kept within bounds in this book, and given 
 us a story that a person of sense can read with pleasure." 
 Buffalo News. 
 
 ^ " This series has had a sale of 400,000 in two years, 
 and yet there is no falling off in the demand."^ -Publisher*! 
 Weekly. 
 
 " This novel will be found entertaining from beginning to 
 ind. It is the best that this author has given to the public.' 
 Sunday Times. 
 
 "It abounds in strong situations, thrilling passages, and 
 that brightness of dialogue for which this author is famous." 
 ^Charleston Budget. 
 
 ^The author has had a larger number of books sold in the 
 first two years of his literary life thaa any other 
 living or dead. "-
 
 MOULDING A MAIDEN. 
 
 BY ^JLBKRT ROSS. 
 A Novel Uniform with " Her Husband's Friend 
 
 OPINIONS OF THE PRESS. 
 
 * A very charming story." Inter-Ocean. 
 
 "Albert Ross is never a dull writer." New >w 
 fournal. 
 
 "It absorbs one's attention like a page of Collins." 
 San Francisco Call. 
 
 " He has struck C ne of f.l c most popular veins of tha 
 day." Ohio State Journal. 
 
 'The interest is unflagging, and the attention chained 
 throughout." Kansas City Journal. 
 
 " It is entitled to hold a better place in literature than 
 any of his other works." Chicago Times. 
 
 " A sensational story, with strong situations, making a 
 vivid narrative to the end." Toledo Blade. 
 
 " ' Moulding a Maiden ' is certain to add to the wide 
 reputation of Mr. Ross." Norristown Register. 
 
 " Original and ingenious. The best written story that 
 this author has yet produced." Boston Home Journal. 
 
 ** Criticism is lost on a writer whose novels have sold 
 Jo the extent of about half a million copies in thirty 
 months." Louisville Times. 
 
 44 Nobody supposed that Albert Ross could be decor- 
 ous, and it was not to be expected that he would be 
 dull." Charleston News and Courier, 
 
 "The growth of love and jealousy on the one hand, 
 and the development of ncble traits on the other, ar2 set 
 forth as few authors have the powsr to rto it"
 
 IN STELLA'S SHADOW. 
 
 BY ALBERT ROSS. 
 ' A Norel Uniform with "Her Husband's Friend/* 
 
 OF TISIHS 
 
 Mr. Eoss is one of the best novelists of the day, hii 
 popularity being attested by the sale of over three hundred 
 thousand of his former productions. The story is as strong 
 and full of interest as any he has written, and like the rest, 
 it has an object or moral enveloped in its plot. The pub- 
 lic taste demands a moral ^ nowadays, provided it is not too 
 conspicuous and is dressed in a fascinating garb. St. Louit 
 Republic 
 
 The ability of Albert Eoss to entertain the largest oj 
 American literary constituencies has been abundantly 
 ehovvn. But in his latest work, "In Stella's Shadow," he 
 has, in some respects, given us his strongest story 
 " Stella " is said to be drawn from real life, and the stor^ 
 of her relations with General Vallalie will not perhaps be 
 an entirely new one to many people in New Yor and Ver- 
 mont. Chicago Herald. 
 
 Into Stella's life has been woven those of a rich old 
 f -,entleman and an impecunious young journalist. The 
 jonnection leads to the practical ruin of both, and in the 
 accomplishment of that result a strongly dramatic story 
 has been built up. San Francisco Post. 
 
 One may recognize the evident honesty of purpose of 
 Mr. Albert Eoss in the production of his novels, while 
 deprecating the ultra-sensational methods whereby he seeks 
 to give his convictions utterance. His study of Stella is, it 
 rjnnot be denied, forcible and impressive. Boston Beacon, 
 
 A.lbert Eoss's new novel enters boldly into the secret 
 life of Nev* York and takes for delineation one of its excep- 
 tional characters. , . . The fascination of such a woman, 
 when beautiful .)nd cultivated and professing repentance, if 
 shown with thb power of " Thou Shalt Not/' the wonder- 
 fully popular first novel of Mr. Ross. Jt is very interest 
 off-- Boston Sunday Globe*
 
 YOUNG MISS GIDDY, 
 
 BY ALBERT Ross. 
 
 Uniform with other "Albatross" Novels 
 
 OPINIONS OF THE PRESS. 
 
 ' Handled in a peerless manner." Grand Rapids Herald 
 
 " An exceptionally fascinating story." Pittsburg 
 Chronicle-Herald. 
 
 11 The story is well constructed and the pictures 
 Southern life realistic." Louisville Times. . 
 
 " ' Young Miss Giddy' introduces the reader to several 
 nteresting characters, and impresses some home lessons 
 very practically." Inter -Ocean. 
 
 " The Southern an<l Mexican scenes show Mr. Ross 
 racility of description, and will undoubtedly assist greatly 
 in increasing tropical travel." Buffalo Times. 
 
 " It must be acknowledged that there is a great deal of 
 mental acumen put into the book, some good character 
 work and some excellent bits of development." Boston 
 Ideas. 
 
 " Dating as is this writer's treatment or themes usually 
 considered forbidden or questionable, it is hardly to be 
 pronounced either meretricious or coarse " New York 
 Telegram 
 
 " In this book, as in all the previous work of the author, 
 chere is to be detected the power of a close student of 
 his kind ; one who not only lays bare but analyses in 
 minutest detail the follies, vices and weaknesses of men 
 and women. The moral is so plain that he who runs may 
 aad "Phila. City Item. 
 
 ' The fact is that Mr. Ross struck the public fancy 
 with his first story and has held it. He has the art of 
 exposing social errors without making them attractive; 
 he know? new to treat a subject with boldness ardyet 
 wit!: propriety ; he says what he has to say with DO double 
 Trailing. "-/?o>.j?? (jlofo
 
 THE GARSTON BIGAMY. 
 
 BY ALBERT ROSS 
 
 JL Novel FMform with all " Albatross Novels.'* 
 
 OPINIONS OF THE PRESS. 
 
 * As full of mcidentas its predecessors." Town Topics^ 
 
 "The most read man in America." New York Even- 
 ing Post. 
 
 " It has more strength and depth than his earlier efixr ts." 
 New York Recorder. 
 
 "The most widely read of modern novelists is Albeit 
 Ross. His publishers report a sale in three years of 
 more than half-a-million of his works." N Y. World. 
 
 " Mr. Ross is a pleasing writer and a very popular one 
 His story is distinct, full of interest and plot, very pleas 
 untly narrated and developed." New Orleans Picayune. 
 
 ''The drawing of John Garston, Alvah Adams and 
 Colonel Staples is realistic, and the Iowa scenes have a 
 local color easily recognizable by any one who has lived 
 in that part of the West." Kansas City Journal. 
 
 "I<i,. Ross has a happy faculty of arranging his plots 
 In such a manner that the reader never loses interest or 
 the thread of the story. The purpose of the author is to 
 point a moral lesson of the strongest kind." San Pranciscc 
 '-Call. 
 
 , " There maybe prudes who would find fault with th<? 
 occasional plainness of the dialogue, but they are of a 
 kind rapidly disappearing. If the reading masses ara 
 not the true critics, we do not know where they are to be 
 fcun '. ' American Bookseller. 
 
 , ' That the author of ' Moulding a Maiden ' and ' Thou 
 Shalt Not ' is attaining loftier heights, the finished s:yle 
 and marvellous drawing of peculiar human nature, as in 
 the c a se of John Garston, will prove. Mr. Ross has a 
 heal. <na\. feels The dreamer and practical writer hnd 
 a pacific abode in his comnosition n
 
 University of California Library 
 Los Angeles 
 
 This book is DUE on the last date stamped below. 
 
 
 "IBS