r Beit nlA Aw; 146 * ivt ' ea'k 2 Ca*f. THE ALBATROSS NOVELS By ALBERT ROSS 23 Volumes May be bad wherever books are sold at the price TOO paid for this volume Black Adonis, A Garston Bigamy, The Her Husband's Friend His Foster Sister His Private Character In Stella's Shadow Love at Seventy Love Gone Astray Moulding a Maiden Naked Truth, The New Sensation, A Original Sinner, An Out of Wedlock Speaking of Ellen Stranger Than Fiction Sugar Princess, A That Gay Deceiver Their Marriage Bond Thou Shalt Not Thy Neighbor's Wife Why I'm Single Young Fawcett's Mabel Young Miss Giddy a W. DILLINGHAM CO. Publishers :: :: New York HER HUSBAND'S FRIEND, BY ALBERT Ross, AUTHOR OF ''THOU SHALT NOT," " IN STELLAS SHADOW,' "SPEAKING OF ELLEN," "WHY I'M SINGLE," " His PRIVATE CHARACTER," ETC. " No man ever arranged a diffi- culty between husband and wife without being himself a sufferer. You cannot unite these millstones, but if you could, you would be ground to pieces between them" Page 182. NEW YORK: TIOHT, )I*3, (T 3. W. OILLIK3HA* G. W Billing ham Co., Publishers. CONTENTS, I. In the Place d 1'Etoil 9 II. A Modern Arcadia *6 III. "Was it for this you Married r . . . J IV. " My nature demands sympathy " . . 53 V. Miss Casson at Home 69 VI. " May we pray for you ?** 86 VII. When Love has Fled IM VIII. " Why do you visit her r .... 119 IX. " My husband ! You know him P* . 139 X. What the Spy Discovered . . . . i$s XI. " You have children, also " .... i6 XII. Haunting the Railway Station ... 171 XIII. On Dangerous Ground 177 XIV. Stung to Madness 187 XV. Jim Brodie's Warning 104 XVI. Off the Scent il XVII. Appealing to the Law sa$ LU 20619G6 ooimnprs. XVIII. Darrell under Arrest 232 XIX. An Unsealed Letter 243 XX. " I represent your wife" . . . . . 253 XXI. " I am a wicked woman " 263 XXII. Mordaunt Returns to Auburn ... 271 XXIII. " I love you, Anna Darrell !" ... 283 XXIV. The Touch of Lips 293 XXV. " It is too late, Edmund " 300 XXVI. " Mrs. Grundy is very useful "... 317 XXVII. Shut up in Paris . . .... 333 XXVIII. Side by adc . .... 345 XXIX. Peace at Last 353 TO MY READERS. A few months ago, while enjoying the bathing at Boulogne* sur-Mer, I picked up, quite by accident, a copy of a London newspaper, containing an account of the seizure of certain novels of mine, in the city of New York, on the ground that they were of an improper character. Three days later I was on my way to America, prepared to defend my property and my reputation. When I arrived, I found that a tribunal had already passed upon the question, and that the judgment was in my favor. No one can doubt that an occurrence of this kind- no matter what its outcome is very annoying. I have my own idea of what constitutes literary propriety, and I have made pronounced departures from the methods of most of the pr- snt school of fiction writers. In doing this I have achieved a success which naturally attracts attention and arouses nry. Incidentally I have made some money, for which I am not at all sorry. But I would no more write what I considered an improper book, than I would break into a bank or forge a check. While saying this, I may as well admit frankly that I hay not pretended to write for small children. To place the standard of novels at the gauge of a school-girl's intellect would be an outrage on the intelligent mature reader. There are subjects worth discussing which the infant mind cannot comprehend. All I claim is that I have never failed to point out the true path ; and that, if I have erred at all, it has been in treating my " sinners " too severely. [7] TO MT BEADEU8. The story before you is that of a woman and man who passed through sore temptation and emerged triumphant. Surely nothing could be pure if this is not. And yt I have felt as if a censor stood at my elbow and looked over my shoulder as I wrote, ready to cavil at a word, an expression, or a phrase. If there were any recognized authority which could license me to produce a book, as the Lord Chamberlain of England does a play, I would write as I choose and submit to his mutilations. But no one knows from what source light- ning may strike the American novel. There are societies, known and unknown, which may take a fancy to " suppress " it I do not seek for that kind of advertising and I hay* written accordingly. " Her Husband's Friend " is not what I would like it to be, but I hope it may prove welcome to that army of readers who have in less than two years purchased three hundred and fifty thousand of my novels. For what is lacking in realism do not blame me, but lay it to those who would make one law for the American author and another for the translator of foreign works. ALBERT ROSS. Address : ]9.noW. 23d Street. New York City. HER HUSBAND'S FRIEND. CHAPTER I IH THE PLACE DE L* KTOILE. One beautiful afternoon in the month of June, in the year 1870, two American gentlemen rode slowly up the Avenue des Champs Elyses, in the city of Paris. They had traversed the Place de la Con corde, with its obelisk, its fountains, and its mem- ories of a great past ; and, after creeping at that snail's pace which is the delight of the Parisian cocher along the magnificent way, they paused at the Arch of Triumph, which stands, the wonder of nations, in the Place de 1' Etoile. Paris, always lovely from April to October, is at its best in June, and this particular afternoon was as nearly perfect as one could desire. The gentlemen were both young, if being on the sunny side of thirty entitles a man to that distinc- tion. Each was, in fact, nine-and-twenty years of age, and they had known each other ever since their boyhood days, when they attended the same iehool In one of the American cities. Though the 18 HEB HUSBAND'* FRIEND. siot attached of friends, they were little alike, either in their views of life, their habits of thought, or their manner of address. Harold Mordaunt was the name of the gayer of the pair, a bright, sunny-faced fellow, with a good color, a pair of blue eyes, and an athletic build. He seemed to infuse his own spirits into everything, and entertained his companion with a constant fire of running small-talk in reference to the sights of their drive. Edmund Darrell, the other, was of slenderer mould, with more of the aspect of the student in his make-up, and it would not have taken a very close observer to have detected in his appear- ance on this June morning a constraint that seemed almost unnatural. As soon as the carriage in which the friends rode paused before the Arch of Triumph, Mordaunt burst into enthusiastic eulogies of it, both as a work of art and for the genius which it is meant to com- memorate. To all of the fulsome praises which he lavished, his companion returned, however, only monosyllabic replies. For a time Mordaunt was too much taken up with the fervor of his own utterances to note his friend's unresponsive mood, but at length it dawned upon him that his interest in the monu- ment was not being wholly shared, and he paused in the midst of an unusually glowing period to ascer- tain the reason. "It occurs to me, my dear Edmund," he said with a smile, "that you are not paying as strict attention to my oratory as a good voyager should give to his guide. Are you fully cognizant of tht fact that you are standing before the grandest triumphal arch that the world now possesses, if not, as I believe the grandest it ever has owned ? Do jott Df THE PLACE DB L* BTOILB. 11 know that this spot on which you are, with Its twelve great avenues radiating from this Star, is the centre of all that is beautiful in France and the envy of every other capital in Christendom ?" The other gentleman acknowledged the question by a slight bow, but gave no indication of being particularly impressed by the points enumerated. " You must not forget, Harry," he replied, pleas- antly, " that this is not the first time I have seen this arch. I rode past here on Sunday on my way to the Bois." " I am quite sure, for all that," responded his friend, " that this does not explain your coolness. People usually find the monument growing upon them with each visit. I know it has been so with me, the same as it was with the Church of St. Peter, at Rome. If I were to come here every day for a year, I think it would impress me more and more to the end. You have seen it twice, forsooth, and your interest in it is exhausted ! You have not a word to say in its praise. There is no rapt astonish- ment in your gaze, no lighting up of your counte- nance in the presence of the architecturally perfect work." Edmund Darrell grew slightly uneasy at the knowledge that he was being forced to make an answer he did not relish. " I will take no issue with you," he said, " on Its architectural beauties, but " " Oh, confound it ! don't bring your Communistic- Anarchistic notions into such a discussion as this Y* cried Harry Mordaunt, with an expression of the greatest aversion. "Try to understand what this arch truly represents. It commemorates the vi;here and spanned it with bridges, filled a Louvre with statues and paintings, or carried to a successful close an exposition like that held here three years ago ? If the day of your Communists ever comes the people may thank their lucky stars that a monarchy preceded it. You have only to look down this avenue to see the Place de la Concorde then called the Place de la Guillotine where your direct predecessors of the last century set up a knife and kept it gory for months with the blood of young and old, men and women, innocent and guilty alike. Is it not a pleasant picture to recall ! Wouldn't you like to bring it back again ?" A look of deep pain crossed Darrell's face. i2 HEU HUSBAND'S FBIEND. " Think of the provocation those men had," h replied. " Remember the centuries during which they had been treated worse than beasts by their dainty aristocracy. Read once more the ' Tale of Two Cities.' You call the poor of Paris ' canaille ;' but you must not expect to starve, beat and irritate even dogs forever, without counting on retaliation. One would think that the ruling classes might have learned something by that retributive flood, but it appears otherwise." Mordaunt had also grown serious, and the answer he made was very unlike that which his ordinary good-nature would have promoted. "Oh, yes, they have learned something," he said, between his teeth. " These long, straight avenues and boulevards show that they learned something, though I admit the lesson was acquired slowly. It is no longer the easy thing it once was to barricade the streets of Paris. Galling guns would mow down would-be mutineers like stubble before flame. Artil- lery planted in a spot like that of L' Etoile would clear the streets for miles. They call the emperor in derision ' Napoleon the Little ;' history will sub- stitute for that the appellation of ' the Wise.' For eighteen years France has prospered. Most of that time she has been at peace with other nations, and she has won only glory in the contests which make an exception to the rule. Her present tranquility is due to the far-seeing diplomacy of the man you affect to despise. Que voulez vous f You claim to hate war and to favor progress. How can you without incon- sistency desire the overthrow of a ruler who has done so much for his people ? If you must have a row, why not go to Russia, where there is at least a pretext for your interference ! Why do you wish to IN TH FLAGS DB L' BTOILE. SS spoil this lovely city, just after it has been put in perfect order by good Baron Haussmann ?" It was impossible for Harold Mordaunt to main- tain for any great length of time a thoroughly serious mien, and toward the end of his remarks he dropped again into his natural jocosity. " You have asked a good many questions," replied Darrell, " and I will answer the last one first. We purpose trying revolution on the French at this time because they are much more nearly ripe for a change than the Russians. They are natural politicians. They discuss things ; they read the newspapers ; they are acquainted with their own history. They know they have dictated terms, and that they can do it again at the right tiroe." " Yes, and this 'despotic' Napoleon lets them talk on, and print their treasonable articles, and hold their meetings, instead of transporting the whole lot to some French Siberia, as he ought to do," inter- posed Mordaunt. " To be sure, he occasionally sup- presses a journal that gets too outrageous, or invites an especially seditious maker of speeches to favor foreign parts with his presence, but in most cases his enemies are left at liberty to drink to his discomfiture as often as they please. And thus they go on, swallowing treason with their coffee, and buttering their bread with maledictions against the best government they ever had." " It is the only kind of butter most of them can afford," said Darrell, smiling. "Jacques Bonhomme is not able to have many luxuries, you know." "Jacques Bonhomme !" cried the other. "Jacques Mauvaishomme, rather ! He is a surly, skulking fellow, who dares look no man squarely in the face and is never satisfied with anything. No govern- 24 HEE HUSBAND'S FRIEND. ment could make an open-hearted, honest man of him. He is always a guerrilla, never a foe to excite admiration. Butter! What does he want of but- ter ? Brandy is his meat and cafe au rhum is his drink. I tell you if Napoleon ever finds himself compelled to cope with these wretches he may blame the too lenient policy he is pursuing. But here we are at the hotel, and what ought to have been a delightful drive has been quite spoiled by your senseless arguments." The two friends smiled into each other's faces in a way that seemed to imply that it would take much more than a difference in political belief to strain their warm relations. As they passed up the hotel steps together, Darrell linked his arm in that of Mordaunt. "I am sorry, Harry," he said, in a more than brotherly way, " if I have spoiled the afternoon for you. I fear I am becoming a very disagreeable companion. Several times lately I have solemnly resolved not to inflict my theories on you where they are so evidently wasted but each time some- thing has occurred to arouse my indignation. To-day it was the Arch of Triumph. Saturday it was the emperor reviewing his troops. To-morrow it will be something else. Unless you are willing to risk a repetition of the same thing at unpleasant intervals, we must decide to make our other tours about the city separately." Mordaunt laughed merrily. " We will try it a little longer, I think," he said, "before we resort to such a heroic measure. I despair of converting you to anything at all reasonable, but perhaps we can reach some plane of mutual forbear- ance. We might agree to make only mental W THE PLAOB DE L* ETOILB. 26 comments where there is the least possibility of a difference of opinion." Thus chatting they walked up the stairs to their several rooms, at the doors of which they parted to prepare for dinner. Half an hour later they met again, and proceeded to the large dining-room, where they took cosy seats in a corner that had a window from which they could look out upon the public street. " There is one thing we can never differ about, at least," said Mordaunt, as he finished the soup. " Tht French are the best cooks in the world, and their wines are unexcelled in quality." As he spoke he filled his glass and raised it. " I am going to propose a toast, though I know I shall have to drink it alone. ' To Napoleon III., Emperor of the French ; may his reign be long and glorious ! ' " A street band broke in upon the speaker with a somewhat discordant rendering of the Marseillaise Hymn. Darrell smiled significantly as he noted it, and, filling his own glass, he rose reverently in his place. "'To the French nation !'" he said, in a voice dis. tinct enough to be heard in any part of the room. " ' May it soon cast off its royal trappings, and govern itself as a great Communistic Republic !' " Perhaps there was no royalist present who under- stood the language in which these words were spoken. Perhaps the proverbial willingness of Frenchmen to allow their fellowmen to eat and drink what they please, even to treasonable toasts, may have influ- enced some who understood and said nothing. Be that as it may. no one paid the least attention. The two Americans resumed their dinner, and were soon chatting on other subjects as if there had 96 BBS HUSBAtfD'8 FJilfiMD. never been one on which their sentiments were so diametrically opposite. They would have laughed that day had any one predicted that they could ever seriously quarrel. CHAPTER II. A MODERN ARCADIA- In the town of Auburn, in the State of Massachu- setts not the Auburn on the maps of to-day, but a quite different one, now called by another name a pleasant dwelling stood, like Longfellow's, " some- what back from the village street," in four or five acres of land reserved for the exclusive use of its occupants. The house was at least fifty years old, as the style of its architecture showed, but there had been many "modern improvements" added since it came into the possession of its present owner, that greatly increased its comfort according to the notions of the present day. The single piazza had been extended till it enclosed three sides of the edi- fice. Several bay windows of tasty appearance improved the view of the inmates, and lent a piquancy to the exterior of the edifice. Inside, the rooms were large, as was the fashion of our ancestors, and the studding was not too high for easy warming in win- ter. Stairs ascended occasionally in unexpected localities, and single steps were found where no reason could be assigned for the sudden change in levels. There was no gas, for Auburn had not thought ** necessary to indulge in this luxury in any A MODERN ABCAMA. IT part of her dominions. Neither was there running water from street mains, for a similar reason. But there were many agreeable looking hanging-lamps ; and a cistern in the attic, supplied by a force-pump, allowed hot and cold water in the kitchen and bath- room, to the undisguised admiration of all the Auburnites who had been permitted to witness its workings. The chimneys were as large as any anti- quarian could desire, and the window-panes as small as any devotee of Queen Anne could ask. The furni- ture was a mixture of old and new styles, and an air of ease, quite different from that of many country homes, pervaded the entire establishment. The grounds were divided between lawn and gar- den, with a little grove of pines on one side of the buildings, left nearly in their natural state. If any resident of the town had been asked off-hand to name the most attractive home in it, he would have answered without hesitation, " The Darrell place." On the particular day when the reader is intro- duced to this residence and, by a queer coincidence, it happened to be that same day in June, 1870, when Edmund Darrell and his friend discussed the Arch of Triumph and Communism in the Place de 1' Etoile, three thousand miles away there was a distinct ripple of excitement in the Darrell house- hold. Tom Crowell, the half-grown bov who did the errands and general out-door work on the place, had just arrived from the post-office, bearing a letter with a foreign post-mark. A bright-faced, rosy-cheeked young woman, perhaps twenty-six years of age, had been watching eagerly for hii coming, had discerned the missive which he held aloft, and had run beyond the gate in the mot undignified manner to meet him. HUSBAND'S FRIBKD. Snatching the letter from the lad's hand, she tore it open and devoured its contents on the spot, leaning against one of the tall trees that bordered Ihe walk, the better to concentrate her whole atten- tion upon the note. She was of a little more than the usual height, and of a most exquisite form : neither too slender nor too stout. The most notice- able thing about her was her eyes, which were rather large, being brown in color, and shaded by very long lashes. Her hair was drawn back in what we learned many years later to call a " Langtry knot." Dressed in a becoming light robe, bound about her waist with a cord, and cut low enough at the neck to display the outlines of a handsome throat, she made a pretty picture as she turned the leaves and read the not very long epistle. Arriving at the signature, she suddenly kissed it with a delicious abandon, totally ignoring the pres- ence of Tom Crowell, who still lingered in the vicinity. It was the unconstrained action ot a woman who loves, and no stranger who witnessed it could have doubted that the writer was to her the dearest person on earth. For several minutes the picturesque figure re- mained leaning against the trunk of the tree, like a lovely statue, with the letter in her hand, and her eyes on the ground in deep meditation. But though the gaze was apparently fixed upon the grass at her feet, the thoughts behind it were much further away. A rapturous smile played about the ripe lips, and an escaping lock of hair hung low over her forehead. "I hope Mr. DarreH's well, ma'am," said Tom Crowell, at last, despairing of finding any other way to attract bis mistress's attention. A MODERN ABCADIA. 29 The lady looked up radiantly. " Oh, yes, thank you, Tom. He is very well indeed, and he asks to be remembered to all of you." , The boy's face bore a pleased grin, as he shambled off to tell the news to the other servants, and the lady slowly moved toward the house. But before she reached the door a rush was heard, and two little girls, aged seven and three, came tearing down upon her. " Mamma ! Mamma !'* cried the elder, in a state of great excitement. "Read us the letter from papa !" Mrs. Darrell stooped first to kiss the little faces, and then threw herself upon the ground under one of the tall pines, and read to them extracts from the letter. The younger child, who had only run because her sister did, began to look somewhat bored, but the other seemed aroused to ecstacy by every word. When the reading was finished, she begged as a great favor to be allowed to hold the epistle in her own hands, and to touch with her fin- gers the dear characters that her father had penned. " See, Ethel," she said to her sister, putting one arm around the little one's waist. " This is a letter that our darling papa wrote with his own hand ! Do you see, at the end, his name ? I can read it 'Edmund Darrell.' That's what it says, isn't i% mamma ? Our papa, Ethel, who is in Europe, away over the big sea. To think that he remembered us from that long way off ! And to know, by a letter that he wrote himself, that he is well and happy !" The little sister did not seem as much impressed as the elder thought she should be, an i an appeal 30 EBB HUSBAND'S FRIESTD. was made to the mother to impress upon her infan tile mind a sense of the importance of the occasion. Mrs. Darrell took both the children in her arms. "You must remember, Alice," she said, sweetly, "that Ethel is not as old as you." Then she noticed that her unappreciative young' est was putting one end of the letter into her mouth, and she rescued it with a little scream. " Would you destroy papa's letter ?" she asked, in a tone of some severity. " The letter that dear papa sent us from so far over the ocean ! I am ashamed of you \" The expression on the little face was something very like defiance, as Miss Ethel realized that she was being scolded. " Me don't know any papa," was the unexpected reply of the midget. " Don't know papa !" repeated the mother, in accents of mingled horror and astonishment. " Of course she doesn't ! How could she ?" The latter words were spoken by a tall, slender woman somewhat advanced in years, who had entered at the gate unperceived by the little group under the tree, and now stood several feet away, looking down upon them with no very pleasant expression of countenance. She had the unmistak- able air of the " superfluous woman," the gaunt and icy appearance of the typical New England " old maid." Her garments were as sombre as her face, and she leaned for support upon a stout cane which added to the general weirdness of her aspect. " Of course the child doesn't know her father," repeated the apparition. " How is it possible that he should ever have become acquainted with A MODERN ARCADIA. 31 " Aunt Mettie," said Mrs. Darrell, warningly, "remember that little ears may hear you !" The mother, as she said this, rose to her feet. All the brightness that had illumined her countenance had suddenly gone out of it. " The truth should hurt nobody," retorted the slender female. " Neither of Edmund Darrell's children have ever seen him often enough to recognize his face. I doubt if they would be able to name him if he met them unexpectedly in the street. Don't look at me like that, Anna. You know it is so." Mrs. Darrell bit her lip. She realized fully the impossibility of muzzling her aunt's tongue. She stooped to kiss the little ones, and to tell Alice to take her sister away to play. But the elder child had heard enough to arouse her indignation, and she stepped angrily before her great-aunt. " You shall not say such naughty things about my papa !" she cried, stamping her little foot. " I love him. Ethel loves him. Mamma loves him. You are a bad woman, that nobody loves. Why do you come here ?" " Alice !" called the mother. " Oh, let her go on," said Miss Mehitable Burton. " Lee her go on. She is her father all over." Then she turned to the child. " You need not be such a little spitfire ! How can you tell whether you love your father or not, when you never see him ?" Mrs. Darrell was in a quandary. She had been brought up in that school where respect for elders is inculcated almost like a religion. Her Aunt Burton had an especial claim on her patience. When her mother had left her an orphan, a dozen years before, this odd woman had supplied to the best oi her 32 HSB HUSBAWD'a FBUBXO, ability the place of that parent, and for the next tow years she had lived under her aunt's roof. But she was distressed beyond measure at the controversy now in progress, for she dreaded its effect on her excitable child, as well as the suspicion it was likely to arouse in the young mind. For a few moments she stood there, uncertain what it was wisest to do or say. " It is not true !" cried Alice, taking a step nearer to Miss Burton, and assuming a threatening attitude. " We do see papa ! He comes whenever he can, and besides we have his picture in the parlor. He writes nice letters to mamma, too. She got one only this morning. Does any one ever write letters to you t He has gone to France to do some business that is necessary. You shall not talk about him ! I will not stay to hear you !" The spinster looked down with contempt on the small advocate. " Your father's steamer sailed six weeks ago," she sneered, " and you have just got your first letter ! Well, well ! He must be very fond of you !" Again the young champion took up the gauntlet. " Do you know anything about the sea ?" she demanded, in a fury. " It takes nine or ten days to cross it in a steamer. My mamma told me so. Do you think he could get out and mail a letter in the water ? Then, when he got there, he had a great deal to do. And, when he wrote, it took another ten days for the letter to get here. You hate my papa, and are always saying ugly things about him. If I was mamma I wouldn't let you come here ever f With this parting shot, uttered in a voice that was choking with tears, she ran into the house, dragging Ethel after hr, and slanuned the door. 1 MODERN ARCADIA. 33 The two women followed the vanishing children with their eyes until they disappeared, and then they looked at each other. "Well, Anna Burton Darrell," said the elder sharply, " has it gone so far that you hesitate whether to ask me to enter your house ?" "Oh, no," was the reply. " But I cannot tell you how distressed I am that you should have spoken as you did before Alice. If you had come here with a purpose to inflict the greatest pain upon me, you could not have hit upon a more successful way." Miss Burton sniffed the air contemptuously. " They must find it out, sooner or later. What advantage will it be to bring them up in deceit ?" Anna Darrell flushed suddenly. " But you are quite wrong, aunt, as I have s& often told you. Edmund is very dear to us all. He loves his family yes, I am sure of it and does what he thinks is right. At present he is abroad, getting patents on his inventions. He wants to Make a fortune, and it is as much for us as for him- self, for I am sure he denies us nothing, and his personal habits are not extravagant. You know he bought me this home, putting the deed in my name, and how much he has spent upon it, until it is the most desirable residence in Auburn. I have plenty of help, a pony to drive, a cow for the children, chickens to lay us fresh eggs, and all the money I could possibly find use for. And yet you will per- sist, on account of a dislike for which you have no real reason, in saying harsh things of my husband. As long as you only say them to me, I can bear it, for I know how unjust they are, but you must not talk again before Alice a? you did to-day, i really *annot bear it," 34 HEE HUSBAND'S FRIEND. Miss Burton leaned heavily upon the cane she carried, and her eyes shone. " I suppose that means that you will refuse to receive your father's only sister," she said, viciously. " Not yet," was the reply. " It surely cannot be necessary for you to say things that excite my chil- dren to such anger as Alice exhibited just now. I never saw her in such a fit, and it is not true that she inherits a bad temper from her father, for no one ever heard him use even an impatient word. I do not want you to cease coming, and if there is no other way to arrange it, I will see that the children are kept in another part of the house when you are here." The sourness of disposition which had become an integral part of the old maid, could not be kept from the surface. ** I don't think you want me to come," she said, as they entered the parlor, where she took, neverthe- less, a seat on the edge of one of the chairs, and sat as bolt upright as any ramrod. " Be frank, niece. Say the word, and I promise not to trouble you with my presence again." " I hope I shall never say that," said Mrs. Darrell. 44 1 am under great obligations to you for the kind care you gave me when I was left without protectors. I cannot forget what you did for me as a child. But, aunt, I am now a wife and a mother. I feel a sort of guilt to have permitted my child to listen to such words about her father as you have more than once used in her presence. This morning it was worse than usual, and I cannot endure it." In spite of the firmness of her tone, tears filled her eyes. The dilemma presented to her was a very sad we to the girl, for she had no intimate friendships A MODERN ABCADI4. 35 outside the narrow circle of her relations, consisting solely of Miss Burton and the spinster's bachelor brother, Ephraim. "You are a Burton, and you ought to have some ?ense," responded the aunt, more kindly. " Had you begun right with that man you could have taught him his duty, but now I fear it is too late. It may be necessary for him to travel as much as he does, though to tell the truth, I don't believe it. But, if you are his wife, he could sometimes take you with him. What is the matter? Is he ashamed of you ? He could hardly treat you with less respect if you were " A sudden gleam in the eyes of her niece warned her that she might go too far in this direction. " I tell you again that I am satisfied, and I cannot see why you should trouble yourself so much." " You are satisfied !" repeated Miss Burton. " Do you think you can make any one believe that? What sort of a married life is it that you lead ? He is gone months at a time. He tells you whatever story he pleases, and you swallow it." " I love him and trust him," said the wife, proudly. " Well, I don't," was the sharp reply. "You do not know what he is doing these long months that you never set eyes on him." Mrs. Darrell reddened, but she did not wince. " I understand your insinuations," she answered, "and I repel them absolutely." Miss Burton leaned toward her, and spoke in a low voice. " If I could show you " she began. "You cannot you know you cannot!" cried the wife, greatly roused. " It is cruel of you to make eW KKB miMnA bfflrft FOTBlk such statements. I cannot listen to them, you must excuse me." For the first time in all their acquaintance, she vacated the room, overcome by her feelings, and Miss Burton had the pleasure of escorting herself to the door. But the seed the cursed, imperceptible, prolific Seed of suspicion had been planted ; and it was to grow until its always bitter fruit should load the spreading branches of the tree ! CHAPTER HI. "WAS IT FOR THIS YOU MARRIED?* Miss Mehitable Burton was a well known figure in Auburn, and her brother Ephraim was hardly a less one. Together for nearly forty years the couple both hopeless wanderers from matrimonial felicity had lived under the same roof, attended the same church, held the same opinions, eaten the same food. It was generally understood in Auburn that Miss Burton was the " man of the house," as the term was used, and that her brother was nothing more than her shadow, executing her orders as if he were a hired man instead of the real owner of record of all the property they enjoyed in common. When their father died he willed every penny of his estate tfC :.ally to his two sons, leaving it to them to pro- vide for the solitary daughter, if they might choose to do SO. The younger b^u, Anna's father, took his ptrt ef the money to the city, invested '.tin business, "WU It 70ft THIS YOU MABBMD?" 87 made quite a name for a few years, and then saw everything swept away in one of those financial crashes that come periodically to clear the monetary horizon, as cyclones do to clear the atmosphere of the Western States. He returned to Auburn one day and announced to his sister for even then it was recognized that Ephraim only did as she bade him that he had sunk his capital and wanted to raise twenty-five thousand dollars with which to recover his position. Tradition had it that when she refused to risk the amount, he went back with his heart broken, and only lived six months. His young widow struggled along on the proceeds of a small life insurance policy for a few years, and then she, too, gave up the fight. Anna was ten years of age when her Aunt Mettie took her to her solemn home in Auburn, where the stillness and the absence of other young people bore heavily upon her naturally buoyant spirits. Miss Burton was now, according to the Auburn standard, a rich woman, always remembering that she had not a single penny's worth of property standing in her own name. Ephraim Burton was supposed to be worth rising one hundred thousand dollars, carefully invested in securities of unques- tioned solidity. He always demanded the full pound of flesh that was stipulated in his carefully drawn bonds, and if a little extra flowage of blood resulted, surely that was the fault of the improvi- dent men who did not know enough to manage their affairs successfully. He was a gentle, harmless sort of octopus, without the least ill feeling for any per- son in the world, but who had certain business ideas not wholly peculiar to himself, which were wholly opposed to anything like extensions of time o 88 WEB HTJRBV ID'S TKOSKIt. notes, or mercy to needy debtors in any other fcK3l. He cultivated, of the acres he owned, only a little garden that supplied his table with vegetables, and managed by the sweat of other men's brows not merely to live but to add handsomely to his earthly possessions. All that he had was his by the law, but it was his sister's as far as its disposition was concerned. When some farmer or small manufac- turer wanted an " accommodation " he never went to Ephraim to ask it. He saw Miss Darrell and made known the circumstances of the case and received the stereotyped reply that she would see what her brother had to say. Every one of them knew that she would tell Ephraim whether to lend the money or refuse it, and that altering the laws of the Medes and Persians would be a very simple thing com- pared with getting her to reverse a decision. But there was one part of the business with which Miss Burton always professed to have nothing at all to do. When the amounts lent were to be called in, and the borrowing parties were not ready to pay, she preferred to have her brother bear the entire brunt of the affair. Her only reply to those who called on such errands was, that she knew nothing about it, and that they must see Ephraim. They all learned in time that the cogs of a mill-wheel were quite as much open to argument as he, but the first time each one made this discovery there was apt to be a very interesting scene at the Burton homestead. The speculator of to-day, who has seen his hun- dreds turn to thousands with one tick from the electric current and perhaps thousands turn to hundreds with equal rapidity may smile at those who think themselves content with the slow accumu- lation of money at six or seven per cent, But *WAi IT FOR THIS fOC MARRIED?" 3d Ephraim Burton knew that sums so invested would double in a dozen years, and that the result thus obtained would double again in another dozen years and so on indefinitely. He was not averse, either, to accepting a larger rate where the security was satisfactory, and his accumulations grew like the peach in Tommy's orchard, until he was one of the solid men of his town. At the breaking out of the civil war he had seen bis opportunity, like many another forehanded patriot. He " had confidence in the government," and gathering in all the money he could raise, he bought United States bonds, payable in gold, though purchased with inflated currency, and bearing gold interest at the rate of seven and three-tenths per cent. Perhaps he took a hand also at some other things done in those days, of which the less said the better. Several years after the end of the war he noticed understand, rather than excite wonder by my ignor ance, and going to my office I took down the file o' the Boston Herald that is always kept there, and searched its columns eagerly. And there it was, burning itself into my eyes, like a frightful dr**ann. The story was to this effect : " ' Yesterday evening Professor Solomon Marlin, one of the most famous of our students of ths science of political economy, died at the Parks- House, under peculiarly distressing circumstances. He had gone to the hotel in company with Miss I aura Casson and Mr. Melville Currane, J. P., for th*; purpose of having a marriage ceremony performed, both he and the lady holding views vvh ; ch made them object to a religious rite. Mr. Currane informed our reporter that the party partook of a supper in one of the small lining- rooms, and after it was finished, and just as MY NATUBE DEMANDS SYMPATHY." 6ft ne was about to put the necessary questions, the Professor suddenly complained of a pain in the region of the heart, and began to sink rapidly. Miss Casson, though naturally much agitated, did all she could for the stricken man, and Dr. Haskins, who was in the house, came without a moment's delay, but the Professor did not rally, and within a quarter of an hour breathed his last. We learn that the funeral will be entirely private and that the inter- ment will take place Saturday, at Mount Auburn.' " As he finished the quotation, throughout which his voice trembled perceptibly, Darrell continued : " Was there ever such a combination ? Just as my chance of winning the woman I loved had been made, by an accident, practically certain, I had placed myself through an insane act beyond the possibility of possessing her. Steadying my nerves as well as I was able I went that evening to tender my condolences. She received me with all the cus- tomary grace and courtesy, and spoke in chastened tones of her loss. When she had given me in her own words a description of all that occurred at the Parker House, she asked whether my wife was in the city and expressed a hope that I would bring her to see her. Something in her manner convinced me that she was playing a very difficult part, and in my state of mind I could not follow her. "You will never see my wife, Miss Casson," I cried, impulsively. "You are too wise not to know that I married without giving to her one particle of that perfect love which, less than two month* ago, I laid at your feet ! The error I have committed brings its own punishment, when I return and 'earn for the first time that you are still single and that I may never again \>e in a position to ask you to share