GIFT OF 
 Prof. C. A. Kofoid 
 
 ^= 
 
Digitized by the Internet Archive 
 
 in 2008 with funding from 
 
 Microsoft Corporation 
 
 http://www.archive.org/details/fromoutofwestOOhincrich 
 
 
From 
 
 Out of the 
 
 West. 
 
 BY 
 
 HENRIETTA R. HINCKLEY. 
 
 ■ 
 
 *9©5 
 
 MAYHEW PUBLISHING COMPANY 
 
 Boston. 
 
HI 
 
 Copyrighted, 1905 
 
 HENRIETTA R. HINCKLEY 
 
 All rights reserved 
 
 
CONTENT 
 
 CHAPTER. 
 
 
 PAGE. 
 
 I. 
 
 The Conspirators. 
 
 i 
 
 II. 
 
 The Western Stranger. 
 
 8 
 
 III. 
 
 First Impressions. 
 
 17 
 
 IV. 
 
 An Offer of Marriage. 
 
 25 
 
 V. 
 
 The Cowboy Tells of His Home 
 
 • 3 1 
 
 VI. 
 
 "The Royal Seal." 
 
 38 
 
 VII. 
 
 A Human Butterfly. . 
 
 47 
 
 VIII. 
 
 The Coaching Party. . 
 
 54 
 
 IX. 
 
 A Mutual Agreement. 
 
 61 
 
 X. 
 
 A Beautiful Intruder. 
 
 68 
 
 XL 
 
 A Promised Drive. 
 
 76 
 
 XII. 
 
 The Plot Deepens. 
 
 84 
 
 XIII. 
 
 Who Was She? . 
 
 9i 
 
 XIV. 
 
 The Fortune Teller. 
 
 100 
 
 XV. 
 
 Christmas Gifts 
 
 no 
 
 XVI. 
 
 New Year's Calls. 
 
 118 
 
 XVII. 
 
 In The Toils. 
 
 I2 5 
 
 XVIII. 
 
 Did He Resist Her? 
 
 135 
 
 XIX. 
 
 The Home in the West. 
 
 144 
 
 XX. 
 
 A Mysterious Invalid. 
 
 X 5 X 
 
 XXI. 
 
 Dora Gone. . 
 
 158 
 
 XXII. 
 
 Philip's Sister 
 
 166 
 
 XXIII. 
 
 "Tell Me My Offense." . 
 
 173 
 
 XXIV. 
 
 A Garden Party. 
 
 181 
 
 XXV. 
 
 A Second Proposal. 
 
 188 
 
 XXVI. 
 
 Saved From the Flames. 
 
 196 
 
 XXVII. 
 
 A Confession 
 
 203 
 
 XXVIII. 
 
 "I Am Unworthy." 
 
 211 
 
 XXIX. 
 
 The Double Tragedy. 
 
 220 
 
 XXX. 
 
 Conclusion. . 
 
 230 
 
 M2S6062 
 

 CHAPTER I. 
 
 THE CONSPIRATORS. 
 
 "The Oriental" was the handsomest and most 
 luxurious club house in the city. It was large, beautiful- 
 ly furnished and well ventilated by long windows open- 
 ing upon a roomy balcony overlooking the park. The 
 privileges and enjoyment of its rooms were extended to 
 only a limited number of wealthy, aristocratic young 
 men. There, one was always sure of meeting congenial 
 companions with whom to pass away idle hours in 
 smoking, drinking, card playing and gossip. 
 
 It was about four o'clock of a lovely September day; 
 the air was warm and balmy; just the day to luxuriate 
 in after a long, hot summer. Out on the balcony 
 several men were smoking; just inside, seated around a 
 table on which were wine and glasses, was a group of 
 four young men of that stamp seen in our big cities, 
 fast youths who crowd more excitement and pleasure 
 into one year of their lives than their fathers did in ten. 
 This furious race of vitality and time leaves its impress 
 upon each face, in the sallow complexion, the bleared 
 eyes, and the incessant demand for drink, or smoke, 
 to fan the dying embers into more life. 
 
 There was Harold Graham, young in years, but old 
 in vice and dissipation; his life ruined by the handling 
 of thousands of dollars that he had never earned; his 
 greatest ambition to be just a little ahead of the other 
 
FROM OUT OF THE WEST. 
 
 fellows in his extravagances. So his horses, yacht, and 
 lavish expenditure of money were the envy and admira- 
 tion of his companions. To him this was the greatest 
 satisfaction the world could give. 
 
 Wallace Dunlap was younger than Harold, a boyish, 
 fun-loving fellow, who, under the right influence, would 
 have made a fine young man; but with a fond mother, 
 fashionable sisters and a busy father, he was allowed to 
 drift about at his will, and under the influence and 
 tuition of Harold Graham was fast being dragged down 
 to his level. 
 
 Then there was DeVere, a Frenchman about thirty- 
 five years of age, with dark, unfathomable eyes and an 
 insinuating, flattering manner that had helped him to 
 gain admittance to "The Oriental", although he was 
 not generally liked; but he was always ready to lend a 
 helping hand when a fellow was "hard up", and even 
 if he did ask high interest for the favor, it was con- 
 venient, and the boys often called upon him for tem- 
 porary loans; therefore, he was looked upon in the light 
 of a necessary evil. 
 
 The other young man was a tall, slim youth with a 
 pocketbook of larger dimensions than his brains, — 
 an immaculate dude of the first water, whose greatest 
 agony was to find a wrinkle in his perfectly fitting coat. 
 His name was Adolphus Carlton. 
 
 These four young men had been playing cards for a 
 while; but as the pile staked invariably found its way 
 into DeVere's pocket, the game grew monotonous, and 
 they threw down the cards in disgust, called for drinks 
 and lit their cigars. 
 
FROM OUT OF THE WEST. 
 
 "What did you think of the affair at Kimble's last 
 night ?" asked Harold Graham, lazily puffing rings of 
 smoke above his head and addressing no one in partic- 
 ular. 
 
 "Too much of a jam to suit me," drawled Adolphus. 
 "It musses a fellow up so, don't you know. I lost my 
 carnation and had my glasses knocked off twice before 
 I had been there half an hour. Deuced poor taste to 
 have such a crowd, I say." 
 
 "Well," said young Wallace, "I had a tip-top time. 
 There were plenty of pretty girls, and the supper was 
 immense, especially the champagne," and Wallace 
 smacked his lips. " I tell you, Dora was stunning. She 
 knows how to dress to show off those big blue eyes and 
 that golden hair of hers; I couldn't get within speaking 
 distance, she was surrounded by so many admirers. But 
 I was content to bestow my attentions on Rose Hudson; 
 she's a daisy, — or a rose I should say. If she only had 
 brighter prospects of possessing some of this world's 
 goods, I should not seek further for a Mrs. Wallace 
 Dunlap; but one must be discreet in these days and not 
 allow one's heart to run away with one's head," and he 
 threw back his curly head with the air of an old sage. 
 
 "Yes," said DeVere, "I noticed how charming Miss 
 Dora was looking last evening. She is a beautiful girl, 
 besides being one of the richest heiresses in the city. 
 No wonder she is surrounded by admirers. But I 
 noticed that they all made way when the young western 
 lion approached, and I also noticed the sparkle of wel- 
 come in Miss Dora's blue eyes. How true the old say- 
 ing is ' To him that hath shall be given.' Now here are 
 
FROM OUT OF THE WEST. 
 
 wc four left out in the cold, while in steps this western 
 cowboy — only six weeks in the city — and seems likely 
 to capture our greatest heiress. He ought to be tarred 
 and feathered and sent back to his western home on a 
 rail. I should like to apply the tar. He would get a 
 liberal supply," and DeVere's black eyes snapped. 
 
 " Damn the fellow," exclaimed Graham, striking the 
 table with his fist so forcibly as to make the glasses 
 rattle. "I hate him! Tar and feathers are too good for 
 him. He shall never win the hand and fortune of Dora 
 Hutchinson if I can prevent it. Such a cad as he is, — 
 doesn't drink or play, thinks smoking injurious, and 
 looks reproachful when a fellow swears a little. Bah 
 how I despise him. How I long to humiliate him, to 
 bring him down from his lofty pedestal of virtue. I 
 would give my fortune to be able to break down that 
 calm, sanctimonious superiority of his." 
 
 "Well, don't you attempt it single-handed, is my ad- 
 vice," said Wallace. "He could knock the spots out of 
 you." 
 
 "Aw, yes, he would be a devil of a fellow to tackle, 
 don't you know," drawled Adolphus. 
 
 "I think I could suggest a better way to get at a man 
 of his caliber," said DeVere, in his cool, even tones; 
 "initiate him into city life. He is nothing but an over- 
 grown baby now. He has always lived on a western 
 farm, isolated from the world and its ways. He doesn't 
 play because he doesn't know how. Invite him to take 
 a friendly hand; he will soon learn that to be friendly 
 and a gentleman, he must drink. He only needs an en- 
 couraging hand to guide him. And, mark my words, 
 
FROM OUT OF THE WEST. 
 
 when that calm, even temperament of his once gets 
 aroused, there will be no holding him back. He will 
 drink to the dregs and go to the devil fast enough to suit 
 even you," and DeVere leaned back in his chair with 
 an air of conviction beyond dispute. 
 
 "What I don't like about him," said Adolphus, 
 brushing a speck of dust off his patent leathers, "is his 
 dress. Why, don't you know, his coat last night set 
 better than mine, damned if it didn't. I wonder if he 
 pads his shoulders? It was done mighty well, if he 
 does. I must tell my tailor to put an extra sheet on that 
 left of mine. Doesn't it droop just a trifle, boys ?" and 
 he looked anxiously at them. 
 
 "You're an inch out of plumb," replied Wallace, who 
 laughed heartily as Adolphus rushed to the mirror, 
 consternation on his pale, thin face. 
 
 "Oh, now you're codding me. I wish you wouldn't, 
 don't you know. It makes my heart beat awfully," 
 and he pressed his slender white hands over that region 
 to still its agitation. 
 
 "What you say is sensible enough when applied to 
 any other man but Philip Manning," said Graham, in 
 reply to DeVere's suggestion. "I think he has suffi- 
 cient strength of will to resist all such influences. There 
 is only one way such a man's downfall can be accom- 
 plished, and that is through a woman." 
 
 "I fail to catch your meaning," said DeVere. 
 "Manning is already in love with Miss Hutchinson, 
 and according to appearances she is willing to bestow 
 upon him her heart and hand whenever he asks for 
 them. She would never effect his downfall, and while 
 
FROM OUT OF THE WEST. 
 
 he is in love with her, he is safe from any other woman's 
 charms. So I don't catch the drift of your remarks." 
 
 "Well, this is my meaning. There are temptations 
 that come to a man in so subtle and blind a form, work- 
 ing their spell unknown to their victim, that he uncon- 
 sciously drifts to his doom. Drunken with the perfume 
 of a flower, a strain of music, or a bit of moonshine; a 
 caress from a soft, white arm, a kiss from dewy lips, a 
 gaze into eyes luminous with love, — the blood leaps, 
 and the world is forgotten — all for love." 
 
 "By George, Harold, I never knew you were so 
 poetical before. But what has all this love rapsody got 
 to do with Philip Manning?" asked Wallace. 
 
 "Well, it may mean much, and it may mean little; but 
 I have vowed to crush Philip Manning, if such a thing 
 is possible, and make him an object of scorn in Dora 
 Hutchinson's eyes." 
 
 "Whew, how you do hate that fellow. What has he 
 ever done to you ? I think he is a nice sort of a chap — 
 a trifle slow, to be sure, but I see no occasion for your 
 high tragedy airs toward him." 
 
 "I'll tell you why I hate him," replied Graham, 
 through his teeth. "I love Dora Hutchinson, and be- 
 fore his coming I had every hope of winning her; but 
 since he has entered the field, she has grown cold and 
 indifferent to me, while she bestows her smiles upon 
 this young upstart. Who is he? Who was his father? 
 How did he come by the money he spends so freely? 
 Not a day passes but some act of his sets me in a rage. 
 Only yesterday he bought a horse I was negotiating for. 
 I had not clinched the bargain, and in steps Manning, 
 
FROM OUT OF THE WEST. 
 
 offers an extra hundred, and gets the horse. So he 
 expects to do with Dora Hutchinson; but he shall not 
 have her if I have to move heaven and hell to prevent 
 him." 
 
 "Well, well, you are hard hit," ejaculated Wallace. 
 "Thank the Lord I'm not the kind that takes the 
 disease so hard. I divide my affections among so many 
 that when one goes back on me it doesn't cut so deep; 
 for if one won't, another will. Every Jack has his Jill. 
 Well, ta, ta, old man. I promised the girls I would 
 take them to Martin's. I suppose you will all be there." 
 
 Adolphus arose and, after a farewell glance in the 
 mirror to assure himself that he was in perfect order, 
 joined Wallace and they passed out leaving Graham 
 and DeVere together. 
 
 "I think I understand your meaning now," said 
 DeVere, "but how you are going to accomplish such a 
 scheme, I cannot see quite clearly. Such a siren as your 
 remarks suggest would have no show with Manning. 
 He would put her aside with horror and disgust. I 
 have asked him several times to accompany me back 
 of the scenes at the 'La Favorita,' but he always re- 
 fuses." H 
 
 "I have no settled plans yet," replied Graham; "but 
 I assure you I shall give as much attention and thought 
 to the downfall of Philip Manning as ever did an evan- 
 gelist to the saving of a soul." 
 
CHAPTER II. 
 
 THE WESTERN STRANGER. 
 
 Dora Hutchinson was the beautiful and idolized 
 daughter of wealthy parents. Money had been lavishly 
 spent upon her education and accomplishments. So 
 much adoration would have turned the head of many a 
 young girl; but Dora was unspoiled. She repaid her 
 parents* love and care with a love and devotion equal to 
 their own. She was a queen in society by right of 
 wealth, beauty and accomplishments, with plenty of 
 admirers and would-be lovers, but as yet Dora was fancy 
 free. She had many gentlemen friends, but always 
 adroitly warded off declarations of love. 
 
 Harold Graham had been the nearest approach to a 
 lover. Dora had known him from childhood. The 
 families had always been friendly and Harold seemed 
 almost like a brother; and when on several occasions 
 he had spoken in warmer tones she had not checked 
 him. True, she had heard some stories of wild ways, 
 but all young men must sow their wild oats, she had 
 heard, and Harold Graham seemed no worse than the 
 others. So she gave little credence to the rumors. He 
 was handsome, entertaining and wealthy, of good 
 family and her parents liked him; what more could she 
 wish for? So few love marriages had come under her 
 observation that she doubted their existence outside of 
 novels. Of course, it would be delightful to be in love 
 
 8 
 
FROM OUT OF THE WEST. 
 
 with one's intended husband; but there seemed to be 
 little likelihood of it in her case. She liked many, but 
 loved none. "All nice men, like papa, are married," 
 she said, "and the young men of today don't seem 
 worth having." 
 
 One morning, at the breakfast table, Mr. Hutchinson 
 informed his wife and daughter that he would bring a 
 stranger home to dinner with him, a young man from 
 the West who had brought a letter of introduction from 
 a mutual friend, who had known the young man and 
 his family for years. "He gives him a high recom- 
 mendation, — says he is a model young man, one I need 
 not fear to introduce into any society. So I shall make 
 him acquainted with my family first, then you women 
 folks can take charge of him and see that he is properly 
 passed around," and he laughed and winked at his 
 daughter. 
 
 "Now, papa," cried Dora, in dismay, "you don't 
 know what you are asking. Do you expect me to 
 chaperon a great rough cowboy from the West? I 
 shouldn't wonder if he wore his hair to his shoulders, 
 top-boots, and a belt full of pistols." 
 
 "Now, Dora, I know you don't mean what you say. 
 You are too sensible to believe, as many do, that anyone 
 from the West must necessarily be rough and dress out- 
 landishly. True, I have not seen this young man yet, 
 but I know I can trust my friend who vouches for him 
 and, as I tell you, he gave him a splendid recommenda- 
 tion. He may not be quite up to all the city airs and 
 vices; but he will be a better man for that, in my estima- 
 tion. He has always lived on a farm or ranch, and, I 
 
FROM OUT OF THE WEST. 
 
 imagine, knows little of city life; but it won't take him 
 long to learn. Oh, by the way, I forgot to mention one 
 very important item, you need have no fear but that 
 society will open wide her doors and arms to him — even 
 if he should wear long hair and top-boots, — he is a 
 millionaire. An uncle has died and left him a gold 
 mine and other property. So he will be a prize of the 
 first magnitude." 
 
 "Oh, papa, that changes the task to a delightful 
 pleasure. I do hope he is big and nice looking. It will 
 be way ahead of bringing out a debutante. Just imag- 
 ine how the girls will envy me, — and the jealousy of 
 the men. Oh, it will be such fun," and her eyes 
 sparkled mischievously. 
 
 "You'll have to put a collar and chain on him, or he 
 will get away from you," said her father, with a twinkle 
 in his eye. " He will be besieged by all the matrons with 
 marriageable daughters and by the daughters them- 
 selves." 
 
 "Oh, I shall not try to keep him against his will; I 
 don't think my interest will carry me that far," and she 
 pouted charmingly and frowned at her father, the 
 smiles chasing the frowns away as her father shook his 
 finger at her. 
 
 Mrs. Hutchinson had been a silent listener to the 
 conversation. 
 
 "What is this young man's name?" she now 
 asked. 
 
 "Philip Manning," replied her husband. 
 
 "Well, we will make him welcome. I always feel 
 sorry for anyone who has to go among strangers. How 
 
 10 
 
FROM OUT OF THE WEST. 
 
 long will he remain in the city, and what brings him 
 here?" 
 
 " I believe his uncle left him some real estate here that 
 he wishes to look up." 
 
 Dora selected a carnation from a vase on the table 
 and pinned it on her father's coat. Following him to the 
 door, she said, "I shall be looking forward all day to 
 your return with the Westerner/ ' and she kissed him 
 fondly. Returning to her mother, she began to plan the 
 evening's entertainment for the young stranger. 
 
 "I will ask Harold to stop in and be introduced, and 
 I will also send a note of invitation to the Dunlaps. 
 Others will be sure to drop in, so we will not invite any 
 more, a larger crowd might embarrass him. Besides, 
 I want to see what he is like before I commence my 
 chaperonage. Now I must go and tell Aunt Helen all 
 about it," and away ran Dora up the stairs. 
 
 At her aunt's dcor she knocked softly, and in answer 
 to a gentle voice she entered a large, beautiful room, 
 furnished with taste and elegance. There were four 
 windows; two facing the avenue upon which the house 
 fronted, the other two looking out upon the lovely 
 grounds at thj side of the house. At one of these 
 windows, resting in an invalid's reclining chair, was a 
 pale, delicate woman, Dora's Aunt Helen. For several 
 years she had been confined to her chair or bed with a 
 spinal affection. She was made welcome and happy in 
 her brother's beautiful home by his wife and daughter. 
 Every day brought Dora to her side with fruit and 
 flowers, or a new book, — anything that she thought 
 would give pleasure to the patient invalid. She always 
 
 ii 
 
FROM OUT OF THE WEST. 
 
 came for her aunt's approval when arrayed in her dainty 
 evening dress; and so she came now with her piece of 
 news. 
 
 " I wonder if he is used to society," mused Dora. "I 
 think not, if he has been on a farm all his life. I do hope 
 he is not uncultured and awkward. If he is, I shall 
 not know what to do with him, unless I send him to 
 school," and she laughed merrily. 
 
 " Do not worry, my dear. Just wait and see," said 
 her aunt. 
 
 Dora was anxious to make a favorable impression 
 upon the young stranger and took more time over her 
 toilette that evening than she had ever done for a ball. 
 "How foolish I am," she exclaimed aloud. "I act as 
 though I were going to meet a lover instead of a perfect 
 stranger. I don't understand myself. My heart beats 
 so and I feel nervous. I will go and show myself to 
 auntie; she will sooth me with her sweet, calm way." 
 So she entered her aunt's room and stood before her, a 
 vision of youth and beauty. 
 
 "How lovely you look, my darling," exclaimed her 
 aunt. "I am afraid you are preparing to play sad 
 havoc with the heart of the young Westerner." 
 
 "Now, Aunt Helen, you know better. I want to 
 make a good impression, of course; but he may have 
 left his heart behind him you know." 
 
 " I shall be anxious to hear all about him in the morn- 
 ing, so come up early. I shall be looking for you," and 
 she kissed her niece fondly. 
 
 Dora descended to the drawing room and joined her 
 mother, and soon they heard voices in the hall. Dora's 
 
 12 
 
FROM OUT OF THE WEST. 
 
 heart gave a nervous throb that made her angry with 
 herself; outwardly, however, she was cool and calm. 
 Her father entered, followed by a tall, broad-shouldered 
 young man. Instead of belt and top-boots, he wore the 
 conventional evening dress suit, which fitted his fine 
 form to perfection. His hair was thick and wavy, a 
 rich, dark brown; his eyes were brown; soft and tender 
 like a woman's. The mouth was firm and well formed; 
 the chin broad and full, cleft by a slight dimple; when 
 he smiled and displayed his white, even teeth, one would 
 have called him a fine looking man. To Dora he was a 
 revelation, for she had imagined him so different. She 
 felt shy and embarrassed for the first time in the presence 
 of a gentleman. 
 
 After presenting his wife, Mr. Hutchinson said, "This 
 is my daughter Dora. She will make you acquainted 
 with the young folks, and you will feel at home with us 
 in a short time." 
 
 "I shall be very grateful to Miss Hutchinson," he 
 replied, as he took the little white hand she extended. 
 He seemed perfectly at ease, much more so than Dora, 
 who generally had a piquant answer for her gendemen 
 friends. She murmured some reply, she hardly knew 
 what, when Wallace Dunlap and his sisters were an- 
 nounced. This broke the spell and she was once more 
 her own gracious self, introducing Mr. Manning to her 
 friends. Soon they were all chatting away like old 
 acquaintances. 
 
 Jennie Dunlap seized the first opportunity to say to 
 her friend, "Why, Dora, he is a perfect Apollo. How 
 awfully good of you to ask us over to meet him.- I am 
 
 !3 
 
FROM OUT OF THE WEST. 
 
 just dead in love with him already. Just tell me he is 
 rich and I will bless you." 
 
 "Yes, he is rich, you silly girl," replied Dora, a little 
 impatiently. 
 
 Soon dinner was announced and they proceeded to 
 the dining room. Here, also, Dora noticed, by covert 
 glances, that the western stranger seemed perfectly at 
 home and was familiar with every detail of table eti- 
 quette. She had prepared herself to see him eat with 
 his knife, and perhaps drink from his finger-bowl. 
 
 During the evening there were several callers. All 
 welcomed the young stranger cordially, with the excep- 
 tion of Harold Graham, who looked upon him as an 
 interloper and a possible rival. The evening passed 
 pleasantly with music and gay talk. 
 
 When the guests had all departed, Dora turned to her 
 father and asked, "Why did you not invite Mr. Manning 
 to stop with us?" 
 
 "I did ask him," replied her father, "but he has 
 secured rooms entirely to his satisfaction at the 'Arling- 
 ton* and preferred to go right there. How did you like 
 him, Dora? Did he come up to your expectations?" 
 
 "Well," said Dora, "I must admit he was not at all 
 what I expected. I should never dream he was just 
 from the farm. Where did he get that ease of manner ? 
 I don't understand it," and a little perplexed look ap- 
 peared on her white brow. 
 
 "I think perhaps he may have learned all that by 
 being with his uncle, who was very wealthy and must 
 have moved in good society. He lived in Chicago, 
 you know." 
 
FROM OUT OF THE WEST. 
 
 " Oh, that accounts for it," said Dora, her face clear- 
 ing. " I never thought of that. He is going to ride with 
 mamma and me tomorrow. We are going to show him 
 the city, and in the evening he will go with us to Mrs. 
 Bradley's reception. After that he will have invitations 
 enough to keep him going. His good looks and his 
 wealth will make him quite an attraction. I shall not 
 have charge of him very long," and she sighed un- 
 consciously. 
 
 That night in the privacy of their own room, Mr. 
 Hutchinson said to his wife, "How did you like the 
 young man from the West?" 
 
 "I took a decided fancy to him," she replied. "He 
 impresses one as being so manly and upright. I should 
 be proud of a son like him." 
 
 "There, Mary, you have hit the nail on the head. 
 That is my opinion exactly. He would be a son to be 
 proud of, and why not? Perhaps he may be some 
 day, if all goes well." 
 
 "Oh, I did not mean that," said Mrs. Hutchinson, 
 in a somewhat startled voice. 
 
 "Well," said Mr. Hutchinson, emphatically, "if I 
 like that young man on further acquaintance as well as 
 I do now, he shall be my son whenever he wants to." 
 
 "I always thought you favored Harold Graham," 
 replied his wife. 
 
 "I am not so sure that Harold is good enough for our 
 Dora. I hear a good many stories about his wild ways. 
 I won't have her marry anyone who is likely to make 
 her miserable, money or no money. Dora will probably 
 shape things to suit herself. We have always allowed 
 
 i5 
 
FROM OUT OF THE WEST. 
 
 her to have her own way and she has never gone against 
 our wishes yet; so we will trust to her good sense to 
 select a proper husband." 
 
 ro 
 
CHAPTER in. 
 
 FIRST IMPRESSIONS. 
 
 The next morning Dora sought her Aunt Helen's 
 room at a much earlier hour than was her custom, so 
 eager was she to tell her about the young stranger. 
 Aunt Helen was as interested to hear as Dora was to 
 tell. So, seated on a low stool, her arms resting on her 
 aunt's lap, her lovely face lit up with animation and 
 pleasure, Dora related every event of the previous 
 evening, from the moment Manning entered the room 
 with her father to his pleasant * Good night." 
 
 Aunt Helen watched the young girPs face, and drew 
 her own conclusions, as she saw the blue eyes sparkle 
 and the lovely flush upon the dimpled cheeks, as she 
 described the young stranger with more enthusiasm than 
 she had ever seen her exhibit about any other gentleman. 
 
 11 1 shall be anxious to see him," said her aunt. " You 
 must bring him to call on me soon. I sincerely hope he 
 will be all he appears to be on so short an acquaintance. 
 Be careful, my darling; don't get too deeply interested 
 in the handsome young Westerner until you have proved 
 him to be pure gold." 
 
 "Now, auntie," cried Dora, with a blush and a pout, 
 "you talk as though I were going to fall right in love 
 with him, just because he is handsome and interesting. 
 I guess I have seen handsome men before, and not lost 
 my heart either." 
 
 i7 
 
FROM OUT OF THE WEST. 
 
 "Well, well, my darling, I have known such cases as 
 love at first sight, and it's all right, nothing to be 
 ashamed of; only I am so anxious that the man who 
 wins my Dora's heart shall be the right one and no 
 mistake." 
 
 Dora laughed and sprang to her feet. " I must leave 
 you now, Aunt Helen. I expect Mr. Manning will 
 make us an early call, and I have some new music I wish 
 to practice. I will run in again before we go to drive," 
 and gaily kissing her hand to her aunt, she skipped out 
 of the room, followed by the loving glance of the invalid. 
 
 Dora possessed a sweet soprano voice and always 
 devoted some portion of the morning to practice. Her 
 clear young voice was particularly joyous this morning 
 as she trilled and warbled the new piece Harold had 
 brought her last evening, and the time passed quickly. 
 She had intended to make a charming toilette before 
 Mr. Manning should call, but what was her dismay 
 when the door was thrown open and Mr. Manning an- 
 nounced. She did not know how charming and girlish 
 she looked in her dainty white morning dress and her 
 golden hair simply coiled and held with a pearl comb. 
 
 She arose in some confusion, but Philip advanced 
 with ease, his face lit up with pleasure, and begged she 
 would keep her seat and continue to sing. 
 
 "I heard you singing as I came in, and instead of 
 stopping in the drawing room to await your coming, I 
 asked the footman to show me to the music room. I 
 hope you will pardon me. My only excuse is that I 
 am very fond of music, and nothing would give me 
 greater pleasure than to listen to you." 
 
 18 
 
FROM OUT OF THE WEST. 
 
 How young, almost boyish, he looked this morning; 
 his complexion was so fresh, his soft brown eyes so 
 bright and sparkling. How different from the languid, 
 young city dudes with their sallow skin and bleared 
 eyes. This young man looked like a young Apollo, 
 fresh from a bath of mountain dew. Dora noticed the 
 difference, and her heart beat with admiration and 
 pleasure. His coming was like a draught of new wine, 
 exhilarating and life-giving. Dora was conscious of a 
 desire to clasp her arms about his strong white neck and 
 welcome him with a kiss. 
 
 With an almost hysterical laugh, she sank into her 
 chair and, controlling her strange emotion, asked if he 
 could sing. 
 
 "Yes, I sing a little," he replied, "but I am not up 
 to date. All the songs I know are old-fashioned ballads, 
 college glees, and hymns." 
 
 He was so frank and unconventional, this young man 
 from the West, that Dora felt she must have known him 
 all her life. They were soon singing and enjoying them- 
 selves as only two young, happy, congenial people can. 
 Philip had a fine baritone that blended harmoniously 
 with Dora's sweet voice. True, she had to guide and 
 correct him many times, as he was not familiar with the 
 music she sang. They laughed over the blunders and 
 tried again. The brown wavy hair bent over the golden 
 head, blue eyes and brown exchanging merry glances. 
 The warm, morning light shone into the room, gilding 
 all with its golden rays. The breath of roses perfumed 
 the air, and two young hearts melted and glowed with 
 love's first passion. 
 
 19 
 
FROM OUT OF THE WEST. 
 
 After lunch Mrs. Hutchinson entertained the guest, 
 while Dora arrayed herself in a charming carriage 
 costume. As the carriage was brought to the door Aunt 
 Helen pressed her pale cheeks against the window pane, 
 and watched eagerly as Philip Manning handed her 
 beautiful niece into the stylish turnout, and then 
 tenderly helped the mother. "How handsome he is," 
 she thought, "how strong and tender he looks. How 
 safe and secure one would feel in such arms. Oh, to be 
 young and strong! What happiness!" She leaned 
 back in her chair, and the tears stole down her pale 
 cheeks. 
 
 How Dora enjoyed that ride. She met many friends 
 and acquaintances, and noted the glances of inquiry and 
 admiration directed toward the handsome young 
 stranger at her side. She felt much as the mother duck 
 must have felt when she found her ugly duckling 
 changed into a beautiful swan. Her western cowboy 
 had changed into a prince, and she was very happy. 
 
 Harold Graham passed their carriage. A stiff bow was 
 all he vouchsafed to Manning, and a look of reproach 
 and anger was mingled with the obsequious bow he gave 
 Dora. Glancing up, and catching the quizzical, laugh- 
 ing glance in Philip's eyes, she blushed -and averted 
 her face. 
 
 After they had left the young man at his hotel Mrs. 
 Hutchinson was very profuse in her expressions of liking 
 for Mr. Manning, and she sang his praises all the way 
 home. Dora only responded with smiles, but there 
 was a tender light in her blue eyes that had never been 
 there before. 
 
 
 20 
 
FROM OUT OF THE WEST. 
 
 Soon after returning home, Dora went to her aunt's 
 room. "Did you see him, auntie?" she enquired, 
 eagerly. "How did you like him? Don't you think 
 him handsome?" 
 
 Aunt Helen took the sweet face between her hands 
 and kissed it tenderly. She gazed down deep into the 
 blue eyes, and what she saw there made her sigh and 
 exclaim, "God bless you, my child!" 
 
 That evening Dora looked very lovely in her evening 
 dress of white silk, trimmed with chiffon, in which 
 nestled violets as blue as her eyes. She wore no jewels, 
 only violets crowned her hair, and nestled on her snowy 
 bosom. 
 
 As she entered the drawing room, where Philip 
 Manning awaited her, she quite startled him with her 
 beauty. He gazed upon her as though she was an 
 apparition from some remote sphere of which he had no 
 knowledge. This morning she had been a sweet, 
 simple girl who had sung his heart away; in the after- 
 noon she had been a very stylish young lady, of whom 
 he had been somewhat in awe ; but this beautiful vision 
 in white, that stood before him now, must surely be a 
 creature from some celestial sphere, not of earth, 
 earthy. 
 
 Dora smiled and blushed, as she read the admiration 
 in his fervent glance. "How do I look? Will I pass 
 in the crowd?" she asked, merrily. 
 
 "You look like an angel," he cried, in his boyish, im- 
 pulsive way. 
 
 "Oh fie! Mr. Manning, angels don't go to recep- 
 tions." 
 
 ai 
 
FROM OUT OF THE WEST. 
 
 "Now, Miss Hutchinson, I am going to ask you the 
 same question you did me. How do I look? Will I 
 pass in the crowd ? You know I am only a backwoods- 
 man, and have never been in society much. Have I 
 everything in regulation trim ? Is there anything lack- 
 ing? Tell me honestly, am I all right?" 
 
 He spoke so anxiously and so seriously that Dora 
 laughed aloud. "Well, Mr. Manning, I cannot call 
 you an angel as you did me; but I assure you that you 
 have nothing to fear so far as personal appearance goes. 
 The only thing I see lacking is a boutonniere, and I can 
 supply that." 
 
 She took a little bunch of violets from her belt and 
 pinned them upon his coat. He felt like kissing the 
 little white hands, that hovered so near his face. She 
 did not raise her eyes while she performed this office, 
 but when she had finished, she stepped back and sur- 
 veyed her work with great satisfaction. 
 
 It is needless to say that Philip Manning was the lion 
 of the evening. His handsome face and fine form, to- 
 gether with the report of his great wealth, were a suffi- 
 cient passport. Society received him with open arms. 
 He was just a trifle embarrassed at so much adulation, 
 as he was unaccustomed to it. He had not been a rich 
 man long enough yet to get used to the homage wealth 
 brings. 
 
 Dora noticed with pardonable pleasure that when 
 separated from her by the crowd, or surrounded by 
 people anxious to make the acquaintance of the western 
 millionaire, his eyes would turn toward her wistfully, 
 and as soon as he could get away, he would steal back 
 
 22 
 
FROM OUT OF THE WEST. 
 
 to her side; and she always welcomed him with a smile. 
 
 "Why are you not dancing?" she inquired once. 
 " Shall I introduce you to some pretty girls?" 
 
 "No, pray don't," he implored; "I cannot dance. 
 My education in that line has been sadly neglected." 
 
 "You mean to say that you cannot dance!" Dora ex- 
 claimed, with wide-opened eyes of astonishment. "I 
 thought everybody danced — that is, I mean all young 
 people." 
 
 "No, I cannot dance," he replied, with such a crest- 
 fallen air that Dora laughed. 
 
 "Don't look so woful," she said. "It is no crime 
 not to know how to dance. You can learn now. I will 
 teach you." 
 
 "That would be delightful," he replied, brightening 
 up, "but I should never want to dance with anyone but 
 my teacher." 
 
 "Oh, you could not do that," said Dora, laughing. 
 
 "Then I won't learn," he persisted. " But seriously, 
 Miss Hutchinson, I never thought I should care to 
 dance. It looks silly to me, to see folks hopping about 
 pulling each other around, getting hot, and stepping on 
 dresses. I think I shall be contented to look on." 
 
 "Now, Mr. Manning, that is the first foolish speech I 
 have heard you make. Good dancers do not pull each 
 other around; it is a very graceful accomplishment. I 
 love to dance, and I am sure I don't do that way." 
 
 "No, I know you wouldn't, but most of the others 
 do." 
 
 Dora had to laugh at his persistence. "Then you 
 won't learn to dance?" she asked. 
 
 2 3 
 
FROM OUT OF THE WEST. 
 
 "Yes, I'll learn, if you will teach me, but I will only 
 dance with you. 11 
 
 "Well, I don't know as I shall agree to that, but we 
 will discuss the question at some future day. Perhaps 
 you will change your mind." 
 
 Just at that moment Harold Graham claimed her 
 hand for the next dance, and as she left Philip's side 
 she whispered, mischievously, "Watch now and see if 
 Mr. Graham tears my dress." 
 
CHAPTER IV. 
 
 AN OFFER OF MARRIAGE. 
 
 At the breakfast table the next morning, the party 
 of the previous evening was duly discussed. 
 
 "And how did our young friend enjoy himself ?" 
 asked Mr. Hutchinson. 
 
 "I don't think Mr. Manning cares particularly for 
 society," replied Dora; "and really, papa, although I 
 enjoyed myself very much last evening, there were many 
 things done and said that would shock one not accus- 
 tomed to them. Take for one thing, the quantity of wine 
 and champagne drunk at the supper table by the young 
 men; it is scandalous, and so befuddles what little brains 
 they have that they make fools of themselves all the 
 rest of the evening. I think my attention was more 
 especially drawn to this habit last evening by the ex- 
 pression of amazement and disgust on Mr. Manning's 
 face. He was assailed on all sides to fill up his glass, 
 but I noticed he drank only water." 
 
 "I am glad to hear it," said Mr. Hutchinson. "I 
 am glad there is one young man who can attend a dinner 
 without making a guzzler of himself." 
 
 "I feel sorry for Wallace Dunlap," continued Dora. 
 "He is so bright and witty and would be so nice if he 
 did not drink so much. He was on the verge of in- 
 toxication last night, and talked so boisterously and 
 roughly that Edith was terribly mortified. Jennie did 
 
 2 5 
 
FROM OUT OF THE WEST. 
 
 not seem to care. She only laughed and said Wallace 
 was having a good time. I wish some one would 
 talk to him. I believe I will do it myself, if no one else 
 does," and she laughed at the idea. 
 
 "I think if you girls showed more plainly that you 
 disliked this excessive drinking, there would be less of 
 it," said her father. 
 
 "One dislikes to talk temperance and get laughed at," 
 replied Dora; "but if I had a brother like Wallace, I 
 should turn temperance orator quickly enough. Now 
 I am going upstairs to tell auntie all about the party. 
 Dear, patient soul, she enjoys my telling her so 
 much; she says it is the next best thing to being 
 there." 
 
 Dora went to her aunt's room and was soon relating 
 bits of last night's gaiety. 
 
 " Mr. Graham is in the drawing room and wishes to 
 see Miss Dora," announced the maid. 
 
 " Oh, dear, I don't want to go down. I was going to 
 have a nice long talk with you, auntie," and Dora 
 shrugged her shoulders impatiently. 
 
 "I thought Harold was always welcome, my dear," 
 said Aunt Helen. "You can come and see me again 
 after he has gone." 
 
 "Oh, I like Harold well enough, when he doesn't try 
 to make love to me. He is a very pleasant friend, but 
 I don't want him for a lover." 
 
 "Well, my child, be sure you know your own heart. 
 Don't be fickle and bring sorrow into anyone's life. 
 Playing with human hearts is a fashionable pastime, I 
 know, but it is crueL" 
 
 26 
 
FROM OUT OF THE WEST. 
 
 11 Why, Aunt Helen, how seriously you speak, just as 
 though I were going to do Mr. Graham some great 
 injury. I am sure I am not fickle. I like him as well 
 as ever, except when he talks nonsense." 
 
 "I have heard you say you liked Harold Graham 
 better than any other gentleman you knew; and 
 other remarks have led me to believe that when 
 he asked you to be his wife (as I know he intends 
 to do) you would not refuse him. What has changed 
 your mind?" and Aunt Helen looked keenly at her 
 niece. 
 
 Dora blushed in evident confusion. "Now, auntie, 
 if I ever made any such remarks, it must have been 
 just after he had been particularly nice, or had brought 
 me a new supply of music. I am very sure I never 
 thought seriously of marrying him. Well, I suppose I 
 must go down," and she arose reluctantly, passed 
 slowly from the room, and as slowly descended the 
 stairs. She knew what he had come for; he wanted to 
 criticise the young man from the West. He would say 
 sharp, sarcastic things, and she would probably lose her 
 temper defending him. 
 
 When she entered the room, Harold was seated at the 
 piano, turning the leaves of some new music, and hum- 
 ming a bar now and then. He arose as she entered and 
 came forward to greet her, looking so smiling and hand- 
 some that Dora was disarmed at once, and returned his 
 greeting with a smile of welcome. 
 
 They spent some time in singing and discussing the 
 music; then the conversation drifted to society and their 
 mutual friends and acquaintances. 
 
 27 
 
FROM OUT OF THE WEST. 
 
 "How did you enjoy the reception last evening?" he 
 inquired. 
 
 "Oh, splendidly!" said Dora. "I don't know when 
 I have enjoyed myself so well." 
 
 "One reason, I suppose," said Harold, "was the 
 novelty of introducing the cowboy. Didn't you feel as 
 if you had an elephant tied to your apron strings ? He 
 seemed afraid to leave your side for any length of time." 
 
 Dora blushed with vexation. "Now, Harold, you 
 know Mr. Manning is no cowboy, and I am not in the 
 habit of wearing aprons to parties. I flatter myself that 
 Mr. Manning stayed by my side because he enjoyed my 
 society, and for no other reason. Everyone I introduced 
 him to seemed charmed with him." 
 
 "Charmed with his money, you mean, Dora. If he 
 were a poor man, he could never stand the ridicule his 
 uncouth western manners would bring upon him." 
 
 "I don't understand what you mean by his uncouth 
 manners," said Dora, with spirit. "I could see no 
 difference between his manners and those of other 
 gentlemen, except he did not drink six glasses of cham- 
 pagne like Wallace Dunlap, who could not talk or walk 
 straight after supper." 
 
 " No, he doesn't drink, he doesn't smoke, he doesn't 
 dance, and he doesn't swear. He is a model young 
 man. I suppose he can sing hymns and teach a 
 Sunday School class. But, as I say, without his 
 money, he would be considered a milksop in society." 
 
 "There is plenty of time for him to learn all the ac- 
 complishments you speak of," said Dora, coolly, "but I 
 doubt if it would make him a better man." 
 
 28 
 
FROM OUT OF THE WEST. 
 
 "Well, it makes very little difference to me whether 
 he be a saint or a sinner, so long as you do not get in- 
 terested in him, Dora." 
 
 "But I am interested in him already. I think he is 
 the most interesting man I ever met," and Dora smiled 
 mischievously. 
 
 "Dora, how long have we been friends?" asked 
 Harold, in a meditative tone. 
 
 "Why, for years," replied Dora, surprised at the 
 question. 
 
 "Yes, we have been friends for years. Don't you 
 think, Dora, that we ought to be something nearer and 
 dearer to each other in the future ? " 
 
 Dora looked up with startled eyes, and raised her 
 hand as though to expostulate. Harold arose and came 
 to her side, taking the little white hand in his, and said 
 in a tender tone, "You know that I love you, Dora, and 
 have always thought of you as my future wife. Our 
 parents are friendly and would gladly give their consent 
 to our union. Tell me, Dora, when will you be my 
 wife, and make me the happiest of men?" and he 
 bent his handsome head to look into her averted 
 face. 
 
 She sprang to her feet and drew away from him, say- 
 ing, "Oh, Harold, I am so sorry! I like you so much, 
 but I do not love you well enough to be your wife." 
 
 "What do you mean, Dora? Not be my wife after 
 encouraging me for years! You cannot mean it! I 
 have always thought you knew my feelings toward you 
 and reciprocated my love. You cannot refuse me, 
 Dora!" His face was pale and pleading. 
 
 29 
 
FROM OUT OF THE WEST. 
 
 "Don't, Harold, don't," she cried. "I want to be 
 just good friends with you as we have always been, but 
 I cannot marry you." 
 
 " Dora, I shall not take this answer as decisive," ex- 
 claimed Harold, pacing the floor in his agitation. "I 
 do not understand you, for you have certainly led me 
 to suppose that when I asked you t6 be my wife, you 
 would not say no to my suit. Our parents expect it, 
 society expects it, and I will not accept your refusal. 
 Think of what I have said, Dora; try and learn to love 
 me, for I shall ask you again some day and shall expect 
 a different answer." 
 
 " I am sure that it will be of no use," said Dora. " If 
 I do not love you now after years of friendship, how can 
 I expect to in the future?" 
 
 "lam willing to take you without love, Dora. Your 
 friendship will be more to me than any other woman's 
 love. All I ask is, will you be my wife?" 
 
 "No, Harold, it cannot be," she answered, firmly. 
 
 "Well, then, I shall have to wait until I can win you, 
 for I shall never give you up. 
 
 "Mr. Philip Manning," announced the footman. 
 
 Harold hastily seized his hat and gloves and passed 
 from the room, giving Philip a frigid bow as they met at 
 the door. 
 
 3° 
 
CHAPTER V. 
 
 THE "COW 
 
 As Philip entered the drawing room, he perceived at 
 once that something had disturbed Dora, although she 
 tried to hide her agitation and arose, with a forced smile 
 of welcome. It embarrassed Philip, but he came for- 
 ward, in his frank, impulsive way and said, "I am sorry 
 to have intruded. I will go away and call some other 
 time. You are tired after last night's dissipation." He 
 turned to leave, but Dora called him back. 
 
 "You are not intruding, Mr. Manning, I am glad you 
 came. Mr. Graham and I are such old friends that we 
 feel privileged to disagree at times," and she laughed 
 nervously. 
 
 "A lover's quarrel," thought Philip, and he was con- 
 scious of a pang at his heart that made him very un- 
 happy. The sight of Harold Graham's angry face and 
 Dora's agitation had changed the sunlight into darkness 
 and made him heartsick. His tender brown eyes looked 
 so sad and wistful that Dora laughingly exclaimed: 
 "Mr. Manning, do you know that you have a very ex- 
 pressive face? Just now you look as sorry for me as 
 though I had lost all my friends. Now, if you truly wish 
 to sympathize with me and wish to dispel my gloom, sit 
 down and tell me something interesting; tell me about 
 your home in the West — are your parents living ? — have 
 you brothers and sisters ? Didn't they hate to have you 
 
 3i 
 
FROM OUT OF THE WEST. 
 
 leave them?" Manning's face brightened up; she 
 wanted him to stay, and he was quite willing. 
 
 "I am afraid the story of my life would be of little 
 interest to you," he said. "I cannot tell you of grand 
 receptions like the one we attended last evening. You 
 know I have been only a plain, country farmer until 
 lately, with neither money nor time to mingle much with 
 society." 
 
 " I don't care to hear of society doings. I see enough 
 of society in my own life; but if you would not think it 
 impertinent of me, I should love to hear of your life on 
 a western farm, and how it affected you to realize that 
 you were no longer poor, but a rich man." 
 
 He laughed and brushed back the thick, wavy hair 
 from his brow. "Well, you know, it was not altogether 
 a surprise. I had always known I was Uncle George's 
 favorite; but he was eccentric and never talked much 
 of his affairs. I expected to be remembered generously, 
 but I did not expect he would leave me his entire fortune. 
 My only regret is that he had not been more generous 
 during his life- time; but the fact is, he did not take a 
 fancy to poor old dad. It irritated him to see things so 
 shiftless at the farm. My mother was an invalid for 
 years, and dad was a dreamer. He would roam about 
 the woods discovering and exulting in the mysteries of 
 nature, while the broken fence let the cattle out. But 
 one could not be angry with him; he was always so sweet 
 and amiable. When I grew old enough to be of any 
 use, the burden gradually rolled upon my young shoul- 
 ders, and as I grew older, I had to assume the entire 
 management of the farm and care for three helpless ones. 
 
 32 
 
FROM OUT OF THE WEST. 
 
 My sister, Josie, seven years younger than myself, 
 proved of great help, but her work was in the house, 
 while mine was out of doors." 
 
 " Where is your sister now?" asked Dora, her face 
 aglow with interest. 
 
 " She is at school. She will graduate soon. Then I 
 hope to have her with me." 
 
 "How can your father and mother endure your ab- 
 sence, when you have been their staff and dependence 
 for years?" 
 
 The young man's face clouded, and his eyes grew sad 
 and humid with tears. "My mother died last spring, 
 in the month of May, and dear old dad roams the woods 
 at his own sweet will. It is very hard for the poor old 
 man with us all gone, but he is not one to fret. He will 
 be happy and content under any circumstances. I shall 
 make a home for him as soon as possible. I shall get 
 some place in the suburbs near a park or woods. Dad 
 wouldn't be happy without the wild flowers and birds. 
 I know he is well cared for. Mrs. Croft, the house- 
 keeper, has been with us for years. She understands all 
 his whims and fancies. She will take as good care of 
 him as she would a child." 
 
 "I should love to meet your father," said Dora, "I 
 know he must be a very lovable old man. I always 
 liked old men. I can imagine him telling fairy tales 
 and legends of long ago." 
 
 " Yes, you would like dad; every one does who knows 
 him." 
 
 "You say your mother was an invalid," continued 
 Dora. " I have an aunt who is an invalid. She never 
 
 33 
 
FROM OUT OF THE WEST. 
 
 leaves her room, and before you tell me of your 
 mother, I want to take you to her. She would be so 
 interested to hear of some other invalid. Come," she 
 said, "we will go to Aunt Helen's room." 
 
 He followed her up the broad stairway and was 
 ushered into a bright, sunny room, and introduced to 
 the pale-faced woman in the reclining chair. She gave 
 him a thin, white hand, and greeted him in her sweet, 
 gracious way. 
 
 "Mr. Manning has been telling me of his home life 
 in the West. He says his mother was an invalid for 
 years, and I knew you would be so interested to hear of 
 her that I brought him up to tell us about her." 
 
 "That was right, my dear. I am as you say, inter- 
 ested in the lives of humanity. God has blessed me 
 abundantly; for although an invalid shut away from 
 the world, I have a beautiful home, loving friends, and 
 a dear niece who brings the sunshine of her glad, young 
 life to my room daily with news from the outside world. 
 I am blest indeed," and she laid her hand lovingly on 
 Dora's head. 
 
 Dora kissed the hand and gazed affectionately into 
 her aunt's face, while Philip Manning thought he had 
 never looked upon so lovely a picture. 
 
 "The story of my mother's life would interest but 
 few," he said, "it was so quiet and uneventful. She 
 was a minister's daughter and one of the sweetest of 
 Christian characters. Uncle George was five years older 
 than mother, and of an entirely different disposition. 
 The restraint of the quiet parsonage was more than he 
 could bear, and at an early age he went into the busy 
 
 34 
 
FROM OUT OF THE WEST. 
 
 world to seek his fame and fortune. The latter he 
 found. He wrote for his sister to come and take charge 
 of his beautiful home, but she would not leave her 
 father. Just before her father's death, she married my 
 father, at that time a professor in a college. His health 
 failed and he was obliged to resign the chair. My uncle 
 then gave them a farm; but father was no farmer, al- 
 though he delighted in country life. When Josie was 
 about five years of age, my mother was thrown from her 
 horse and received injuries that confined her to her bed 
 for the rest of her life. 
 
 "I shall never forget that day. I opened the gate 
 for mother. As she passed out, she kissed her hand to 
 me, and I thought how beautiful she looked. She was 
 a fine horsewoman and rode almost daily. That day 
 she wore a dark green habit, trimmed with dark green 
 braid. Her cheeks were flushed with health, and her 
 dark, wavy hair blew in ripples and stray curls about 
 her face. When next I saw her, she lay unconscious 
 with white face and bloodless lips, and her pretty hair 
 cut short. I shrieked so they hurried me from the room 
 and would not let me see her again for several days, 
 although I sat constantly at the door of her room and 
 begged all who passed in or out to let me see her. I 
 would obey no one but dad. For his sake, I would try 
 to stifle my grief and eat a little or go to my room, but 
 as soon as he was out of sight, I was back at my post 
 again. Josie was too young to realize our calamity, 
 and played and laughed as usual in spite of my re- 
 monstrances. 
 
 "At last, my mother bade them let me come to her. 
 
 35 
 
FROM OUT OF THE WEST. 
 
 Her first words were, ' God has been very good to us, 
 my son ! ■ I gazed at her in amazement. It had seemed 
 to me that God had allowed a great disaster to fall upon 
 us. She smiled at my puzzled face. 'He has not let 
 me die, and I do not suffer much. Don't you think he 
 is good to spare me a little longer? Although I may 
 never be able to walk, I shall be among you, and do not 
 want to leave my loved ones yet.' I flung my arms 
 around her, my rebellious heart soothed by her loving 
 words. 
 
 "Uncle George visited us soon after hearing of his 
 sister's accident. I became a great favorite with him, 
 and often visited him in his beautiful city home. He 
 never married. I fancy there must have been a romance 
 in his early life, for after his death I found a young girl's 
 picture among other mementoes in a little cabinet. He 
 had a beautiful home that any lady might have been 
 proud to preside over. Poor Uncle George!" 
 
 The two women had listened eagerly to his story, 
 hardly removing their eyes from his face, and when he 
 spoke of his mother's accident and his own grief, the 
 tears had flowed down Dora's cheeks. 
 
 A little clock chimed the hour, and Manning sprang 
 to his feet in dismay. " You must pardon me," he cried. 
 "I had no idea it was so late. I hope I have not in- 
 terfered with any of your engagements." 
 
 "No, I assure you," said Dora, "I have been so in- 
 terested in your story, that I have not been conscious of 
 passing time. I appreciate your kindness in telling us 
 of your parents and home, and I should like to ask you 
 a good many questions about your sister Josie. Perhaps 
 
 36 
 
FROM OUT OF THE WEST. 
 
 some time you will tell me about her. But, come, there 
 is the bell for lunch. I have detained you so long, you 
 must stay to lunch with us." 
 
 After they left the room, Aunt Helen leaned back in 
 her chair with closed eyes, and murmured, "A good 
 son makes a good husband." 
 
 37 
 
CHAPTER VI. 
 
 All was commotion and excitement at the Dunlap 
 residence. It was the birthday of Edith, the elder 
 daughter, and the event was to be celebrated by an 
 elaborate dinner. "I wish we might do something un- 
 usual to-night, something unique, to stamp the event on 
 everyone's memory as a red letter night. But I cannot 
 think of anything; can you, Wallace ?" and Edith 
 turned to her brother. 
 
 "No," he replied, "only have the wine good, and all 
 will be satisfied." 
 
 "All you think about is wine, Wallace Dunlap. You 
 ought to be ashamed of yourself," replied Edith, in- 
 dignantly. 
 
 "I don't see anything to be ashamed of in being a 
 good judge of wine." 
 
 "I don't care how much wine you drink, so long as 
 you don't make a fool of yourself as you did the other 
 night at Bradley's. I was ashamed of you." 
 
 "I acknowledge I did rather overdo it that night, but 
 it won't happen again, so don't be hard on a fellow," 
 and he looked so penitent and handsome that his sister 
 smiled indulgently. 
 
 Jennie, the younger sister, had been seated at a 
 window, idly gazing out upon the scenery, while the 
 above conversation was taking place between her 
 
 38 
 
FROM OUT OF THE WEST. 
 
 brother and sister. Now she came forward and said: 
 "I have been thinking while you two have been quarrel- 
 ling, and I believe I have a unique idea for you." 
 
 "What is it?" Edith exclaimed, while Wallace raised 
 himself on his elbow to listen. 
 
 "Well," said Jennie, "it is this, — get papa's consent 
 to open some of "The Royal Seal," and we will drink 
 your health in a nectar fit for the gods. Papa shall tell 
 us the story of how the wine came into his possession — 
 how every drop is worth a gold dollar." 
 
 "Say, that would be fine!" cried Wallace, springing 
 from his reclining posture, his eyes sparkling, "but I am 
 afraid you cannot get the governor's consent. You 
 know he is as jealous of that wine as a miser is of his 
 gold." 
 
 "No," said Edith, shaking her head, "he would not 
 let us have it. You know the last bottle was opened 
 on papa's wedding day, and I have heard him say that 
 not another one should be opened until the wedding 
 day of one of his children." 
 
 "I guess I shall have to hurry up my wedding day, 
 if that is so," laughed Wallace. "'The Royal Seal' 
 would be nearly as tempting as the bride herself." 
 
 "I think I can get papa's consent," said Jennie. "I 
 am going to try. Wish me good luck!" and she ran 
 out of the room. 
 
 Wallace and Edith waited anxiously for her return. 
 It was nearly an hour before she came back. When 
 she did come, they knew she had won the day by the 
 triumphant expression upon her face. She threw her- 
 self into a chair with a laugh. " I am all tired out. I had 
 
 39 
 
FROM OUT OF THE WEST. 
 
 hard work to coax papa. At first, he said, ' No ' emphat- 
 ically, but I persevered and brought up every argument 
 to induce him to yield. I told him what an addition it 
 would be to our feast. At last, he consented to let us 
 have four bottles. There are only two dozen left." 
 
 "You're a trump, Jennie !" said Wallace, admiringly. 
 "I don't believe Edith or I could have got around the 
 pater. We will have him tell the legend, DeVere offer 
 the toast, and Graham respond, while Edith cuts and 
 bestows upon us the famous birthday cake." 
 
 "You seem to take it upon yourself to do all the 
 planning," said Edith. "I should think it was your 
 birthday party instead of mine." 
 
 " Oh, I am only helping you out. If it were not for 
 Jennie and me, your party would be a failure. Isn't 
 that so, Jennie?" and he caught his young sister about 
 the waist and began waltzing around the room. 
 
 That evening the mansion was aglow with lights. A 
 profusion of flowers, beautiful costumes, and flashing 
 jewels, with the sweet strains of music from the ball 
 room, completed the scene. The long spacious dining 
 room was a marvel of beauty. Flowers and ferns were 
 banked in every available recess. The long table, 
 glittering with its display of silver and cut glass, was 
 lighted by three great chandeliers, depending from 
 the ceiling, containing hundreds of tiny jets, shining 
 through different colored globes. In the center of the 
 table stood the birthday cake, a marvel of culinary art, 
 surrounded by a bank of roses and ferns. The birthday 
 book lay at its side, wherein each one present was ex- 
 pected to write his name, adding any sentiment, rhyme 
 
FROM OUT OF THE WEST. 
 
 or original thought, that seemed appropriate to the 
 occasion. 
 
 Edith, the young hostess, looked very pretty and 
 stylish as she led the way to the table. What a merry 
 group they were! How repartee and wit flashed forth, 
 bright eyes sparkled, and red lips smiled! 
 
 Dora was there, beautiful as a dream in her fleecy 
 robe, that seemed composed of but two things, billows 
 of lace and flowers. 
 
 Philip Manning, sitting opposite, could not keep his 
 eyes from devouring her loveliness. He tried to keep 
 them upon his plate, or upon others; but the sound of 
 her voice or a ripple of laughter from her red lips drew 
 them back again like a magnet. 
 
 Dora and several others had noticed that while other 
 plates were surrounded by a medley of glasses, filled with 
 different wines and liquors, Manning's were all turned 
 down, save the one which contained water. Harold 
 Graham, who was seated by Dora's side, whispered 
 with a sneer, "A teetotaller." Dora flushed, but made 
 no reply. 
 
 As the feast was nearing its close, DeVere attracted 
 attention by rising and saying, "Ladies and gentlemen, 
 I wish to announce that we are to be highly honored 
 tonight, by being allowed to taste of a famous old wine, 
 called 'The Royal Seal.' It is over one hundred years 
 old, and was made by royal hands. How this wine 
 came into the possession of our host, he himself 
 will tell you," and DeVere sat down, while a pleased 
 murmur of interest and approbation went around the 
 table. 
 
 4* 
 
FROM OUT OF THE WEST. 
 
 Mr. Dunlap arose, cleared his throat and said, "My 
 dear friends, this is a duty thrust upon me. I am no 
 speech maker, and I can only tell you the legend of 'The 
 Royal Seal' as it has been told to me: A great many 
 years ago a poor peasant was condemned to be executed 
 with a number of other malefactors. He begged so 
 hard to be permitted to speak with the king that they at 
 last granted his request, thinking perhaps he might 
 have some secret or valuable communication to make. 
 He was brought before the king. He demanded a 
 private audience, and when this was granted, he amazed 
 the king by simply asking him if he loved good wine. 
 'Of course I do,' replied the king, 'but what has that 
 to do with you?' 'Well,' said the peasant, 'I possess 
 a recipe, unknown to any other soul, for making a wine 
 of such rich and delicious flavor that all who drink once 
 would sell their souls for another drink. Another vir- 
 tue, it will exhilarate, but not intoxicate. No head- 
 aches or bad feelings follow its indulgence. Instead, 
 it has medicinal properties that tone up the system and 
 ward off disease.' The king listened rather skeptically. 
 ' If you have such a valuable recipe, why have you not 
 made and sold your wine and gained riches?' 'The 
 ingredients are too expensive, O, King,' he replied. 
 ' Have you ever made any of this wine ? ' asked the king. 
 'Yes,' said the peasant, 'a small quantity.' 'Where is 
 it ? ' demanded the king. ' At my home on the mountain 
 side. You may send for it and test it yourself. Then 
 if you wish I will teach you to make it on one condition.' 
 ' Aiid that is ? ' asked the king eagerly. ' That you spare 
 my life and allow me to return to my home and family.' 
 
 42 
 
FROM OUT OF THE WEST. 
 
 'Very well,' said the king, 'I will send at once; and if 
 as you say, this wine is of such excellence and contains 
 so many virtues, I will grant you your life, and you shall 
 teach me the wine making.' So the peasant was con- 
 ducted back to his prison; the wine was sent for and 
 tasted by the king and some other good judges. They 
 all proclaimed it the finest they had ever drunk. The 
 peasant was liberated, and in payment for his life, he 
 taught the king how to make the wonderful wine. 
 Every bottle was stamped with, 'The Royal Seal,' and 
 kings and nobles from other lands esteemed it a high 
 honor to be offered a glass of 'The Royal Seal.' 
 
 "My great-grandfather once did a service for the 
 king, and in reward the king presented him with a gross 
 of 'The Royal Seal.' This has been handed down 
 from father to son, until on my twenty-first birthday my 
 father gave me three dozen bottles; some of it was 
 opened on that occasion, and some on my wedding day. 
 I had intended not to open any more until the wedding 
 day of some of my children; but I have been over- 
 persuaded, and tonight, friends, you shall drink my 
 daughter's health in 'The Royal Seal'. " 
 
 There was a soft clapping of hands at the closing of 
 the narrative. The bottles were brought forth by the 
 butler, and before opening, they were passed from hand 
 to hand for inspection. "The Royal Seal" was ex- 
 amined with interest, then the waiter filled a tiny glass 
 for each guest. When he came to Manning's place, 
 finding the glasses all turned down, he hesitated, and 
 said, "Wine, sir?" Philip shook his head, and the 
 waiter passed on, but he had not gone far before Wallace 
 
 43 
 
FROM OUT OF THE WEST. 
 
 called out, "John, you have passed that gentleman's 
 glass," indicating Manning. 
 
 "He said he did not wish any, sir," replied the waiter, 
 while Philip colored with confusion, as he saw the whole 
 company gazing at him in amazement. 
 
 "Pardon me," explained Philip, "I never drink 
 wine." 
 
 "But this is different, Mr. Manning," said Edith, 
 persuasively, "only a sip to drink my health. Pray 
 let John fill your glass." 
 
 "I hate to refuse a lady's request. May I not drink 
 your health in the pure, sparkling water?" and Philip 
 raised his glass, while every eye was riveted upon him. 
 " This is a beverage also stamped with a Royal Seal, as 
 it was made by the King of Kings." 
 
 He looked so handsome, and spoke in such a frank, 
 winning manner, that Edith could not be impatient 
 with him, but answered with a smile of assent. 
 
 So the toast was drunk, with best wishes for the health 
 and happiness of the young hostess. As they all arose 
 and held their glasses aloft for the toast, Dora could not 
 help comparing the tall erect figure that held the spark- 
 ling water higher than the wine, with the men that 
 surrounded him, and the comparison was greatly in his 
 favor. "He is a brave man to stand by his principles 
 in the face of such opposition," she thought. "I am 
 proud of him." He caught the look of commendation, 
 and his face flushed with pleasure. She did not think 
 he was wrong, and his heart beat with happiness. 
 
 After supper he went to her side and basked in her 
 smiles, while Graham watched them with rage in his 
 
 44 
 
FROM OUT OF THE WEST. 
 
 heart. Mrs. Dunlap came to him later in the evening, 
 and taking him by the hand, said, with tears in her eyes, 
 " Mr. Manning, I want to thank you for the stand you 
 took tonight against wine. I would gladly banish it 
 from my table, but my family will not allow me to. I 
 can see its evil effects upon Wallace, and I tremble for 
 his future. If you ever have a chance to check or advise 
 him, when you see he is drinking too much, you shall 
 have a mothers blessing." 
 
 "I will certainly do as you desire," replied Manning, 
 fervently, " for my mother's sake as well as yours. She 
 taught me to shun the wine cup as I would a serpent. 
 It makes me sad to see so much drinking in society, 
 among those who by their intellect and education should 
 know better. But they are afraid of being unpopular 
 and of being ridiculed if they do not follow the custom 
 of taking a social glass." 
 
 "Are you giving mamma a temperance lecture?" 
 laughed Jennie, coming to her mother's side. "Pray 
 don't; she is full of temperance notions now. What 
 harm do you see in a glass of wine, Mr. Manning?" 
 
 "No harm in one glass," he answered, " if it 
 is not followed by another and still another, until it 
 deprives man of his faculties and changes him into a 
 brute." 
 
 "But," persisted Jennie, "there are only a few who 
 drink to excess, and of course they ought to be ashamed 
 of themselves; but would you deprive all the rest of us 
 just because a few make beasts of themselves?" 
 
 "Yes, I would restrain all for the sake of the few," he 
 replied. 
 
 45 
 
FROM OUT OF THE WEST. 
 
 "Well, I am afraid you won't'get many advocates in 
 society. I cannot imagine a dinner without wine. It 
 would be pretty flat, I think," and she made a little 
 grimace and passed on. 
 
CHAPTER VII. 
 
 A HUMAN BUTTERFLY. 
 
 Did you ever watch a beautiful, golden butterfly 
 hover from flower to flower, fluttering its bright wings 
 in the sunshine; beautiful and frail to look upon, of no 
 earthly use but for our admiration, its only aim to bask 
 in the sunshine and flirt with the flowers? Of such a 
 nature was Violet Devereaux, a beautiful, golden- 
 haired, human butterfly, sipping life's pleasures, flutter- 
 ing from heart to heart, basking in the sunshine of many 
 loves; beautiful and fragile, of no earthly use but for 
 man's admiration; possessing no more heart than one 
 of these frail insects, she sipped her sweets unmindful 
 of the pain inflicted. She was of a careless, happy 
 nature, full of laughter and gay spirits, avoiding all care 
 and trouble. She seemed to think the world was made 
 solely for enjoyment, and all that contributed to that 
 enjoyment was cordially welcomed; but woe to those 
 who would try to arouse deeper or holier thoughts 
 within that careless heart; they were at once brushed 
 from her path and strenuously avoided. 
 
 Violet was twenty-four, but so petite and girlish in 
 appearance, that she would easily pass for eighteen. 
 For three years she nightly made her appearance upon 
 the stage in the role of "Fairy Queen." Her slender, 
 graceful form and beautiful face, made her a great 
 favorite, both before and behind the footlights. After 
 
 47 
 
FROM OUT OF THE WEST. 
 
 a short and brilliant career, she married an old man with 
 money enough to compensate for the disparity in their 
 ages. She led him a gay life, for although shut out of 
 aristocratic circles, there were plenty ready and willing 
 to attend her entertainments and suppers; as there was 
 always a jolly good time, no conventionalities and plenty 
 of good wine. 
 
 Violet was very popular with the young men as she 
 was gay, witty, and beautiful. At last she tired the 
 poor old husband out and he gladly lay down to his long 
 rest, leaving Violet a rich widow. Now she was happy ; 
 with riches, beauty and freedom, she desired no more. 
 She resolved never V) marry again; husbands were a 
 bore. Her home became the rendezvous for many fast 
 young men. They were free to come and go as they 
 pleased. If Violet felt like entertaining them, all right; 
 if not, they went to the billiard room and amused them- 
 selves. They made her handsome presents and these 
 were never refused. She told herself that they might as 
 well help pay for the wine they drank at her house. 
 
 Violet was not sentimental, and laughed at all love- 
 making, and never would be serious unless there was a 
 diamond or other costly jewel to tempt her. Then she 
 would be very fascinating and winning, and her victim 
 would live in Elysium for a short period, until she had 
 gained possession of the trinket; when she would cast 
 him off with the utmost indifference and he would call 
 himself all sorts of bad names for being her dupe, and 
 vow never to see her again ; but a smile or a caress would 
 make him her slave once more. So she played with the 
 hearts of men, untouched by Cupid's arrows herself 
 
FROM OUT OF THE WEST. 
 
 All she wanted of life was a royal good time, and 
 she intended to have it; since society had seen fit to 
 shut its doors upon her, she would have it in her own 
 way. 
 
 Today she lay upon the sofa, her dress of pale blue 
 silk fell in graceful folds about her slender figure, the 
 wide, loose sleeves revealed the white arms; her beauti- 
 ful, golden hair lay half unbound upon the satin pillow, 
 where it gleamed like a golden sunbeam. She was 
 reading a novel, and every few moments the dainty, 
 white fingers picked a bon-bon from a silver dish at 
 her side, and placed it between her rosy lips. The 
 door opened and admitted Harold Graham. 
 
 Violet gazed lazily at him without changing her 
 position, "Take a seat, Harold," she said, "I am just 
 in an intensely interesting place in my book, so pray ex- 
 cuse me for a little while. I must find out whether she 
 elopes with him or not." 
 
 "Well, don't be too long, Violet, as I want a little 
 conversation with you," he replied, seating himself at 
 the table and taking up a magazine. 
 
 There was a silence for a few minutes, broken at last 
 by Violet throwing her novel at Harold's head. He 
 dodged and it fell to the floor. "Doesn't it end all 
 right ? " he asked, with a laugh. 
 
 "No, it doesn't," and Violet yawned and stretched 
 her arms, clasping her hands beneath her golden head. 
 "I should like to shake the author. They always re- 
 ward the goody-goody ones, and the poor old black 
 sheep has to die, making a death-bed confession of all 
 his sins." 
 
 49 
 
FROM OUT OF THE WEST. 
 
 "Then your sympathies are not always with the 
 goody-goodies, as you call them," laughed Harold. 
 
 "No," answered Violet, vehemently, "I don't like them 
 in real life and I dislike them in fiction, they are too tame 
 and hypocritical." 
 
 " Those are just my sentiments, Violet, I despise those 
 who set themselves up as superior to all others, and ex- 
 pect us to admire and pattern after them. I came this 
 morning to talk to you about one of these 'perfection- 
 ists.' I want your advice and help." 
 
 "Do you refer to the young Westerner?" asked Violet. 
 "In what way has he offended you? Is he trying to 
 induce you to change your ways, or take a Sunday 
 School class? Does he preach to you?" 
 
 " No ; he seldom speaks to me. He knows I don't like 
 him; but he has such a calm, superior way of discoun- 
 tenancing all follies and vices, making us other fellows, 
 who like a bit of fun, appear to disadvantage, and he 
 is taking wonderfully with the ladies. They look upon 
 him as a model young man, vastly superior to the rest 
 of us. According to my opinion, he is a conceited cad, 
 who has no right to thrust himself among us and pose 
 for a paragon." 
 
 " I don't understand how the women can admire him 
 as you say they do. As a general rule, women like the 
 dare-devils the best," said Violet, meditatively. 
 
 "Well, you see he is nice looking," admitted Harold, 
 reluctantly, "besides being rich and a sort of novelty." 
 
 "Oh, I see," laughed Violet. "You fellows are all 
 jealous of him. Why don't you throw mud on him; 
 bring him down from his pedestal, make him drink, or 
 
 5o 
 
FROM OUT OF THE WEST. 
 
 gamble. After he has been in the city a while, he will 
 learn the ropes and, soil his pinions." 
 
 "We have tried every means, but without avail. 
 DeVere has tried his best to get him to play; Wallace 
 has invited him to drink time after time: but to no use, 
 he is as invulnerable as a block of marble." 
 
 " Bring him to me," cried Violet, her eyes sparkling. 
 " I will wager I could overcome some of his scruples. I 
 am getting interested in this young saint. I should like 
 to see him. I am afraid he will die young if some one 
 does not come to his rescue," and she laughed merrily. 
 
 "That is just what I was about to suggest," said 
 Harold, eagerly. "We have tried every temptation, 
 but without success. Perhaps he may have a weakness 
 that only a beautiful, fascinating woman like yourself 
 can touch. If he can withstand your smiles, he must 
 have a heart of stone." 
 
 " Well, bring him to me, and I will see what a woman's 
 smiles can do," replied Violet. 
 
 "I don't see how I can do that," said Harold, with a 
 perplexed frown. "One visit would show him this 
 was no place for him. He would not stay half an hour. 
 He is too shy a bird to be caught that way." 
 
 "I don't see how I can make his acquaintance, if he 
 won't come where I am." 
 
 " But you can go to him; not in a way to frighten him, 
 in some disguise, or by an accident to attract his attention 
 and sympathy. You know how those things are done." 
 
 "Oh, yes, I know, but why should I go to so much 
 trouble ? What do I care whether he is saint or devil ? 
 He is not in my way?" 
 
 5i 
 
FROM OUT OF THE WEST. 
 
 "Still he is in my way," exclaimed Harold, passion- 
 ately, "and I want you to take him out of my way, 
 and I will pay you well." 
 
 "I don't think you are very complimentary," pouted 
 Violet. "You speak as though an acquaintance with me 
 would work a man's ruin. I should think you would be 
 afraid of me yourself." 
 
 "Oh, bother, Violet; you know well enough what I 
 mean. You know all we fellows adore you, and do 
 not consider your friendship at all harmful; but a man 
 like Manning looks upon things very differently from 
 what we do. He thinks all women, with the exception 
 of a very few, are pure and good, while we know it is 
 only the few who are good." 
 
 "What is it you wish me to do, and how am I to be 
 paid?" asked Violet, in a business-like tone. 
 
 "That I leave to your ingenuity," answered Harold. 
 "I don't care what you do or what methods you use; 
 only compromise him, — lower him in the estimation of 
 those who are now inclined to think him perfection. 
 Destroy his self-conceit in his own righteousness," he 
 fairly hissed the words in his anger. 
 
 Violet laughed at his vehemence. "I think there 
 must be some fair lady that this young paragon has 
 gained favor with. You are jealous and you wish him 
 disgraced in her eyes. What are you going to pay me 
 for removing him from your path?" 
 
 "I will pay you ten thousand dollars if you will send 
 him back to his western home, a ruined, disgraced 
 man. You have done this for others, and for no such 
 reward as I offer you." 
 
 52 
 
FROM OUT OF THE WEST. 
 
 "Well, I will think it over," said Violet. "What if 
 I should fall in love with him and marry him ? Would 
 that do equally as well?" 
 
 "Yes," replied Harold, "I will pay you the ten 
 thousand whether you become his wife or mistress. 
 Now I will leave you to think up some scheme to entrap 
 him, and the sooner you get to work, the better it will 
 please me," and he left her. 
 
 Violet arose, and crossing the room, she stood before a 
 full length mirror and calmly surveyed herself. She 
 nodded with a smile at the beautiful figure reflected in 
 the glass. "Yes, you are a very beautiful woman, and 
 as Harold Graham says, ' no man can resist you if you 
 will it otherwise.' I don't believe I shall relish the job 
 Harold is so anxious for me to undertake. I am afraid 
 he is too good to be interesting. If I should ever fall 
 in love, it would be with Lucifer himself; but I have 
 lived all these years without the tender passion, and I 
 guess my heart is too callous by this time for Cupid's 
 darts to penetrate. Ten thousand is a big temptation. 
 Perhaps if I stated the case to him, he would give me 
 more to let him alone," and Violet laughed at the idea. 
 
 53 
 
CHAPTER VIII. 
 
 THE COACHING PARTY. 
 
 A gay party of young people were gathered at Dora's, 
 a'l equipped for a coaching party. There were Edith 
 and Jennie Dunlap and their brother, Wallace, Philip 
 Manning, and Adolphus. 
 
 " I do wish Harold Graham would hurry up; we ought 
 to have started an hour ago," and Jennie pressed her 
 face against the window-pane in the endeavor to catch 
 a glimpse of the delinquent. "There he comes," she 
 exclaimed, rushing to the door. 
 
 Down the street came the coach, a big, roomy affair, 
 drawn by four bay horses, in silver-mounted harness 
 and nodding plumes. On the driver's seat was 
 Harold in coaching costume, holding in one hand 
 the reins, while with the other he cracked the long 
 whip. 
 
 " May I sit up there with you, Harold ? " asked Jennie, 
 in a coaxing tone. 
 
 "You may, unless Dora would like to; I had reserved 
 the seat for her," and he looked appealingly at her as 
 she appeared, followed by the others. 
 
 "No, thank you," Dora replied, laughingly. "I 
 always feel as though I were going to fall over on top of 
 the horses when I am up there." 
 
 "Are you sure the horses are safe, Harold ? " anxiously 
 inquired Mrs. Hutchinson from the door. 
 
 54 
 
FROM OUT OF THE WEST. 
 
 "Oh, yes," Harold assured her. "Two of them 
 belong to me and are as steady as old farm horses. The 
 other two are a little frisky, but a few miles , drive will 
 curb them down all right." 
 
 Manning had been petting and admiring the horses. 
 They were handsome and well matched. He did not 
 like the actions of one of the forward horses, which 
 seemed nervous and high-strung; but he made no 
 comments for fear of alarming the ladies. 
 
 Jennie climbed up to a seat by the side of Harold, 
 and the others arranged themselves with light-hearted 
 laughter and gay words. Their destination was a place 
 ten miles distant, a famous seaside resort, where they 
 would get a shore dinner, and return in time for a 
 musicale at the Hutchinsons'. 
 
 What is more delightful than a spin along country 
 roads on a fine October day, when the air is invigorating, 
 and the leaves in their autumnal beauty of scarlet and 
 gold? 
 
 Dora sparkled with life and fun. She and Edith 
 kept the crowd laughing with their ready wit. Wallace 
 was as gay and frolicsome as a boy of sixteen. Adolphus 
 held his cane between his knees, and occasionally 
 ejaculated, "By George." Philip Manning was the 
 quietest of the group, but his brown eyes twinkled and 
 he thoroughly enjoyed the fun. 
 
 Harold had all he could do to manage his four-in- 
 hand. Jennie chattered away, indifferent as to whether 
 she was heard or answered. 
 
 On they sped out of the city, into the country roads, 
 past farms and orchards. Several times Harold 
 
 55 
 
FROM OUT OF THE WEST. 
 
 stopped to allow the girls to gather golden-rod, berries, 
 or bright-colored leaves. At last they reached the 
 hotel and ordered dinner. 
 
 "I was never so hungry in all my life," cried Jennie. 
 
 After dinner they took a sail upon the water and then 
 started for home, just as the sun sank behind the hills. 
 Philip offered to drive, but Harold declined, saying that 
 it took an experienced hand to drive a four-in-hand. 
 Philip bit his lip but made no reply, although he might 
 have told him that he had driven four-in-hands all his 
 life; but he would have had also to acknowledge that 
 it was in drawing big loads of wood and grain. 
 
 The homeward journey was not so pleasant. It was 
 growing dark and cold. The girls drew their wraps 
 about them, while Wallace told wolf stories, until they 
 imagined every dog they saw was a wolf. 
 
 "There comes one," cried Jennie, as a dark, shaggy 
 animal bounded swiftly towards them with sharp, shrill 
 barks. It sprang in the face of one of the horses. The 
 horses shied, leaped to one side and then dashed on. 
 The dog followed, springing at the horse at intervals. 
 The coach swayed and frightened the girls. Harold 
 tried to drive the dog away with his whip, but this only 
 infuriated the animal and made matters worse. At 
 last, Manning drew a revolver and taking aim, fired at 
 the dog. It gave one leap into the air, then rolled upon 
 the ground, while the now thoroughly frightened horses 
 dashed on. 
 
 "Let me take the lines," said Manning, "I am 
 stronger than you. I can bring them down." But 
 Harold sullenly refused, while he pulled and sawed at 
 
FROM OUT OF THE WEST. 
 
 the horses until they seemed all in a heap. Manning 
 watched them anxiously. He saw Harold was making 
 no headway with them, and soon they would come to a 
 sharp curve in the road, and if they were not stopped 
 before it was reached, the coach would be overturned. 
 He made his way to the front of the coach and said in 
 earnest tones, "Let me have the lines, Graham, or we 
 shall be thrown out and perhaps killed." 
 
 "For God's sake, let Manning have the lines," cried 
 Wallace. 
 
 "Not if I drive you all to perdition," answered 
 Harold, angrily. 
 
 Dora now spoke in a clear, firm voice, " For shame, 
 Harold Graham, let Mr. Manning take the reins." 
 
 "Oh, please do, Harold," cried Jennie, climbing over 
 the back of the seat. 
 
 Philip sprang into her place and seized the reins from 
 Harold's reluctant hands. Bracing himself, he pulled 
 steadily and firmly on the two forward horses until they 
 almost sat down upon their haunches. He then 
 gradually relinquished the strain, and they settled down 
 to a walk. 
 
 "By George," exclaimed Adolphus, in trembling 
 tones, "that fellow must have muscle." 
 
 "He has saved our lives," said Wallace, wiping his 
 brow. 
 
 Edith was almost hysterical and Jennie was crying. 
 Dora was the only calm one, although she was very pale. 
 
 Manning handed the lines back to Harold, who took 
 them without a word, while in the] 1 depths of his angry 
 heart he muttered, "One more score to wipe out." 
 
 57 
 
FROM OUT OF THE WEST. 
 
 The remainder of the drive was a quiet one, and all 
 were glad when they drew up in front of Dora's home, 
 where they could alight on terra firma once more. 
 
 Manning hastened to the hotel to change his coaching 
 costume for one of evening wear. As he ran up the steps 
 into the corridor, he saw coming towards him a beautiful 
 young girl with a basket of flowers upon her arm. Her 
 slight, graceful form was half concealed by a long, 
 flowing cape, the hood drawn over her head, framing a 
 beautiful face, surrounded by golden hair. As she drew 
 near Manning, she lifted her big blue eyes, and, with a 
 smile that showed her small white teeth, offered him 
 a bunch of violets. He took them and gave her a silver 
 dollar. She searched in her pocket for the change while 
 Philip gazed in admiration at her beautiful face. He 
 was a great admirer of blondes; his mother had been a 
 blonde and Dora was a blonde. The flower girl at last 
 found the correct amount and gave it to him with a 
 charming blush and a lowering of the golden lashes. 
 Then she vanished, leaving behind her the fragrance of 
 violets and the memory of a beautiful face. Philip 
 passed on to his room, and when he emerged again, he 
 wore a bunch of violets pinned upon his coat. 
 
 That evening, Mr. and Mrs. Hutchinson showered 
 him with thanks and blessings for his brave act in curb- 
 ing the frightened horses and perhaps saving their 
 daughter's life. It was embarrassing to Philip. He 
 tried to make light of it, but they would not let him; 
 and in spite of himself made a hero of him. 
 
 Dora greeted him with more than her usual gracious- 
 ness, and caused his heart to beat with rapture by her 
 
 58 
 
FROM OUT OF THE WEST. 
 
 encouraging smiles. Harold was plainly in disgrace, 
 although he persisted that he was just getting the 
 horses under control, when Manning interfered, taking 
 the lines, and getting the praise for subduing them. 
 
 Jennie had recovered her spirits, and was giving a 
 comical account of Adolphus's fright, for fear he should 
 be dropped into a mud puddle and spoil his new fall 
 overcoat. Adolphus smiled good-naturedly. He was 
 so used to being chaffed by the young people, that he 
 never took offence. He would stand any amount of 
 ridicule or teasing from Jennie, whom he greatly ad- 
 mired and some day expected to ask to become Mrs. 
 Adolphus Carlton. 
 
 That night, after the last guest had departed, Dora 
 and her parents sat and talked of the day's adventure. 
 
 "That young Manning is one of the finest young men 
 I ever met," said Mr. Hutchinson. "I liked him the 
 first moment I set eyes on him, and I have liked him 
 better and better every time I have met h'm. I shall 
 end in loving him like a son," and he glanced over at 
 his daughter with a knowing look. 
 
 Dora blushed and laughed, "I wish he were your 
 son," she said, "then he would be my big brother, and 
 I have always wanted a brother." 
 
 "It all depends on you, my daughter, whether he is 
 ever my son or not," said Mr. Hutchinson. 
 
 "I don't know about that," said Dora, "it takes two 
 to make a bargain. I might be willing and he might 
 not. Perhaps he has a sweetheart in the West." 
 
 "I don't believe anything of the kind," said her 
 father. "But he is a mighty fine fellow, and will make 
 
 59 
 
FROM OUT OF THE WEST. 
 
 some girl a husband to be proud of, whether it is my 
 girl or some other one." 
 
 Dora laughed and yawned, and rising she kissed her 
 parents good-night and went to her room. 
 
 That night Dora dreamed that she was riding in a 
 beautiful chariot drawn by four white horses, driven 
 by Harold Graham. At first, all was sunshine and 
 beauty, but soon a black cloud appeared and spread 
 across the azure sky, blotting out the sunshine. She 
 grew cold and miserable. It thundered and lightened, 
 and the rain fell in torrents, and the beautiful, white 
 horses were covered with mud. She awoke with a shud- 
 der, glad to find herself in her own warm, comfortable 
 bed. "lam afraid a life with Harold would end just 
 that way," she sighed. "Roses and sunshine at first, 
 and then the thunderstorm of after-life." 
 
 Again she slept, and dreamed that she was wandering 
 in a dense forest. She was weary and footsore, and 
 about to lie down and die of wretchedness and despair, 
 when a beautiful, golden-haired woman came, and 
 taking her by the hand, led her out of the forest into a 
 broad, sunny path, and coming to meet them was Philip 
 Manning, his tender brown eyes filled with love and 
 pity. The beautiful woman placed Dora's hand in 
 Philip's and spreading great snowy wings soared away, 
 until the white clouds hid her from their view. 
 
 "Well, this is certainly a night of strange dreams," 
 exclaimed Dora, upon waking the second time, "Per- 
 haps I shall dream of Wallace or Adolphus next," and 
 she drew the pillow down and nestled her cheek in its 
 downy depths. 
 
 60 
 
CHAPTER IX. 
 
 A MUTUAL AGREEMENT. 
 
 Philip had often thought of the beautiful flower girl, 
 and, when entering the corridor, his eyes would glance 
 down the long hall, expecting to see a slender, black- 
 robed figure, with golden hair and big blue eyes; but 
 days passed by and she did not come. The vision grew 
 dimmer until it had nearly vanished from his memory 
 when one evening it burst upon him again. There she 
 was, coming towards him, her basket upon her arm. 
 Philip stopped, expecting her to smile and offer her 
 violets for sale; but she did^not appear'to notice him, 
 and was about to T pass by, when something in her 
 face attracted his 'attention. She looked pale her 
 eyes were downcast, and there was a pathetic droop 
 to the pretty mouth. His sympathetic nature was 
 aroused and he accosted her, "Have you no flowers to 
 sell?" he asked. 
 
 She stopped and raised her lovely eyes, and he saw 
 they were full of tears. 
 
 "Yes," she said, wearily, "I have had them to sell all 
 day, but no one seems to want them. I have not sold 
 enough to buy my supper," and her lips quivered. 
 
 Beauty in distress always stirs the chivalry in men's 
 breasts, and especially so in Philip's, as he was sym- 
 pathetic and impressionable. He selected two bunches 
 of violets and gave her a bill. When she said she had 
 
 61 
 
FROM OUT OF THE WEST. 
 
 no change, he told her to keep it, and bring him a 
 bunch of violets every day, as they were his favorite 
 flower. 
 
 Her face lit up with joy. She seized his hand and 
 pressed it to her lips, and, with a " God bless you," sped 
 away, leaving Philip blushing like a girl and gazing 
 at the hand she had touched with her soft, warm lips. 
 As he turned to enter his room, he saw Wallace Dunlap 
 coming towards him. He had always liked Wallace, 
 and often sighed as he thought how the companionship 
 of such men as Graham and DeVere were influencing 
 him toward evil ways and blasting his young manhood. 
 
 Wallace grasped his arm in his familiar, boyish way. 
 "Were you going out?" he asked. "If not, I want to 
 talk with you a few moments, if you don't object." 
 
 "Come right in," replied Philip, cordially. "I have 
 plenty of leisure and shall be glad of your company," 
 and he led the way into the room. 
 
 Wallace threw himself into a big, easy chair and, 
 clasping his hands back of his head, gazed moodily out 
 of the window. His usual, bright, happy expression 
 was changed to an anxious, worried look. Philip saw 
 something was wrong and waited for him to unburden 
 himself. 
 
 "Manning I am in a deuce of a fix," exclaimed 
 Wallace, at last, "and I have come to you for help, as I 
 know no one else to go to." 
 
 "You know I shall be glad to help you if it is within 
 my power," answered Philip, heartily. 
 
 "I know you are a generous, good-hearted fellow, 
 Manning, worth a dozen of such no-account fellows as 
 
 62 
 
 
FROM OUT OF THE WEST. 
 
 myself. I wish I had the courage to brace up and be 
 more like you. I am disgusted with myself." 
 
 "What is to hinder you from bracing up if you have 
 the inclination?" said Philip. "Youth is the time to 
 throw off the yoke before it becomes too burdensome. 
 Now is the time for you to take a stand for the right." 
 
 "Oh, that is very well for a fellow like you; but if a 
 young rake like myself tries it, he brings all kinds of 
 ridicule upon his head from his associates. They make 
 life a burden to him. But I swear if I ever get out of 
 this scrape, I will draw in a little and settle down." 
 
 "What is your trouble ? " asked Philip. " If I am to 
 help you, you must tell me all about it." 
 
 "Well, the trouble is just this. I owe DeVere six 
 thousand dollars, and I have not a cent in the world but 
 the allowance my father gives me — and I keep that used 
 up as fast as it comes. I had a quarrel with DeVere 
 last night — and I guess I said some pretty saucy things, 
 for he got white about the mouth, and told me he would 
 give me just three days to raise what I owed him, 
 or he would go to my father and collect it. Now, it 
 would just break the old man all up if he knew I owed 
 so much, and if mother knew — " He drew his hand 
 across his eyes and almost broke down. 
 
 Philip looked perplexed. "How could you possibly 
 owe any one man such an amount? What have you 
 done with the money?" 
 
 "I can hardly realize that I have had that amount," 
 sighed Wallace. "It has been like this. The boys at 
 the club would have a supper, each one to chip in his 
 share. Often, I would be short and DeVere would pay 
 
 63 
 
FROM OUT OF THE WEST. 
 
 the deficiency, charging it up to me. I have bet at the 
 races, I have gambled, I have made presents of jewelry, 
 and I have borrowed from DeVere when I could not 
 pay up. He has always said it was only a trifle, that I 
 could pay up any time at my own convenience, so I have 
 not worried but let it drift along. But last night aftei 
 he had won two hundred from me, I got spunky and 
 called him an old cheat. He demanded the payment of 
 his bill. I asked the amount, expecting he would tell 
 me about twenty-five hundred; but when he said six 
 thousand, I was confounded, and told him it was im- 
 possible I could owe him such an amount, but he coolly 
 showed me the items with compound interest added. 
 It was a stunner, I assure you, and how in the devil I 
 am to pay it, I don't know, unless I can borrow the 
 amount from you," and he looked beseechingly at 
 Philip. 
 
 "Six thousand is a large sum," said Philip, seriously, 
 "what security will you give me?" 
 
 "I can only give you my note and word of honor to 
 pay you as soon as I am able," said Wallace, in a 
 crestfallen tone. 
 
 "I must have more than that," said Philip, calmly. 
 
 "Then there is no use in talking to you any longer. 
 As I said, you were my only hope, and as you have failed 
 me, I might as well go and shoot myself first as last," 
 and Wallace staggered toward the door. 
 
 Philip intercepted him, and, putting his arm about his 
 shoulder, drew him back into his chair again. "I have 
 not refused to let you have the amount. It will depend 
 whether you will accept it upon the conditions that I 
 shall require." 
 
 64 
 
FROM OUT OF THE WEST. 
 
 "1 will accept any conditions/' cried Wallace, eagerly. 
 "I know you would not ask anything unreasonable, 
 and I certainly could not be in any worse fix than 
 I am at present, so fire away, what are your 
 conditions?" 
 
 "I am afraid you will think them hard, but, as you 
 say, they will not be unreasonable, but will be for your 
 good." 
 
 " Don't for heaven's sake ask me to confess my sins 
 and join the church. I draw the line there," cried 
 Wallace, tragically. 
 
 "No; I won't ask that," said Philip, with a laugh. 
 4 'Not that I think it would hurt you. Yet I can see 
 you are not quite ready for it ; but I shall expect you to 
 stop drinking and gambling. Those two things I shall 
 insist on." 
 
 " Oh, I have resolved to do that already, so your terms 
 are not so hard as I expected," replied Wallace, with a 
 relieved smile. 
 
 "Have you ever made such resolutions before?" 
 asked Philip. 
 
 "Oh, yes, a good many times; but this time, I am 
 resolved not to break them." 
 
 "Well, I shall not trust to just a careless resolution 
 made under pressure of trouble that will soon fade from 
 your memory. I shall draw up a pledge for you to sign, 
 and if you break the pledge you forfeit the amount 1 
 loan you at once; if you keep the pledge, you can take 
 your own time about paying me. I shall never trouble 
 you so long as you abstain from drinking and gam- 
 bling." 
 
 65 
 
FROM OUT OF THE WEST. 
 
 Wallace's face had lengthened perceptibly while 
 Philip had been talking. "I don't mind pledging my- 
 self not to gamble any more, and not to drink to excess; 
 but you don't want me to give up even a social glass of 
 wine or champagne, do you ? I hate to pose as a tem- 
 perance man. I always despise them as weak and 
 womanish. Can't you let up a little on the drinks?" 
 he asked, pleadingly. 
 
 " No, Wallace, there is safety only in total abstinence. 
 I must save you from yourself. What are a few sneers ? 
 It will strengthen your manhood to resist them. After 
 a few weeks, if you persist in not drinking when your 
 friends offer you the social glass, they will soon let you 
 alone and the battle will be won. Your father will be 
 pleased — although he is not an advocate of temperance. 
 I know he is feeling anxious about you, and your 
 mother will weep tears of joy — and you will be saved 
 from a future of degradation and misery, besides having 
 enough to settle your debts and get out of the clutches 
 of that villain, DeVere. Is it not worth the struggle? 
 I think what I ask of you is very reasonable, but I 
 must make it solemnly binding, for you are easily 
 tempted. Read what I have written, sign it and I 
 will give you a check for six thousand dollars," and 
 Manning passed a paper to Wallace on which was 
 written: 
 
 "I do most solemnly vow that from this hour I will 
 abstain from all intoxicating drinks; also from gambling. 
 For such consideration, I am to receive a loan of six 
 thousand dollars from Philip Manning, said amount to 
 be paid at my convenience if I keep this pledge; said 
 
 66 
 
FROM OUT OF THE WEST. 
 
 amount to be paid at once if I violate this pledge. So 
 help me God and keep me steadfast." 
 
 Wallace hesitated and fingered the pen nervously for 
 a few moments, then he drew the paper towards him 
 and signed his name in large bold characters. 
 
 "There, the deed is done," he exclaimed. "It will 
 be a tough fight for me for a few weeks, I expect." 
 
 "Thank you, Wallace," said Philip, folding the paper 
 and placing it in a little cabinet in his desk. " You will 
 thank me for this some day. It will be the making of 
 you." 
 
 "I do thank you, now, old fellow," exclaimed 
 Wallace, gratefully. "You are the only man that ever 
 seemed to care whether I went to the devil or not. I 
 am going wo try and not disappoint you. I feel like a 
 new man already, with money to free me from a hateful 
 bondage. I will turn over a new leaf and get out of 
 this aimless, frivolous way of spending my time. By 
 George; I believe I will ask the old man to give me a 
 berth in the office for an hour or two every day. He 
 would be delighted," and Wallace's eyes sparkled in 
 anticipation of his father's pleasure in his reformation. 
 
 He wrung Philip's hand and left the room whistling 
 merrily as he strode down the hall, once more a happy, 
 light-hearted boy 
 
 6 7 
 
CHAPTER X. 
 
 A BEAUTIFUL INTRUDER. 
 
 Dora gave a vivid description of the perilous ride of 
 the coaching party to her Aunt Helen the next morning. 
 
 "I know if Mr. Manning had not taken the lines just 
 as he did, the coach would have been upset going 
 around that sharp curve, and some of us seriously 
 hurt." 
 
 "He is certainly a noble young man," said Aunt 
 Helen. "He seems to be doing good on all occasions. 
 Has he made up his mind to stay in the city this winter ? " 
 
 "Yes; I think so. He said once that if he could find 
 a suburban residence that he thought would suit his 
 father and sister, he would purchase it and bring them 
 East to live with him. I should like to meet his sister, 
 Josie. From what he says, I think she must be a female 
 duplicate of himself." 
 
 "I am sure we should like her then," said Aunt 
 Helen, decidedly. 
 
 "And the dreamy old father must be very lovable 
 also," continued Dora. "What an ideal grandpa he 
 would make, just the kind children love to climb all over 
 and smother with caresses." 
 
 "Well, I hope there will be plenty of them, to do that 
 very thing," laughed Aunt Helen. "And I hope to live 
 to see them, and if they only call me Aunt Helen, I 
 shall be very happy." 
 
 68 
 
FROM OUT OF THE WEST. 
 
 "Now, auntie, how you talk," and Dora blushed 
 rosily, but did not look displeased. The fact was, Dora 
 was very much interested in the young Westerner and 
 was fast losing her heart to him, although she tried to 
 keep a strong grip on it until it was asked for. She had 
 no doubt about his regard for her; she had read ad- 
 miration and love in his expressive eyes ever since 
 their first meeting. It was only a matter of time. He 
 would ask her to be his wife and she would not say him 
 nay. Her heart beat at the thought. How good and 
 true he was, so manly and strong, a king among men. 
 "I am so glad to have never loved any other man, and 
 I hope he has never loved another girl." 
 
 "A penny for your thoughts," said Aunt Helen, with 
 a smile at the sweet, thoughtful face. 
 
 "Oh, they are worth more than a penny," laughed 
 Dora. "I don't believe I can sell them at any 
 price." 
 
 Mrs. Hutchinson entered the room. "Mr. Manning 
 has called with a carriage and wishes you to go with 
 him to inspect a place he has heard of that is for sale, 
 and if it suits him he thinks of buying it; but he wants 
 your opinion," and the mother laughed knowingly at 
 her lovely daughter. 
 
 "I shall be delighted to help him with my valuable 
 advice," laughed Dora. "I will go and get ready at 
 once," and she hurried from the room. 
 
 The two sisters-in-law sat for a long time talking of 
 the one so dear to each. "I am sure she likes him," 
 said Mrs. Hutchinson, "although she is shy about ad- 
 mitting it, as any modest girl would be; and it is plain 
 
 69 
 
FROM OUT OF THE WEST. 
 
 enough to see he loves her. They will make an ideal 
 couple. They are both so handsome and so good," 
 and Mrs. Hutchinson leaned back in her chair with an 
 expression of great satisfaction upon her good-natured 
 face. 
 
 "I thought you always favored Harold Graham for 
 a son-in-law," said Aunt Helen. 
 
 "Well, I did years ago, before he grew wild. He was 
 a nice boy, but he has changed sadly. I do not think 
 he would make a wife very happy unless he settled down 
 some, and Dora never cared for him except as a friend. 
 I suppose the Grahams will be disappointed. They 
 have always looked upon Dora as Harold's future 
 wife. But my daughter shall make her own choice, 
 and I guess she will choose all right," and the mother 
 nodded complacently. 
 
 Dora was soon dressed in a pretty tailor-made costume 
 of dark blue, that fitted her slender form to perfection . 
 A hat of soft felt, with a big silver buckle and blue 
 wings, set upon her golden hair, bringing out its 
 radiance. With cheeks flushed from the hurry and ex- 
 citement, she presented a lovely picture to the young 
 man awaiting her in the drawing room. 
 
 He hastened to meet her. "I thought perhaps you 
 would be kind enough to take a drive with me this 
 morning out into the country. I am going to look at a 
 place that is offered for sale, and I want a lady's opinion. 
 They can see so many things that a man overlooks." 
 
 "You should have taken mother instead of me," said 
 Dora, roguishly, "her opinion would be worth double 
 
 70 
 
FROM OUT OF THE WEST. 
 
 "I shall be perfectly satisfied if you go," he answered, 
 with a twinkle in his eyes. So they went down the 
 steps laughing, happy in each other's company. 
 
 It was a cool, crisp morning, the air was invigorating 
 and tinged their cheeks with nature's carmine. 
 
 The distance of seven miles was soon covered. " That 
 must be the house," said Manning, pointing to a fine 
 country residence situated on quite an eminence. 
 They entered a shady driveway bordered by rows of 
 maples. The drive gradually ascended the hill and 
 approached the house which was an imposing structure 
 of gray stone, nearly covered with ivy. The view, when 
 they reached the summit upon which the house stood, 
 was a grand one, taking in miles of the surrounding 
 country. They took a long breath of delight when the 
 view first burst upon them, and Manning removed his 
 hat. 
 
 "One need never have lung trouble here," he ex- 
 claimed. 
 
 "It is lovely," cried Dora, enthusiastically. "How 
 beautiful it must be here in summer. See how many 
 beds of flowers and shrubs. Who owns the place? I 
 should think they would dislike to part with it." 
 
 "The owner is a widow," replied Manning. "Her 
 husband died about a year ago. She has one child, a 
 little girl of five. She finds this home too large and 
 lonesome for just herself and child." 
 
 They had reached the front entrance, and, giving the 
 horse and carriage into the care of a groom who came 
 forward, they ascended the steps and entered a broad 
 portico. They were met by a tall, slender lady dressed 
 
 7' 
 
FROM OUT OF THE WEST. 
 
 in black and wearing a widow's cap. Manning bowed 
 low, and, presenting his card, stated his errand. The 
 lady was both gracious and cordial, and invited them 
 into the big hall. At the lower end was a mammoth 
 fireplace with great logs burning and sending out a 
 cheerful glow. 
 
 "What a splendid hall," said Dora. "It is as large 
 as our drawing room, and that big open fire is so pictur- 
 esque and cheerful. Just imagine a party returning 
 from a long sleigh ride; how they would huddle around 
 the fireplace. And the big yule log at Christmas time. 
 Oh, it would be grand," and her eyes sparkled with 
 delight like a child's. 
 
 Manning's handsome face glowed in response to 
 Dora's enthusiasm, and he mentally resolved that it 
 should all occur just as she had imagined it. 
 
 The widow showed them through the house, and 
 both Dora and Manning acknowledged it was the most 
 conveniently and prettily arranged house they were 
 ever in. Dora wandered out into the garden and left 
 Manning to make terms with the widow with regard to 
 price and other details. There was much of the heavy 
 furniture and carpets which the owner wished to sell 
 with the house, and it brought the price pretty high, 
 but Manning was delighted with the place, and knowing 
 that Dora was also pleased with it, he resolved to pur- 
 chase, although it would cost more than he had ex- 
 pected. So it was settled that he was to see the widow's 
 lawyer in the city and make all satisfactory arrange- 
 ments. He would not want the place until the following 
 spring, Philip told her, so she could take her time about 
 moving. 
 
 72 
 
FROM OUT OF THE WEST. 
 
 All the way home, they drew plans for beautifying th« 
 place, and Dora smiled as she recalled their conversa- 
 tion that night after she had gone to her room. How 
 little had been said of Josie's likes and dislikes. It was 
 all, how would Dora like it ? There was not a happier 
 girl in the whole city that night than Dora Hutchinson. 
 
 After leaving Dora, Manning drove to his hotel, 
 sending his horse to the stable, and going direct to his 
 room. It was decidedly cold, and throwing off his 
 overcoat, Philip drew up to the open grate. There was 
 a happy smile on his face as he recalled Dora's en- 
 thusiasm over the place he was about to purchase. He 
 thought of her as its fair mistress. How happy they 
 would be, Dora, Josie, and dear old dad. His heart 
 thrilled with joy. His pleasant meditations were here 
 interrupted by the quick opening and shutting of his 
 door. He arose to his feet. Before him stood the 
 beautiful flower girl, her face pale and agitated. 
 
 "Oh, forgive me," she cried, clasping her hands in a 
 pretty, imploring fashion, "forgive me for entering 
 your room, but I was pursued by a man. He must 
 have been drinking. He tried to seize my arm and I 
 ran in here." 
 
 "Where is he?" cried Manning, striding toward the 
 door, a frown on his brow. 
 
 "Don't, don't go out," she entreated, seizing his 
 arm. "Let him go. I am safe now." 
 
 Notwithstanding her pleading, Manning opened the 
 door and gazed searchingly up and down the hall. No 
 one was in sight. "He has gone; there is no one in 
 sight," he exclaimed, returning. 
 
 73 
 
FROM OUT OF THE WEST. 
 
 Violet had dropped upon the rug in front of the fire 
 and was warming her hands. Her hood had fallen 
 back and the fire-light fell upon her lovely, childish face 
 and golden hair, until she seemed more like a fireside 
 sprite, than a mortal. Manning looked down on the 
 girl from his six foot height and thought how childish 
 and pretty she was to wander about unprotected, liable 
 to receive insults from coarse, degraded men. His 
 heart filled with pity. He wished she were a sister or 
 even a cousin of his, that he might cherish and protect 
 her; but she was only a stranger, a poor flower girl 
 earning a scanty living by the sale of flowers. She 
 gazed up ;.t him from her lowly position and said, 
 na vely : 
 
 "What a lovely fire. It must be nice to be rich and 
 always have a good fire. You don't know what it is to 
 be cold and poor," and she sighed, drooping her sweet 
 face. 
 
 "Yes, I know it must be very hard," he answered, his 
 tender brown eyes hinng with sympathy and pity. 
 "Have you no brother, — no relatives to care for 
 you?' 
 
 "No," she answered, sadly, shaking her head; "no 
 one to care for me. My parents are both dead. I 
 never had any brothers or sisters, and but few relatives, 
 poor like myself, with the exception of an aunt who is 
 quite comfor.ably fixed; but she was not good friends 
 with mamma and does not want me. She mav leave 
 me a little when she dies, as her only hVng relative." 
 
 " I wish I could help you in some way," said Manning, 
 eagerly. "Tell me how I can help you?" 
 
 74 
 
FROM OUT OF THE WEST. 
 
 She lifted her beautiful blue eyes and looked at him 
 long and earnest y. How that gaze thril ed him. He 
 was seized with a mad longing to pick her up in his 
 strong arms and kiss the sweet lips. 
 
 She got up with a slow, reluctant motion, and said: 
 "I must be going. You have been very kind to me 
 and I thank you." She drew the hood over her head 
 and took up her basket. 
 
 "Must you go?" he cried, regretfully. 
 
 "Why, of course, I must," she replied, with a little 
 laugh, " I have stayed too long already. Good-night," 
 and she was gone. 
 
 Manning stood in front of the fire, gazing thought- 
 fully into its ruby depths. "What a sweet Httle thing 
 she is," he exclaimed. "I must speak to Dora about 
 her. Perhaps she could help her in some way. If she 
 was only a little younger I believe I would adopt her." 
 
 to 
 
 75 
 
CHAPTER XI. 
 
 A PROMISED DRIVE. 
 
 Violet Devereaux was entertaining Harold with a 
 description of her intrusion into Manning's room. "I 
 almost fell in love with him when he drew himself up so 
 tall and fierce and with a frown strode to the door to 
 annihilate my pursuer. I think he is the finest looking 
 man I ever saw; he is so big and strong. I adore big 
 men; and then again, he is as gentle and tender as a 
 woman. I was so afraid he would see someone passing 
 in the hall and attack them. Wouldn't that have made 
 a scene? But, luckily, there was no one in sight. I 
 made sure of that before I entered." 
 
 "Are you making any progress with him?" asked 
 Harold, anxiously. 
 
 "Well, I am not so sure. I know he admires me. 
 He watches for my coming and seems glad to see me. 
 He would like to help me, but it would have to be all 
 proper and honorable. His innocence is his shield. 
 He has never seen or heard much of the dark side of 
 city life, and as you say, ' women are all angels to him.' 
 It is hard to deal with a man like that. It is going to be 
 a harder job than I had anticipated. Oh! the lies I 
 have to tell him of my poverty and trials as a poor 
 flower "girl. It almost frightens me. I don't mind 
 telling a little fib now and then, but to make a whole- 
 sale business of it is appalling, and he believes it all. 
 
 76 
 
FROM OUT OF THE WEST. 
 
 Oh, dear me; what a wicked wretch I am," and Violet 
 assumed a comical air of sorrow and contrition. 
 
 "If there is such a thing as future punishment," 
 Violet continued, "they will have to invent some new 
 method of torture to balance all my sins. I never knew 
 I had a conscience until I made the acquaintance of 
 Philip Manning. Now if I end by falling in love with 
 him, what will become of me, burdened with both a 
 heart and a conscience. I have half a mind to back 
 out when he fixes those big, clear brown eyes on me. 
 I feel like going away and leaving him alone." 
 
 "Now, Violet, don't for heaven's sake be a fool," 
 said Harold, impatiently. "The idea of your turning 
 soft, bah!" 
 
 " Oh, I have a remnant of a heart somewhere about 
 me, although I acknowledge it doesn't trouble me 
 much," replied Violet, a trifle bitterly. 
 
 "Of course, you have, Violet," said Harold, in a con- 
 ciliatory tone. " Forgive my impatience; but I have so 
 much at stake, that a hint of your withdrawing from 
 the game makes me frantic." 
 
 "Oh, I shall not withdraw. The man piques me. 
 He is the first man who ever withstood me so long. I 
 must conquer him for my own reputation as well as for 
 the ten thousand. Harold, stop at 'La Favorita's' on 
 your way down town, and invite the boys and girls up. 
 We will have a bang-up supper and a frolic — one of the 
 good old times; perhaps I will dance for you if I feel 
 good-natured." 
 
 "As though you were ever anything else," answered 
 Harold, gallantly. "I wish you would dance 'The 
 
 77 
 
FROM OUT OF THE WEST. 
 
 Siren ■ tonight. I am going to bring up a friend or two, 
 and you are so ravishingly beautiful in that dance. 
 You can dance a man's soul right out of his body, 
 Violet," said Harold, enthusiastically. "You ought to 
 dance for Manning. He could not withstand 'The Siren.' 
 You can beat 'Salome* of biblical fame all to pieces." 
 
 Violet laughed, pleased at Harold's flattery, which 
 she knew was sincere. " Perhaps I may dance my way 
 into his heart yet, who knows. What has become of 
 Wallace Dunlap ? He has not called on me for several 
 weeks." 
 
 " Oh, he has gone over to the enemy," replied Harold, 
 grimly. "He has been plucked like a brand from the 
 burning, by St. Manning." 
 
 "Is that so?" and Violet opened her big blue eyes in 
 astonishment and dismay. " That's a shame. Wallace 
 was such a gay, fun-loving fellow," and Violet's face 
 lengthened wofully. "Why didn't he rescue DeVere 
 or Carlton, or some other old stick, and leave Wallace 
 alone." 
 
 "That is what I think," grumbled Harold. "I miss 
 Wallace at the club. He seldom comes now. Oh, the 
 amount of mischief that western fellow has done in the 
 short time he has been here." 
 
 Violet laughed. "Oh, those goody-goodies, what 
 trouble they do make. But it is time I metamorphosed 
 myself into a flower girl. If you will wait a few mo- 
 ments, I will show you 'Violet, the flower girl'," and she 
 left the room. 
 
 Only a short time had elapsed when the door 
 opened and admitted a slender, dark-robed figure, who 
 
 78 
 
FROM OUT OF THE WEST. 
 
 advanced in a shy, modest manner and presented her 
 violets for sale. 
 
 "I never should have recognized you," cried Harold, 
 in delight. "You look like a sweet, modest little violet 
 yourself. You are charming. No wonder Manning 
 watches for you. You are just the girl to take his fancy. 
 I think if you play your cards right you can become 
 Mrs. Manning if you choose." 
 
 "I don't think I want to marry him," said Violet, in a 
 meditative tone. "He would make a charming lover, 
 but I am afraid I should tire of so much goodness in a 
 husband, and husbands are not as easily disposed of 
 as lovers." 
 
 "You wicked little puss, you," laughed Harold. "I 
 don't believe you have got a flesh and blood heart. I 
 believe it is some metal arrangement." 
 
 " Brass; I reckon," answered Violet, merrily. " Well, 
 wish me good luck. I must go and give my big, brown- 
 eyed baby his violets. Au revoir," and she flitted from 
 the room. 
 
 Violet pulled the hood well over her face. She did 
 not wish to be recognized by any of her admirers, as 
 this little masquerading was a secret between herself 
 and Harold. She was hurrying down the avenue when 
 her attention was attracted to a handsome carriage 
 drawn by a span of bay horses, and the driver was 
 Philip Manning. Seated by his side was a beautiful, 
 stylish young lady, costumed in the height of fashion. 
 They seemed very much interested in each other, and 
 the lady was apparently listening with a gracious smile 
 upon her lips. Violet watched them out of sight, a 
 
 79 
 
FROM OUT OF THE WEST. 
 
 strange, unfamiliar ache in her heart. Who was this 
 girl who dared to smile up into Philip Manning's face 
 like that ? And he looked happy, as though he enjoyed 
 it. Her throat felt swollen and dry as though she were 
 choking. "I believe I am jealous," she cried, hyster- 
 ically. "Oh, I knew I was playing with fire, and the 
 bolt has entered my own heart to scorch and torment 
 me, unless I can win him. I must win him. She shall 
 not have him. Philip, my king! I never desired the 
 love of any man before. I have always spurned love." 
 Her breath came in convulsive sobs as she hurried on. 
 She knew he would go to his hotel soon and would be 
 watching for her. " Oh, God, help me to win him," 
 she cried, passionately. "I will make myself worthy of 
 him. I will give up my reckless life. I will be all he 
 could desire, if he will only love me. I am young; I can 
 redeem my past sins." An hour later she entered the 
 corridor of the hotel. Yes, there he was at the door of 
 his room smiling at her. She felt shy and embarrassed, 
 totally unlike herself. Her heart beat strangely. 
 
 "I was afraid I should not return in time to see you," 
 he said, gaily. " Have you sold all your violets ? Only 
 two bunches left. I will take them both," and he 
 handed her the money. Violet felt like throwing the 
 money at his feet, she felt so humiliated; but she took it 
 and gave him the flowers, while her eyes wistfully 
 searched his face. 
 
 "Why do you look so sad?" enquired Philip, kindly. 
 "Have you been unsuccessful in your sales to-day?" 
 
 "Oh, no," replied Violet, with a little fluttering sigh. 
 "I have sold all my flowers; I was only thinking." 
 
 80 
 
FROM OUT OF THE WEST. 
 
 " Thinking of what ? " asked Philip, with a smile. "It 
 must be something dismal to cloud your usually sunny 
 face so." 
 
 11 1 am afraid you will laugh if I tell you," said Violet, 
 with pretty reluctance. 
 
 "Try me and see," he replied. ; ; 
 
 "Well, I was thinking how she had all and I had 
 nothing." 
 
 "Is that an enigma?" asked Philip. "I am not 
 good at guessing them. Who is she, and what has she 
 that you have not ? " 
 
 " She is the lady I saw driving with you this afternoon. 
 She has money, pretty dresses and friends, and you 
 take hereto drive. I have none of these, and I was 
 thinking, suppose I had money and pretty dresses, 
 would you take me to drive?" and her eyes searched his 
 face eagerly. 
 
 "Why, perhaps I might," he replied, embarrassed 
 by the question. 
 
 Violet noticed his embarrassment and resented it. 
 "Well, I have neither the one nor the other. I am a 
 poor flower girl, so you will not have to take me," she 
 said, bitterly. " Only I never went to drive in a carriage. 
 My only rides are in street cars or omnibuses." She 
 sighed like a grieved child and was turning away when 
 he called her back. 
 
 "I will take you to drive," he said, with a smile, "if 
 it will give you so much pleasure." 
 
 "Do you really mean it?" and she grasped his arm 
 in her eagerness. 
 
 "Yes; I mean it," he answered. "When would you 
 like to go, tomorrow ? " 
 
 81 
 
FROM OUT OF THE WEST. 
 
 She gasped for breath, speechless with joy. "Will 
 you take me in the same carriage you took her?" she 
 asked, eagerly. 
 
 "Yes," he replied, smiling at her childish delight. 
 "Shall it be tomorrow? And where shall I meet you? 
 Shall I call at your home?" 
 
 "No, no," replied Violet, hastily. "I don't want 
 you to see how humbly I live. I will meet you in the 
 park at the corner of Harris Avenue. I promise you 
 shall not be ashamed of me. I have better clothes than 
 these," and she nodded her pretty head at him. 
 
 "AJ1 right, I will meet you at ten in the morning. You 
 shall have a good long drive, and a good dinner also." 
 
 "Well, I must be going. I shall have to look over 
 my finery to make myself presentable for tomorrow," 
 and she laughed merrily, showing her small white teeth 
 and dimples. 
 
 Philip returned to his room, whistling softly to him- 
 self. "I am afraid it is not quite the conventional 
 thing to do, but she seemed so delighted. I cannot see 
 any harm in it. Poor child, her pleasures have been so 
 few, that if I can add a little sunshine to her gray young 
 life, I shall do so. I wonder what Dora would say ? I 
 am afraid she would not approve. I had better not 
 say anything to her about it. City folks have straight- 
 laced notions. Now in the West, we could eat with the 
 hired man or take the hired girl to drive, and nothing 
 be thought of it. But here, it is considered almost a 
 crime to speak to a servant, unless giving an order. 
 Poor things! they are human, although not treated as 
 such." 
 
 U 
 
FROM OUT OF THE WEST. 
 
 Wallace Dunlap entered the room and hurried Philip 
 away with him. The two young men had become great 
 friends. Wallace, since giving up the social glass and 
 gambling, had found the club somewhat tiresome, so 
 spent many hours with his new friend. His parents 
 were pleased and proud of the favorable change in their 
 only son. 
 
 "I knew Wallace would come out all right," said Mr. 
 Dunlap, complacently. "All young men have to have 
 a frisky time before they settle down and take life 
 seriously. Wallace is coming out all right." 
 
 JUL 
 
CHAPTER XII. 
 
 THE PLOT DEEPENS. 
 
 The day dawned bright and clear. Manning was 
 afraid some of the boys might drop in and detain him, 
 so that he could not start at the appointed time. Wallace 
 would be sure to ask where he was going, and invite 
 himself to a drive, if he knew he was going with the 
 team. So he started early, to avoid any visitors with 
 their unwelcome questions. Not that there was any- 
 thing to be ashamed of, he told himself; but city folks 
 had strange notions. The boys would look upon it 
 in the light of a flirtation, and joke him about it. They 
 could not understand, and it would be useless to ex- 
 plain. He wondered if Violet would be provided with 
 sufficient wraps, and threw a light travelling shawl over 
 his arm. It was only a little after nine when he reached 
 the pa k. He drove about for half an hour before he 
 approached the Harris Avenue entrance. He looked 
 about him for a slender, black-robed figure, enveloped 
 in a cloak and hood. He did not notice the stylish 
 young lady sitting on one of the benches, watching him 
 with laughing eyes. After he had passed her twice, 
 Violet raised the veil that had concealed her face, 
 and, rising, approached the carriage with a merry 
 laugh. 
 
 " Good morning, Mr. Manning," she said, "were you 
 looking for anyone in particular?" 
 
 84 
 
FROM OUT OF THE WEST. 
 
 He gazed at her in surprise*and admiration. "I was 
 looking for a little flower girl I had promised a ride to. 
 Have you seen her anywhere ?" he inquired, with a 
 smile. 
 
 "Oh, yes," replied Violet, gaily; "she sent me in her 
 place. Will you accept the substitute ?" 
 
 "If you think you would enjoy the drive as well as 
 she would?" They both laughed merrily, and he 
 helped her into the carriage. After they had driven 
 a short distance, he turned and surveyed her in a 
 questioning way, "I don't understand the transforma- 
 tion," he said. "Are you sure you are the same girl 
 I promised the ride to ? I don't know you in that fine 
 costume." 
 
 "I did not want you to be ashamed of me," replied 
 Violet. " Did you think that old cloak and hood was 
 the extent of my wardrobe ? Those belong to the trade 
 just as the butcher and baker don their apron and cap, 
 so, Violet, the flower girl, shields her face and form 
 from impertinent glances, when selling flowers. But 
 when a gentleman asks her to ride, she dresses accord- 
 ingly. Are you disappointed that I did not wear the 
 old cloak and hood?" 
 
 "I am somewhat," he said, honestly. "I had an- 
 ticipated giving pleasure to a poor little girl, and I am 
 puzzled and dismayed at finding in her place a stylish 
 young lady, who looks as though she went to drive every 
 day." 
 
 Violet enjoyed his discomfiture exceedingly, and 
 answered, gaily, " I am just the same girl I was yesterday 
 only in a more fitting costume, so you must accept the 
 
 »5 
 
FROM OUT OF THE WEST. 
 
 change and not make me unhappy and spoil my 
 drive just because I have not got the old cloak 
 and hood on. Won't you forgive me for not 
 wearing them?" and her big eyes looked pleadingly 
 into his. 
 
 "Oh, there is nothing to forgive," he replied, a trifle 
 embarrassed; "only it seems as though I had got hold 
 of the wrong girl." 
 
 "Well, you are the oddest mortal I ever met. You 
 are so absurdly honest," laughed Violet. 
 
 She chattered away to him like a gay, light-hearted 
 child. She was witty and interesting, and Manning 
 soon felt at his ease and forgot all about the other Violet, 
 who always wore a cloak and hood. 
 
 They drove out to the place he had bought so 
 recently. Violet was delighted with it, and resolved to 
 do her utmost to become its mistress. Every day 
 added to her liking for Manning. He was so different 
 from other men which she had met. "If I had only 
 met him five years ago, what a different woman I 
 might have been." She sighed and looked so serious 
 that Manning asked her if she was getting tired, and 
 proposed that they should stop at the next hotel for 
 dinner. She acquiesced and they drew up in front of 
 a fine country hotel, situated near a lake and surrounded 
 by big trees. 
 
 "This must be a lovely place in summer," said Man- 
 ning, "with such beautiful shade trees and probably 
 good fishing." 
 
 "Yes.," replied Violet, "but it gives me the shivers 
 
 now." 
 
 8$ 
 
FROM OUT OF THE WEST. 
 
 "I am afraid you are not dressed warmly enough," 
 he said, gazing at the trim little jacket she wore. " When 
 we go back you shall wear my shawl.' ' 
 
 "How he would protect and cuddle a woman he 
 loved," thought Violet. 
 
 They entered the parlor and found a blazing wood 
 fire. Violet gave an exclamation of delight and drew 
 up a big easy chair. 
 
 "This is comfort," she cried, removing her hat and 
 gloves. 
 
 Manning gave orders for a hot dinner, the best the 
 house afforded. It was served in a private parlor, and, 
 at Violet's request, the waiter was banished as soon as 
 the dinner was served. 
 
 "I will pour the coffee and you shall carve the meat," 
 said Violet, gleefully, "It will seem more home- 
 like." 
 
 How lovely she looked seated at the head of the table. 
 Her cheeks and lips were aglow after her long ride in 
 the crisp air. Her beautiful golden hair waved and 
 curled about her broad white brow, and the blue eyes 
 were shining with enjoyment. Manning watched her 
 in a curious, puzzled way. How dainty and piquant 
 she was. She looked like the petted darling of some rich, 
 aristocratic family. Could it be possible she was only 
 a poor flower girl ? Violet could read what was passing 
 in his mind. As she passed him a cup of coffee, she 
 exclaimed in a theatrical tone, " ' Eat, drink and be 
 merry, for tomorrow ye die.' That is my predicament 
 exactly," she said, with a laugh. "Today, I eat and 
 drink luxuriously. Tomorrow, I die, and out of my 
 
FROM OUT OF THE WEST. 
 
 ashes rises~the flower girljvith her shabby cloak and 
 hood. ,, 
 
 "I don't like to hear you talk like that," said Man- 
 ning. "Is there nothing else you can do but sell 
 flowers? Why not be companion to some nice old 
 lady, or teach little children? Something that would 
 give you the protection of a comfortable home." 
 
 "Because," she replied, "there are no nice, old ladies 
 willing to take strange young girls and give them a 
 home; and I don't like children even if I had sufficient 
 talent for teaching, which I have not. I have had 
 several offers from artists to pose as a model, but as I 
 have a little modesty in my composition, I have never 
 accepted any of their offers yet. Perhaps I may have 
 to," and she sighed softly. 
 
 She looked so pretty and girlish, it seemed a shame 
 that she was obliged to wander the streets unprotected, 
 for a mere subsistence. Manning's impulsive, sym- 
 pathetic nature nearly got the better of him. He leaned 
 forward as though about to speak, but checked him- 
 self and drew back before he uttered the words that 
 would have ruined his whole life. Violet saw the wave 
 of emotion pass over the man and waited breathlessly 
 for the words to follow; but, instead, she saw the light 
 die out of his eyes, and when he did speak, he said in 
 a gentle tone, "Poor child, something must be done for 
 you. I know a number of kind old ladies that I am 
 sure would gladly help you if I told them of you." 
 
 Violet could hardly repress tears of rage and disap- 
 pointment at the change in his manner. When she 
 could speak calmly, she said, "Don't, I beg of you, try 
 
FROM OUT OF THE WEST. 
 
 to get any women interested in me. You men are so 
 innocent. You think women would be interested in 
 a poor girl like me. They might, if I were hideous or 
 misshapen; but they would all resent my beauty and 
 act as though I was to blame for it. Perhaps they would 
 give me some plain sewing at starvation prices, or they 
 would give me some of their cast-off finery, expecting 
 me to make a street costume out of the back breadths of 
 a ruined party dress.' ' 
 
 She spoke so bitterly that Manning listened in amaze- 
 ment and stammered, "I didn't know — I thought — " 
 
 "Of course, you didn't know; no man knows. It is 
 only a woman who knows how meanly her own sex 
 treats her. But let us drop the subject. We are spoil- 
 ing our dinner. Only don't say anything about me 
 to your lady friends." 
 
 After dinner they returned to the city by a different 
 route, reaching the park just at sunset. "Must I leave 
 you here ?" he asked. " Can't I take you to your own 
 door?" 
 
 "No, leave me here," said Violet, "and let me thank 
 you for one of the happiest days of my life." 
 
 "I shall look for my little flower girl tomorrow," 
 said Manning, "and I shall ask her who the young lady 
 was she sent in her place." 
 
 "All right," replied Violet. "I will come also to see 
 that she gives the correct answers," so with merry ban- 
 tering they parted. 
 
 Violet seated herself upon a bench in the park and 
 watched the carriage until it was hidden from her view 
 by other vehicles. She looked weary and much older 
 
 89 
 
FROM OUT OF THE WEST. 
 
 than the gay, lively maiden who had just parted with 
 Manning. 
 
 "What an innocent, young fool he is," she solilo- 
 quized. "Sometimes I despise him, and then again, 
 there are times when I love him for the very goodness 
 I despise. I am tired of this masquerading and lying. 
 How he would despise me if he knew all. He would 
 shake me off as he would a rattlesnake. I trust he 
 will never know. I could not endure to have those 
 frank, honest eyes look at me with the scorn I know 
 they are capable of. They came nearer flashing with 
 love this afternoon than I have ever seen them. I 
 wonder what he was about to say when he checked him- 
 self so suddenly. I must give him another opportunity, 
 and if he offers to make me his wife, I will accept him, 
 and beg him to take me far away where I can be a good 
 woman. If he makes me his wife, he shall not regret 
 it How Harold would laugh if he could read my 
 thoughts. Ah, well, I am getting tired of living this 
 life." She arose wearily, and signalled a carriage to 
 drive her home. 
 
CHAPTER XIII 
 
 WHO WAS SHE? 
 
 Dora and Edith Dunlap were in Aunt Helen's room 
 amusing the invalid with their girlish chatter and merry 
 laughter. They could always talk and laugh without 
 restraint before Aunt Helen. She always entered into 
 all their pranks and merry-making, sympathizing with 
 their little worries and vexations. They told her all 
 their love affairs and quarrels, sure of an interested 
 listener. 
 
 "They say Harold Graham is paying court to the 
 famous Violet Devereaux," said Edith, with a dis- 
 dainful toss of her head. " Julia Norton saw them at 
 the opera together. They had a private box and Harold 
 kept in the background, but Julia caught a glimpse of 
 him." 
 
 Aunt Helen sighed, while Dora asked, " Did you ever 
 see her?" 
 
 " Yes, once in the park. She was pointed out to me." 
 
 "Is she so very beautiful?" questioned Dora. 
 
 "She is very lovely, with a beautiful complexion, 
 golden hair and big, blue eyes like a child's. You 
 could not imagine her doing anything wrong." 
 
 "Therein lies her power," said Aunt Helen. "Men 
 do not admire a bold, bad woman, but when the tempt- 
 ress has the face of an angel, it is hard to resist 
 her." 
 
 9i 
 
FROM OUT OF THE WEST. 
 
 " They say she has more lovers than any other woman 
 in the city," said Edith; "and some stand high in society, 
 — men we would least suspect. I have tried to quiz 
 Wallace, but no use. Men will not betray each other. 
 I hope he does not go there, but there is no man one 
 can trust when a beautiful siren smiles at him." 
 
 "Now, Edith, don't make such a sweeping assertion," 
 exclaimed Dora. "I know of many that I am sure are 
 pure, good men." 
 
 "Oh, I suppose you are thinking of Mr. Manning," 
 laughed Edith. "You probably think an angel could 
 not tempt him." 
 
 "I am quite sure a fallen one could not," replied 
 Dora, complacently. 
 
 "Well, I trust your faith will never be destroyed," 
 said Edith. "I have a high opinion of Mr. Manning 
 myself. He has certainly had a wonderful influence 
 over Wallace for good; but even he may not be infal- 
 lible. What do you think, Aunt Helen?" 
 
 "I think Mr. Manning is an exceptionally strong, 
 moral man. He has been reared in a Christian family, 
 and he has never been subjected to the temptations of 
 a city life. At his age and with his strength of character, 
 I should not expect him to be easily led astray." 
 
 "How the boys disliked him at first," continued 
 Edith, "for his conscientious scruples against frivolities 
 and the vices of city life; but he has completely won 
 Wallace, Adolphus likes him also, but DeVere and 
 Harold hate him. Of course we all know why Harold 
 dislikes him, but I don't see in what way he clashes 
 with DeVere." 
 
 92 
 
FROM OUT OF THE WEST. 
 
 "Mr. Manning is so superior in looks, fortune and 
 morals to DeVere it arouses his envy and dislike. That 
 is the reason," said Dora. "Come, let us go down 
 stairs. We will tire auntie all out with our chatter. 
 I have a new song I want to sing for you." 
 
 The two girls descended to the music room and were 
 soon playing and singing at the piano. Tiring of this 
 amusement, they were just planning for a drive, when 
 Wallace and his sister Jennie entered the room. 
 
 "There she is now," cried Jennie, triumphantly, 
 pointing at Dora. "Wallace thought he saw you out 
 driving with Mr. Manning, and said it was no use call- 
 ing, as you would not be at home. But I knew you 
 were expecting Edith this morning, and if you had been 
 going to drive you would have sent her word." 
 
 "I wonder who it could have been," said Edith. 
 "She must have been a blonde to have been mistaken 
 for Dora." 
 
 Dora said nothing, but she waited anxiously for 
 Wallace's reply. 
 
 "I just caught a glimpse of a golden-haired lady 
 and thought of course it was Dora." 
 
 "Are you sure it was Mr. Manning?" questioned 
 Edith. 
 
 "Oh, I know Manning's team," replied her brother, 
 convincingly. 
 
 "I think I know who the lady was," said Jennie. 
 "You know young Mrs. Winthrop? She has taken 
 a great fancy to our young western friend. I fancy it 
 might have been she. She has hair something like 
 Dora's, only lighter. I think she has had it bleached." 
 
 93 
 
FROM OUT OF THE WEST. 
 
 "I should think her husband would object to her 
 driving about with young men," said Edith. 
 
 " Oh, she does just as she pleases," answered Jennie. 
 "She probably gave the poor fellow such a broad hint 
 to take her that he could not refuse. He will likely 
 tell Dora all about it the next time he sees her," and 
 Jennie smiled reassuringly at Dora, who resented it, 
 and replied: 
 
 "What an absurd girl you are, Jennie. You speak 
 as though I were Mr. Manning's keeper. I hope he 
 has a right to take whom he pleases to drive without 
 thinking he has to tell me about it." 
 
 Jennie laughed heartily, not a whit disconcerted. 
 "What are you girls going to do this afternoon?" she 
 asked. "Wallace and I were going to Marcel's studio 
 to look at his pictures. They say his last picture is 
 very striking. Don't you want to go with us?" 
 
 "Yes, I should like to go, if Dora will," answered 
 Edith. 
 
 "All right, "said Dora. "We will have lunch first. 
 Shall we drive or walk?" 
 
 "Oh, let us walk," said Jennie. "It is not far and 
 such a lovely day." 
 
 Dora rang the bell and ordered lunch, after which 
 they started for Marcel's. It was reception day and 
 the studio was filled with fashionable women and art 
 critics. 
 
 The artist was gracious and suave. He smiled in- 
 dulgently at the exclamations of delight from appre- 
 ciative admirers. He was a great artist, and his 
 pictures were not only admired, but sold at fabulous 
 
 : 9 4 
 
FROM OUT OF THE WEST. 
 
 prices. One picture in particular attracted considerable 
 attention, comment and admiration. It stood in an 
 alcove, and represented a beautiful young girl walking 
 down a sunny, flower-bordered path. She has been 
 gathering flowers, and her hat, swinging by its strings, 
 upon her arm, is filled with bright-hued blossoms. 
 
 The figure is life-size, and the perspective is so per- 
 fect that she looks as if alive and advancing to meet 
 you. The top and sides of the alcove are painted to 
 represent the sky and garden. Natural plants are so 
 arranged by the side of painted ones that it is hard to 
 distinguish between them, and the illusion is so perfect 
 that one can imagine himself looking into a large garden 
 without being conscious of the canvas. The picture 
 is a great success and attract- crowds of visitors. 
 
 Dora and her companions met many friends and ac- 
 quaintances; but she did not see the face of one who 
 generally joined their party on all occasions like this. 
 He was driving with some blonde woman. Who was 
 she? Dora's heart ached, although she told herself 
 that he had a perfect right to drive with anyone he chose. 
 She longed for the evening. She was sure he would 
 call. Then he would speak of his drive, and tell her 
 he was sorry he could not have been with her. 
 
 That evening Dora took extra pains with her toilette, 
 although she was going to spend a quiet evening at 
 home, in hopes that Manning would call and ease her 
 mind with regard to the blonde. She tried to amuse 
 herself at the piano, but she was too nervous to play or 
 sing. She tried to read, but could not get interested 
 as she was listening for a foot-fall all the time. It was 
 
 95 
 
FROM OUT OF THE WEST. 
 
 getting late and she had about given up hopes of Philip's 
 coming, when he was announced and entered the room. 
 
 "I was afraid you would not be at home," he said, 
 after the usual greetings had been exchanged. "How 
 is it you are not at Mrs. Monroe's musicale?" 
 
 "I was too tired," replied Dora. "I like to stay at 
 home occasionally and rest up. Too much dissipation 
 is not good for me. I might ask the same question — 
 why are you not there?" 
 
 "I did drop in just long enough to find you were not 
 there. Then I made my adieux, thinking I might pos- 
 sibly find you at home." 
 
 Manning drew a chair in front of the open fire, where 
 Dora was sitting, leaned back in its comfortable depths 
 and gazed at the beautiful girl opposite him. He gave 
 a sigh of intense enjoyment and exclaimed: "Now this 
 is what I call comfort, — far ahead of the crowded 
 room I left. What puzzles me is, why every one over- 
 crowds their rooms, making it so uncomfortable. I 
 am in misery all the time for fear I shall step on some 
 lady's tn in or perhaps her toes." 
 
 "Well I really don't know myself," said Dora, smil- 
 ing. "I know the majority of ladies like to have their 
 rooms crowded. They would think their entertain- 
 ment a failure if there was not a jam." 
 
 "I hope Josie will not make that mistake when she 
 comes to entertain. I shall rely on you and your mother 
 to coach her a bit. She will be a little shy at first. 
 Josie has never been to a fashionable party in all her 
 fife. We used to have frolics in the West that we called 
 parties, but they were not much like your city affairs." 
 
 96 
 
FROM OUT OF THE WEST. 
 
 "Do tell me about one of them," exclaimed Dora, 
 eagerly. 
 
 "Well," said Manning, laughing, "I will try and 
 describe a party in the far West. Of course, in the 
 western cities you will find society quite as much up- 
 to-date as in your eastern cities; but among the farmers 
 it is different. They live so far from fashionable society 
 and regard for etiquette, that they have their own codes 
 and customs of doing things. The invitations are 
 generally verbal and passed from house to house. 
 Cousin Jane is expected to tell her young man and re- 
 quest him to tell some other fellow to tell his girl to tell 
 her friend, and so it goes the rounds that Sally Williams 
 is going to have a party on a certain evening. The 
 eventful evening arrives. John does the chores up early 
 and dons his best Sunday suit. Hitching the young colt 
 to the buggy, he starts off to get Mary, who, perhaps, 
 lives several miles distant. She is ready and waiting, 
 and makes John's heart palpitate with admiration at 
 her festive appearance. Another long drive brings them 
 to the house where the party is to be. It is a large, 
 old-fashioned house, surrounded by barns and sheds 
 of all sizes and dimensions, from the little chicken coop 
 to the great barn. The yard is full of vehicles of vari- 
 ous kinds, from the old family coach to the buckboard. 
 As John drives up, he is greeted by a chorus of welcomes. 
 The young men seize upon the horse and help unharness, 
 while Mary is captured by the girls, led into the house 
 and into the spare bedroom to lay aside her things and 
 fix her hair. Downstairs, most of the young men are 
 out in the big kitchen talking about crops and stock. 
 
 97 
 
FROM OUT OF THE WEST. 
 
 The girls are in the sitting-room, chatting and laughing 
 and casting shy glances towards the kitchen door. 
 Someone proposes Copenhagen. A rope is found, and 
 a big circle formed in the kitchen. Then the fun be- 
 gins, but such boisterous fun, such shrieking and skir- 
 mishing. At last they are driven into the sitting-room, 
 as the older ones are about to set the tables. 
 
 " Some one starts whirling the platter and forfeits are 
 gathered fast. They are redeemed by requiring their 
 victims to do all manner of absurd things for the amuse- 
 ment of the crowd. 
 
 u Then comes the supper. I wish you could see the 
 tables. The cloth is coarse but snowy white. There 
 is no silver, unless it is some old heirloom, or a few 
 spoons. There is no gas; kerosene lamps are the only 
 illuminators. There is white, brown and rye bread. A 
 big pan of baked beans graces the center of the table. 
 There are cold, sliced meats, a variety of pies and cakes, 
 cheese, pickles, apples, nuts and cider. That is the 
 bill of fare you will find at every party in the West, and 
 seldom anything more or less. It is a feast the farmers 
 love, and they eat as though they had been saving their 
 appetites for the occasion. At the last of the meal a few 
 always get boisterous, and nuts and pop-corn fly about 
 the table. 
 
 "After the supper the table is cleared and pushed back 
 against the wall. The old fiddler tunes up and hugs 
 his fiddle under his chin. Then with arms, head and 
 feet beating time, he starts some familiar tune. All 
 who know how to dance choose their partners, sets are 
 formed, and the dancing commences. Those who do 
 
 9 8 
 
FROM OUT OF THE WEST. 
 
 not dance, repair to the other rooms and continue the 
 games. 
 
 "They seldom stay after twelve, as most of them 
 have a long drive and must be up ready for work at 
 daylight. So midnight finds them all gone. John 
 leaves Mary, with a bashful kiss, at her own door, while 
 he drives home whistling and thinking what a jolly, 
 good time he has had." 
 
 Dora had listened, very much amused and enter- 
 tained by the recital. " I have no doubt they enjoy their 
 parties as well as we do ours, perhaps better," she said; 
 "we have to be so conventional and careful what we 
 say and do. It is often a greater bore than an enjoy- 
 ment ; but when one is in society, one has to do as society 
 does." 
 
 It was getting late. Mr. and Mrs. Hutchinson had 
 returned from the theatre, so Manning took his de- 
 parture. Not until after he had gone did Dora re- 
 member the blonde. Manning had not mentioned his 
 drive, and the blonde lady was as great a mystery as 
 ever. 
 
 99 
 
CHAPTER XIV. 
 
 THE FORTUNE TELLER. 
 
 It was the week before Christmas, and the Hutch- 
 insons were preparing to entertain. The invitations 
 had been issued to only a limited number. "I am 
 going to take Mr. Manning's advice and not crowd the 
 rooms," said Dora. 
 
 "I think Dora is very particular to please this Mr. 
 Manning," said Kate Howard, a young schoolmate of 
 Dora's, who had come to spend the holidays. "I am 
 anxious to meet him; perhaps I can cut her out. I 
 hope he admires dark eyes," and Kate flashed her own 
 dark orbs roguishly. 
 
 "He has dark eyes himself, and admires blondes," 
 was Dora's laughing reply. "So you have no show at 
 all." 
 
 "Now don't you be too sure, Miss Dora," said Kate, 
 saucily. "I have other charms besides my dark eyes. 
 I am a charming dancer. Perhaps I can waltz my way 
 into his heart." 
 
 "But he doesn't dance," answered Dora, demurely. 
 
 "Oh, well, if he doesn't admire brunettes and doesn't 
 dance, I am sure I would not take him as a gift," and 
 she gave a deprecatory wave of her white hands. 
 
 That afternoon there were two new arrivals, young 
 cousins of Dora's from a distant city, the daughters of 
 a sister of Mrs. Hutchinson's, Mabel and Isabel Joyce. 
 
 ioo 
 
 
FROM OUT OF THE WEST. 
 
 Aunt Helen's room was invaded at all hours of the 
 day. She was consulted with regard to the selection 
 of Christmas gifts, and many mysterious packages were 
 arriving to be left in her possession for safe keeping, 
 while the four girls made daily excursions to the big 
 stores filled with rich and dainty wares that appealed 
 to their taste and drained their pocketbooks. 
 
 What a pleasure to enter a store with a well-filled 
 purse, knowing that when the purse is empty, there is 
 plenty more to replenish it; not to be obliged to get only 
 the necessities of life, trying to make ourselves believe we 
 are as well satisfied with the sensible, practical gifts. 
 These are well enough at any other time of the year, but 
 at Christmas our hearts crave the beautiful, dainty little 
 trifles that are luxuries not necessities. 
 
 It was Christmas Eve and it had been snowing hard 
 all day. The girls, confined to the house, had exhausted 
 every amusement they could think of. Now, as the 
 evening approached, the snow ceased to fall, and there 
 was every indication of fair weather. 
 
 "I am glad it is time to dress for dinner," yawned 
 Kate. "I hope we shall have a host of callers this 
 evening. It will be delightful sleighing tomor- 
 row." 
 
 "I hope Wallace Dunlap will invite me to take a 
 sleigh ride," said Isabel, "so I can have a fine color for 
 the evening." 
 
 "If Harold Graham calls, I shall try and drop'a hint 
 on my own account," laughed Kate. "Perhaps Mr. 
 Manning will ask Dora, and then poor Mabel will be left 
 at home alone." 
 
 IOI 
 
FROM OUT OF THE WEST. 
 
 "You need not worry about me," replied Mabel. 
 "How do you know but what Mr. Dunlap or Mr. 
 Graham may prefer my society to yours?" 
 
 "If Mr. Dunlap takes you to ride, I will tell Charlie," 
 said Isabel, threateningly. "The idea of a girl who is 
 engaged taking sleigh rides away from girls who are 
 less fortunate." 
 
 "Charlie told me to enjoy myself," replied Mabel, 
 "and I mean to." 
 
 "That's right, Mabel, you had better enjoy yourself 
 while you have your liberty," said Kate, "for after you 
 are married, Charlie may not be so willing. But come, 
 we shall be late for dinner if we do not dress at once." 
 So they all ran upstairs, their merry voices floating 
 away in the distance. 
 
 There were several callers in the evening. Wallace 
 came early and devoted himself to Isabel; Adolphus 
 and Jennie called on their way to a concert; Manning 
 came next, and later Harold Graham. It was a cold 
 night, and the merry jingle of the sleigh bells could be 
 heard from outside, while in the drawing rcom they 
 gathered about the open fire or piano. John, the stately 
 footman, who stood guard over the front door and hall, 
 made his appearance at the door and requested the 
 privilege of speaking to his young mistress. 
 
 "What is it?" she asked, pleasantly. 
 
 "There is an old woman in the hall who says she is a 
 gypsy, and begged me to ask you to let her tell your 
 fortunes." 
 
 "Poor old thing, I will send her some money and let 
 her go," said Dora. 
 
 102 
 
FROM OUT OF THE WEST. 
 
 "Who is poor and old?" cried Jennie, inquisitively, 
 as she caught the words. 
 
 "Why, John says there is an old gypsy fortune teller 
 out in the hall, and she — " 
 
 "Oh, how delightful!" exclaimed Jennie, clapping 
 her hands. "Do have her in; what fun! Just think, 
 girls, a fortune teller, and Dora was going to send her 
 away." 
 
 "Oh, do let her in," cried Kate; "I never had my 
 fortune told." 
 
 So Dora reluctantly consented and John withdrew, 
 but soon appeared again. "She says she must see you 
 one at a time. Where shall I take her?" 
 
 Dora thought for a moment, then said: "Take her 
 into the south library. There is nothing there she can 
 take or harm, and only one door into the hall. Keep 
 your eye on the door, John, and see that she enters no 
 room but that. I have not much faith in such charac- 
 ters." 
 
 "All right, Miss Dora, I will keep my eye on her," 
 and John left the room to escort the fortune teller to the 
 library. 
 
 "Who will have their fortune told first ?" asked Dora. 
 
 "Jennie ought to go, as she was so anxious to have 
 her admitted," said Isabel. "You could not hire me 
 to go first, I will wait and see what charm she works 
 upon Jennie." 
 
 • "Oh, I'm not afraid," said Jennie, courageously. 
 "Adolphus, you sit near the door, and if you hear me 
 scream come to my rescue," and with a firm step, 
 Jennie passed from the room, while those who remained 
 
 «>3 
 
FROM OUT OF THE WEST. 
 
 behind told of the mysterious power some gypsies 
 possessed. 
 
 In a short time, Jennie returned, her eyes sparkling 
 and her cheeks flushed with excitement. The girls 
 crowded about her with exclamations and questions. 
 "What did she tell you?'' "Tell us about her." 
 "How does she look?" came from a chorus of 
 voices. 
 
 "Well," said Jennie, sinking into a chair, "she is 
 just wonderful. Why, if she had known me all my life 
 she could not have told me more of my past life; and 
 she also told me of a fine future, but I am not going ;o 
 tell that," and she glanced shyly at Adolphus. "Kate, 
 you ought to go next. It's lots of fun." 
 
 So Kate left the room, while Jennie gave a graphic 
 description of the fortune teller. 
 
 Kate soon returned and gave a satisfactory report. 
 
 "I think some of the gentlemen ought to go now," 
 said Jennie. "Won't you go, Mr. Manning?" but he 
 shook his head and begged to be excused. Finally 
 they prevailed on Wallace to go. When he returned 
 he wore a puzzled, wondering expression, and to the 
 questions that assailed him he answered that she cer- 
 tainly was able to tell a person's past life, as she told 
 him things he thought known only to himself. 
 
 Isabel was the next to interview the sibyl of fate. 
 Then Adolphus, after much urging, was sent to her. 
 
 "Now, Harold, you must go," they all cried. 
 
 "I do not believe that she can tell me anything that 
 will impress me with her wonderful power. It is all 
 nonsense, but I will go to please you." 
 
 104 
 
 
FROM OUT OF THE WEST. 
 
 Harold left the room and passed into the library. 
 After closing the door, he gazed searchingly about the 
 dimly lighted room. At last he saw her. She sat hud- 
 dled in front of the fire. Turning towards him, she 
 spoke from the depths of a big hood that overshadowed 
 her face. "Cross my hand with silver, laddie. I have 
 much to tell you." 
 
 She held towards him a small, brown hand into which 
 he threw some silver. "Sit down," she said, motion- 
 ing to the chair by her side. He did so, and taking his 
 hand she studied it for a few moments; then in a low 
 tone said: — "Young man your past has been reckless, 
 unsettled and unhappy. The one great desire of your 
 heart is to possess a beautiful maiden who does not love 
 you, but does love your rival. You have tried in every 
 way to injure your rival, to disgrace him in the eyes of 
 the lady you both love, so far without effect, but your 
 last scheme for his undoing will prove a success. You 
 will destroy your rival but you will not win the 
 lady." 
 
 Harold had listened first in listless incredulity, but 
 as she proceeded, he bent forward to peer into her face. 
 This she prevented by bending over his hand. 
 
 "Who are you?" he asked, sternly. 
 
 "I am the seventh daughter of Queen Floretta, who 
 was the seventh daughter — " 
 
 " Enough of that," he exclaimed, roughly. " You are 
 no gypsy. You are in disguise, and I shall expose you, 
 so you had better reveal your identity to me." 
 
 A low, sweet laugh greeted his ear. The hood was 
 thrown back, revealing a laughing pair of blue eyes, 
 
 105 
 
FROM OUT OF THE WEST. 
 
 and pearly teeth, a brown, swarthy skin streaked with 
 dark lines to represent wrinkles, and a gray wig com- 
 pleted her disguise. 
 
 "Violet," he exclaimed, in surprise. 
 
 "At your mercy," she laughingly replied. 
 
 "What is your object?" he asked. 
 
 " To drop a hint or two that will take root in the hearts 
 of two people, and help me in my future plans." 
 
 "What if Manning sees through your disguise as I 
 did?" said Harold, anxiously. 
 
 "Never fear," replied Violet. "He is unsuspicious 
 and unused to ferreting out disguises. I do not fear 
 him as much as I do Miss Hutchinson. She did not 
 wish to admit me and will scrutinize me critically. 
 
 Violet replaced the hood, and with downcast eyes 
 protrayed the old gypsy mother to perfection. 
 
 Harold laughed, reassured. "Well, I must be going. 
 I have been absent too long already. They will be 
 coming to find me. I will give them a good report and 
 send the others in." So saying he returned to the draw- 
 ing room. 
 
 He was assailed by a chorus of questions, "What 
 made you stay so long?" asked Jennie. 
 
 "We thought you had succumbed to the fascinations 
 of the gypsy and eloped," said Kate. 
 
 "Do tell us what she told you," coaxed Isabel. 
 
 Harold laughingly placed his hands over his ears. 
 "All I can say is that she is worth seeing and hearing. 
 What she tells you is interesting." 
 
 "Who goes next? It is your turn, Dora." 
 
 " I do not care to have my fortune told," replied Dora. 
 
 106 
 
FROM OUT OF THE WEST. 
 
 "I would rather trie future remained a mystery until 
 time revealed it." 
 
 "Oh, that is not fair," exclaimed Kate. 
 
 "I believe she is afraid," laughed Jennie. 
 
 So they overcame her reluctance and sent her to the 
 gypsy. When she reached the library door, she hesi- 
 tated, loath to enter, but knowing she would be ques- 
 tioned upon her return and laughed at if she did not, 
 she turned the knob and entered. With firm step and 
 haughty air she approached the gypsy, and reluctantly 
 extended her white jeweled hand, which was grasped 
 by the brown one of the gypsy, who studied it intently. 
 Presently she spoke: 
 
 "You are an only child, rich, cherished, and beauti- 
 ful; your every wish gratified as soon as expressed. 
 You have never known a sorrow. Such an unnatural 
 condition cannot go on forever. All has been sunshine 
 and roses in the past, but there are storms and sorrows 
 in the future." 
 
 Dora shuddered as the words of the gypsy recalled 
 her dream. 
 
 "I see two lovers," continued the gypsy. "One has 
 been friend and playmate from youth; the other, a 
 stranger from a distance, has captured your heart, ex- 
 cluding the friendship of years. There is jealousy be- 
 tween the two. The stranger is not what he appears; 
 he is a deceiver. He hopes to win your heart and hand 
 and by so doing win your father's gold ; but his heart is 
 another's and can never be yours. Better beware, lady, 
 and accept the true, faithful friend of your youth, rather 
 than this gay deceiver with his tender brown eyes and 
 black heart — " 
 
 107 
 
FROM OUT OF THE WEST. 
 
 Dora snatched away her hand. ' ' What nonsense you 
 talk," she said, in a voice she strove to keep calm. "It 
 is an easy matter to ascertain from the servants that I 
 am an only child and have more than one lover. The 
 rest is a flight of your imagination." And Dora swept 
 from the room. 
 
 The gypsy laughed gleefully as the door closed after 
 her. "Ah, ha, my fine lady. I think some of those 
 strokes told, and will rankle in your proud heart for a 
 while. How haughty and scornful she was. I should 
 enjoy humbling her pride. She loves him, but she 
 shall not have him; not until I get tired of him, at any 
 rate. Ah, another step; it must be Philip. I must 
 nerve myself anew. So much depends upon the im- 
 pression I make upon him." 
 
 The door opened and Manning entered. He stood 
 by the door and gazed about him. 
 
 "Come here, young man, and cross the gypsy's hand 
 with silver," croned a low voice from the hearth. 
 
 Manning obeyed the voice and stood at her side. 
 "Well, what have you to tell me, granny?" he asked, 
 in his pleasant, cheerful voice. "What have the fates 
 in store for me? There ought to be considerable to 
 see in a hand of that size." He laughed as he extended 
 his large, well-shaped hand. 
 
 Violet took his hand in both of hers and studied it. 
 What a strong, firm hand it was, the healthy pink palm 
 with its deep red lines. She noticed the immaculate 
 cuff with the'gold buttons engraved with his initials. 
 She would have liked to bury her cheek in that firm, 
 pinkj>alm, but instead, she^said: "You are a good son, 
 
 108 
 
FROM OUT OF THE WEST. 
 
 a good brother, a faithful friend, upright and honorable 
 among men, standing for the right in the midst of op- 
 pression. Such a man should have only friends; but, 
 alas, I see those who would gladly blacken your pure 
 soul and lower you to their own level, but their efforts 
 will be in vain. There are two beautiful women whom 
 you are interested in. I will not say love, for I do not 
 think you know your own mind yet. One would be 
 glad to become your wife for the sake of your gold, but 
 the other loves you for yourself alone. Be careful how 
 you make a choice. One is rich and cultured, the other 
 is of humble birth. I will not tell you which one loves 
 you for yourself and not for your gold, but I caution 
 you be careful and make no mistake." 
 
 "Is that all?" asked Manning, rising. "lam sorry 
 to hear I have enemies. Couldn't you be induced to 
 tell me the name of the woman who loves me ? I might 
 marry the wrong one if you don't," and he laughed 
 merrily. 
 
 "Your heart will tell you in time," the gypsy replied. 
 "Study them both until you are sure which one it is." 
 
 "All right, I won't be in a hurry," said Manning, 
 as he left the room. 
 
 Everyone expressed themselves delighted with their 
 fortunes, with the exception of Dora, who said but little. 
 She watched eagerly for Manning's return, and when 
 he came, she searched his face giving a sigh of relief 
 as she met the merry, laughing glance of his eye. 
 
 The gentlemen left at an early hour, and the girls 
 retired that they might be fresh for the morrow's 
 fete 
 
 109 
 
CHAPTER XV. 
 
 CHRISTMAS GIFTS. 
 
 Christmas morning dawned clear and cold. The 
 merry jingle of sleigh bells greeted the ear. Dora 
 and her young friends were astir early, running in and 
 out of each other's rooms with Christmas greetings 
 and arms full of presents. Aunt Helen's bed was liter- 
 ally covered with gifts, and the four girls perched them- 
 selves upon it to watch her open and examine each par- 
 cel with exclamations of pleasure and delight. 
 
 There was a big, fleecy white shawl made by Kate's 
 industrious hands, a pretty headrest from Isabel, a 
 placque painted by Mabel's artistic hand, and a pair 
 of sweet singing canaries in a pretty cage from Dora, 
 who knew her aunt's love for pets. 
 
 The breakfast bell caused the girls to hurry to their 
 rooms to complete their toilettes. They soon appeared 
 at the breakfast table and exchanged Christmas greet- 
 ings with Mr. and Mrs. Hutchinson. Gifts were pre- 
 sented, inspected and commented upon. 
 
 During the meal, John entered with a huge box, 
 which when opened revealed four beautiful bouquets 
 of roses, each encased in a silver holder of exquisite 
 workmanship. A card bearing Philip Manning's name 
 was attached to each bouquet. The flowers were re- 
 ceived with cries of delight from the four girls. " How 
 lovely!" "What a darling he is!" "All just alike!" 
 "What beauties!" 
 
 no 
 
FROM OUT OF THE WEST. 
 
 H How nice of him not to show any preference or 
 partiality," said Kate. "Are you sure yours hasn't 
 an extra jewel in it, Dora ?" 
 
 "No, mine is just like yours, I am happy to say. It 
 shows his good taste to make no distinction," replied 
 Dora. 
 
 " These holders are the handsomest I ever saw," 
 said Mabel, examining hers with critical pleasure. 
 " Charlie gave me one on my last birthday, but, al- 
 though handsome, I never carry it. This one is as 
 light and dainty as a piece of frosted lace." 
 
 "It is just what I have always wanted," exclaimed 
 Isabel. "I dislike to soil my gloves with my flowers." 
 
 After breakfast each girl carried her bouquet to Aunt 
 Helen's room for inspection and admiration, then to 
 her own room for evening wear. 
 
 The rest of the day was a busy one for Dora and her 
 mother. There was a constant stream of decorators, 
 florist, caterers, messenger boys and delivery wagons, 
 for, although the house was full of capable servants, 
 there were directions and arrangements that only the 
 ladies of the house could attend to. 
 
 We will leave them for a while, to visit our friend 
 Manning, and see how he enjoys his first Christmas in 
 the great metropolis. We find him occupied with a 
 parcel that has just been delivered to him. Undoing 
 the outside wrapper, revealed a long, white box. On 
 raising the lid, a beautiful handkerchief case is disclosed. 
 Lifting it from the box, Manning examines it with ad - 
 miration, a pleased smile upon his lips. It is made 
 of white satin, lined with violet. Clusters of violets are 
 
 m 
 
FROM OUT OF THE WEST. 
 
 painted on its snowy exterior, while a delicate perfume 
 of violets fills the room. Of course Violet is the donor. 
 
 "It is as sweet and dainty as herself," he thinks. He 
 is still admiring it when Wallace enters the room. 
 Manning has not time to replace it in the box before it 
 has caught the eye of Wallace. 
 
 "None of that, old fellow," he cries, with a merry 
 laugh. "Trying to hide your Christmas gifts. I 
 can guess whom it is from. I think I saw her making 
 it." He takes it from Manning's reluctant hand and 
 inspects it critically. "I thought hers was pink," he 
 mused, "I must have been mistaken though. It's a 
 daisy, isn't it? I should say a violet. What a fellow 
 you are for violets; Dora has evidently noticed it," and 
 Wallace looked very knowing. 
 
 Manning watched him uneasily. He knew Wallace 
 thought Dora had sent it, and he did not correct the 
 impression. When Wallace relinquished the case, 
 Philip carried it into the next room and placed it upon 
 his dressing case. 
 
 p It had caused Manning some little perplexity to de- 
 cide what to give Violet for a Christmas gift. Finally 
 he decided upon a gold bangle bracelet. He had not 
 given it to her yet, as he had no address where he could 
 send it and must wait until he saw her again. 
 
 The young men decided to take a sle gh ride. "We 
 need not bother about taking any of the girls to-day, 
 they will be too busy preparing for the evening," said 
 Wallace, so they joined the gay turnout in the park. 
 
 There were hundreds of sleighs of every description, 
 from the elaborate Russian plumed affair, to the little 
 
 112 
 
FROM OUT OF THE WEST. 
 
 clipper with only room for two. Manning and Wallace 
 met many they knew and exchanged salutations. At 
 last a beautiful sleigh was seen approaching, which 
 riveted their attention. It was upholstered in blue 
 plush and piled full of great white robes. The horses 
 were white, with silver mounted harness and bells. 
 Harold Graham held the reins and at his side, nestled 
 among the snowy robes and clothed in costiy furs, sat 
 a beautiful woman. Her golden hair glittered in the 
 sunshine, her big, blue eyes sparkled with health and 
 enjoyment, her cheeks and lips were a lovely carmine. 
 She was fairly dazzling in her exquisite beauty. As the 
 sleighs passed each other, three hats were lifted. A 
 smile and flash of white teeth and the vision had 
 passed . 
 
 "Who was that lady ?" asked Manning, eagerly, fairly 
 grasping Wallace by the arm. 
 
 "Oh that is Harold's prime favorite at present, 
 Madam Devereaux. Isn't she a beauty? and awfully 
 jolly too." 
 
 "She resembles a little flower girl, I know," said 
 Manning. "I never saw such a striking likeness. I 
 almost thought it was she at first. ' 
 
 "Your flower girl must be a beauty, then," replied 
 Wallace, "for Madam Devereaux is considered the 
 handsomest woman in the city. I should like to see 
 your flower girl. Where did you come across her? 
 Does she bring you flowers every day? When can 
 I see her?" 
 
 " She does not come very often. I never know when 
 to expect her," replied Manning, coolly. 
 
 "3 
 
:OM OUT OF THE WEST. 
 
 "Well, you are a fine fellow, having a flower girl to 
 bring you flowers, who you say is as beautiful as Madam 
 Devereaux, and never saying a word about it to your 
 best friend." 
 
 "I did not think you would be interested in a girl 
 who sells me flowers, even if she did have a pretty face. 
 It never occurred to me to speak of her, any more than 
 it would of my washerwoman or chambermaid," re- 
 plied Manning, coldly. 
 
 14 Oh, well, don't get huffy, I won't interfere with your 
 pretty flower girl; but you had better look out, if she is 
 as pretty as you say, that she doesn't turn your head. 
 They are up to such things." 
 
 Manning made no reply and the subject was dropped. 
 
 That evening, just at dusk, there was a gentle tap at 
 Manning's door, and, upon opening it, he found Violet's 
 smiling face. He had not seen her for a week, and had 
 really missed the sweet, roguish face. "I wanted to 
 wish you a Merry Christmas," she said, with a pretty, 
 deprecative air. 
 
 "I am glad you did," Manning replied, "for I have 
 a little gift I want to give you. I should have sent it 
 to you, but I had no address. Come in." 
 
 Violet entered the room, while Manning went into 
 the next room for the bracelet. It was a pretty, slender 
 gold band with bangles depending from it, just the 
 thing to please a poor flower girl; but as Violet had doz- 
 ens of bracelets some of great value, she could scarcely 
 refrain from laughing at the poor little bangle, but she 
 did not forget her role. So, gazing at Manning, her 
 eyes sparkling with gratitude (or mirth), she exclaimed: 
 
 114 
 
FROM OUT OF THE WEST. 
 
 "How beautiful! I shall always wear it in memory of 
 the giver. Please clasp it on my arm," and she ex- 
 tended it towards him, turning back the cuff to display 
 the slender wrist. 
 
 Manning clasped it as she requested, admiring the 
 pretty white hand and tapering fingers. "Just the 
 hand for rings and kisses," he thought, and obeying 
 a sudden impulse he kissed the little hand before he 
 relinquished it. 
 
 Violet blushed and coyly withdrew her hand, but there 
 was no sign of displeasure on her face. 
 
 "I want to thank you for the beautiful gift you sent 
 me," Philip said, gratefully. "I shall be constantly re- 
 minded of two Violets, the flower and the girl. Oh, by 
 the way, I saw your duplicate today, a lady so like you 
 that had you been sitting by her side I could not have 
 told you apart." 
 
 "Oh, yes, you could," said Violet, convincingly. "I 
 know whom you mean. It was the beautiful Madam 
 Devereaux. I know I resemble her wonderfully when 
 seen apart; but her hair is darker than mine. She is 
 taller and much more beautiful. She, in her costly 
 furs and fine dresses looks the great lady, while I look 
 just what I am, — a poor flower girl," and Violet's 
 eyes drooped sadly and she sighed. "They say she 
 was once a poor girl like myself." 
 
 "How did she acquire her wealth?" asked Man- 
 ning. 
 
 "By her marriage with a rich, old man. He is dead 
 now, and she is still young and beautiful. Perhaps 
 she will now marry for love." 
 
 "5 
 
FROM OUT OF THE WEST. 
 
 " Would you marry a man for his money?" asked 
 Manning, earnestly watching her face. 
 
 " No, replied Violet, emphatically. "If I ever marry, 
 it will be the man I love. If he is rich, so much the 
 better, for I should like fine clothes and jewels, but I 
 would not marry for those alone." 
 
 ' ' That is right, Violet, I like to hear you express such 
 sentiments. It is the way every young girl should feel; 
 but, alas, too many are willing to sell themselves to the 
 highest bidder. I hope you will some day find a lover 
 worthy of you, and rich enough to dress you as finely 
 as the lady I saw in the sleigh." 
 
 "Well, stranger things than that have happened," 
 replied Violet, with a conscious smile. 
 
 Manning felt a sudden thrill of annoyance at her 
 reply. Had Violet a lover already ? If so, where was 
 he ? who was he ? and did she love him ? Philip did not 
 half like the idea of a possible lover, although he had 
 expressed a wish that such might be the case. He had 
 no desire to marry her himself. Why should he care 
 if she had a lover ? He only took a great interest in her. 
 She was very lovely, and their secret acquaintance was 
 very fascinating. He felt as though he did not wish 
 to lose her. He wanted no lover to interfere with their 
 pleasant friendship. Manning gazed admiringly at 
 the graceful figure in front of the fire. She had pushed 
 back her hood, and the firelight made her golden hair 
 glitter like the precious metal. She was gazing pen- 
 sively into the fire. The pose and expression were very 
 becoming. Violet was a born actress, she knew in- 
 tuitively what was passing in Philip's mind, and her 
 
 116 
 
FROM OUT OF THE WEST. 
 
 thoughts were — "I must wake you up with a little 
 jealousy, young man, you are about half-way in love 
 with me. Perhaps I can fan the flame with jealousy. 
 He is the hardest man to conquer I ever saw, but the 
 greater will be my triumph in the end. I will leave him 
 now with the thought of a possible rival to torment him. 
 It may do some good." 
 
 Turning from the fire, she said: "I must be going 
 now. I see you are going to some entertainment or 
 party. You are one of the few men who look well in 
 a dress suit," and she gazed at him with genuine ad- 
 miration in her lovely eyes. 
 
 Manning flushed with pleasure. "Yes," he an- 
 swered, "I am going to a Christmas party. I wish you 
 were going also." 
 
 " That is kind of you," she replied, gratefully. "Per- 
 haps your wish may be gratified some day. Good- 
 night," and she was gone. 
 
 The Hutchinsons' party was a grand success. It was a 
 fine night, so all invited were able to attend. The cos- 
 tumes were beautiful, the music and supper perfection; 
 everyone seemed happy and gracious. Dora was es- 
 pecially radiant in a pale blue silk covered with creamy 
 lace. Diamonds encircled her snowy throat and 
 flashed in her golden hair. She was a woman from 
 whom any man might well be proud and happy to 
 win such a smile as she bestowed on Manning upon 
 his arrival. All thought of Violet faded from his mind. 
 He was happy to be with Dora, and smiled back into 
 her eyes until they drooped and her heart beat with 
 happiness. 
 
 "7 
 
CHAPTER XVI. 
 
 NEW YEAR'S CALLS. 
 
 Wallace Dunlap, in fur-trimmed overcoat, silk 
 hat, light kid gloves and dainty cane, entered Manning's 
 room, early New Year's morning. Philip was still in his 
 dressing gown, reading the morning papers. "Why, 
 hello, Wallace, what got you out so early?" he ex- 
 cla med, as the young man entered the room. 
 
 "I came to place myself under your protection," 
 replied Wallace, with a laugh and a slight nervous 
 contraction of the lips. 
 
 Manning looked at him anxiously. "I see you are 
 all equipped for New Year's calls," he said. " I shall 
 be glad if you will allow me to accompany you. There 
 are several calls I ought to make, and I was dreading 
 to go alone." 
 
 "It is kind of you to put it in that way, Manning; 
 but the truth is, I need you. I am ashamed that I am 
 not yet able to stand alone, but must lean upon some 
 one. I never realized what a strong hold that cursed 
 habit had upon me, until I tried to break away. To- 
 day I know I shall be subjected to temptations on all 
 sides, and I am afraid to trust myself to meet them alone. 
 If it was not for you, I would not make a call today. 
 That would expose my weakness and subject me to 
 ridicule. I feel safe with you by my side. You seem 
 such a tower of strength," and Wallace gazed with 
 admiration at his friend. 
 
 118 
 
 
FROM OUT OF THE WEST. 
 
 "We need not start until ten, so lay aside your coat 
 and make yourself comfortable. Do you know, this 
 will be my first experience in New Year's calls. You 
 had better coach me a bit. How long must one stay ? 
 How much must one eat? and what is the proper thing 
 to say?" asked Philip, with a humorous twinkle in his 
 eye. 
 
 "Oh, I'll risk you," laughed Wallace. "Stay, eat, 
 and talk, as long as you choose. The customary way 
 with most of the fellows is to see how many calls they 
 can make and how much wine they can drink; and about 
 midnight, some friend helps them home and gives them 
 in charge of the footman or butler who has been on the 
 lookout, and pilots his master to his room without dis- 
 turbing the family, and gets a generous tip in the morn- 
 ing. This is what they call having a jolly good time. 
 I used to be one of them, but I hope never to be again. 
 I can now see where it was leading me. Thank God 
 you stopped me, Manning. I was going to the devil 
 fast. If I ever amount to anything as a man it will 
 be your doing ' and he placed his hand affectionately 
 upon Philip's shoulder. 
 
 Later the two young men left the hotel in a coupe*. 
 Their first call was at the Dunlaps'. Manning was 
 surprised to see the blinds all closed and the windows 
 draped with heavy curtains to exclude the sunshine, 
 while the rooms were brilliantly lighted within. Edith 
 and Jennie, as beautifully dressed as for a grand recep- 
 tion, were assisted by two lady friends, in receiving 
 the callers. In one corner of the room was a table 
 filled with cakes, fruit and confectionery. Another 
 
 119 
 
FROM OUT OF THE WEST. 
 
 table was covered with glasses and bottles and a huge 
 punch bowl. Over this table Jennie presided, and 
 ladled out the exhilarating beverage to a host of mas- 
 culine admirers. 
 
 As Manning and Wallace entered, a chorus of 
 "Happy New Years" greeted them, and they were es- 
 corted to the table to partake of the good things. They 
 both took coffee and pronounced it delicious. 
 
 " Don't come near me unless you want to get 
 punched," called out Jennie, saucily, poising the punch 
 ladle. Every one laughed and plenty seemed to wish 
 to be punched. 
 
 Adolphus was present in a suit of fashionable plaid; 
 his collar, of startling height, was encircled by a cerise 
 tie. He was happy and contented by the side of Jennie 
 and the punch bowl. 
 
 "There is a call I should like to make," said Wallace, 
 as they drove away; " but I am afraid you would not 
 approve. You are so straight-laced about some 
 things." 
 
 "Where is it?" asked Philip, gravely. "I don't un- 
 derstand why you should wish to visit any questionable 
 place on a day like this, the beginning of a new year, 
 when all our plans and purposes should be for the 
 better." 
 
 "There, there, Manning, don't preach," entreated 
 Wallace. "Do you know, old man, I think you have 
 missed your calling. You ought to have been a min- 
 ister. Did you ever think of it ?" 
 
 "Yes, I have thought of it," replied Manning, seri- 
 ously, "but you are mistaken as to my abilities in that 
 
 120 
 
FROM OUT OF THE WEST. 
 
 line. I am no orator. I lack the brilliancy that min- 
 isters of today must have. I might be sincere, but I 
 should be stupid." 
 
 "Well, you are modest," laughed Wallace. "I am 
 glad you are not of that profession, for you are distress- 
 ingly good now; but I should not dare come near you 
 if you wore a surplice, knowing my unworthiness. Now, 
 about this call I should like to make. It is on Madam 
 Devereaux. You saw her in the park the other day. 
 You saw how beautiful she is. Well, she is as jolly 
 and witty as she is lovely. I used to be one of her chief 
 admirers but I have not called on her lately. What 
 would be the harm of our making her a New Year's 
 call? She lives in fine style and would treat us 
 royally." 
 
 Philip was silent for a few moments, then said: 
 "From what J have heard of the woman, she is unworthy 
 of our notice. She may be beautiful and witty, but she 
 uses her beauty to lure young men to their^ruin and 
 should be shunned as one ^would a leper. Take my 
 advice, Wallace, — you say you have not visited her 
 lately, now is the time to^break off for good. There 
 are other women who are pure and good as well 
 as beautiful; women who will elevate you by their 
 society, not degrade you. These are the women to 
 know." 
 
 "Well, perhaps you are right," answered Wallace, 
 with a sigh, "but it's mighty hard to break away from 
 all the fun at once. I shall have to do it by degrees. 
 Why is it the devil invents all the good times?" he said, 
 in such a discouraged tone that Philip laughed. 
 
 121 
 
FROM OUT OF THE WEST. 
 
 "It is only because he presents them in an alluring 
 light, to attract the young. A better acquaintance with 
 the good things of fife will give you a more wholesome 
 appetite in the future." 
 
 So the subject was dropped, but the words spoken 
 by Manning took root in the young man's heart, and 
 Wallace never called upon Madam Devereaux 
 again. 
 
 They made several more calls, and late in the after- 
 noon, drew up in front of the Hutchinsons\ Manning 
 was getting tired of making calls. He had seen many 
 of the young men already unsteady on their legs, talk- 
 ing idiotic nonsense to young girls who offered them 
 the sparkling wine and insisted upon their health being 
 drunk. 
 
 Several ladies had urged Wallace to drink, and pouted 
 charmingly when he refused; but, as he always refused 
 with a gay compliment given in his bright, boyish way, 
 they could not be offended. 
 
 When they arrived at Dora's, they found a delightful 
 change. The sunlight was not excluded and instead 
 of a close room filled with the fumes of wine, there was 
 sunshine and flowers in profusion. The tables were 
 beautiful with their display of flowers, fruit and dainty 
 trifles. There was cocoa, coffee, and lemonade, but 
 no reeking punch bowl or bottles in sight. Manning's 
 face lighted up as he noticed their absence. 
 
 "I can breathe in this atmosphere," he exclaimed, 
 with great satisfaction. "I must congratulate you 
 upon having the most inviting room I have entered to- 
 day." 
 
 122 
 
FROM OUT OF THE WEST. 
 
 "That is true," said Wallace, emphatically, "and 
 I mean to stay a while and enjoy it," and he 
 seated himself in a big, easy chair by the side of 
 Isabel. 
 
 Dora had flushed with pleasure at Manning's words 
 of praise. The girls had teased her about banishing 
 the wine from her New Year's table, and turning tee- 
 totaler because Mr. Manning was a temperance crank. 
 She had taken it all good-naturedly, replying that she 
 had done it to please him, and she did not care who 
 knew it. Harold Graham had called early in the day 
 and had noticed there was no wine or liquors. Thii 
 made him angry, for he knew why they had been left 
 out. "I suppose she would have served bread and 
 milk if Manning had advocated it," he said, in a sarcas- 
 tic tone to Kate. 
 
 "I shouldn't wonder," she replied, "Dora is very 
 obliging," and she laughed knowingly. 
 
 "I must hurry Violet up," he thought to himself. 
 "It will soon be too late by the indications. I believe 
 she is in love with the fellow already," and he ground 
 his teeth. "Violet must work faster." 
 
 That night the girls did not retire until after mid- 
 night, and they congregated in Dora's room to talk 
 over the events of the day. 
 
 "It was amusing," said Kate, "to watch the surprise 
 and disappointment depicted upon some of the faces 
 of the young men as they looked about for wine or 
 something stronger than coffee. I am afraid you will 
 make yourself unpopular, Dora, if you insist upon keep- 
 ing a temperance table." 
 
 123 
 
FROM OUT OF THE WEST. 
 
 ' 'If they only value my friendship for the amount of 
 wine I give them, I can do very well without their 
 society," replied Dora, in a spirited manner. " Our 
 young men think too much of their wine. Someone 
 had better check them, I think. Just see how Wallace 
 Dunlap has improved. He is twice the man he was, and 
 I know a few others who would be greatly benefitted by 
 leaving wine alone, and I for one mean to remove the 
 temptation in my house." 
 
 "That's right, Dora," said Isabel. "I admire and 
 sympathize with your sentiments. I know it is half 
 our fault that the young men drink. I believe I shall 
 turn temperance myself." 
 
 "I think we'd better all go to bed instead of discuss- 
 ing temperance Jany longer," yawned Mabel. 
 
 "I second the motion," said Kate. 
 
 "All those in favor of the motion manifest it by 
 rising." All sprang to their feet. 
 
 "It is a vote, so scamper," and Dora playfully drove 
 them from the room. 
 
 124 
 
CHAPTER XVII. 
 
 IN THE TOILS. 
 
 As Spring advanced, Manning set carpenters, masons 
 and decorators to work remodelling and perfecting 
 his new home. He subjected all his plans to Dora for 
 approval and suggestions, and it is needless to say that 
 she was as interested as he. For there was no doubt 
 in her mind that this would be her future home, and, 
 like a sensible girl, she did not hesitate to express her 
 preference for certain changes. 
 
 Manning had never told Dora of his love in so many 
 words, but his actions and looks had betrayed the state 
 of his heart many times. "I want Dad and Josie to 
 meet her before I ask her to share our home," he thought, 
 and Dora instinctively divined his reason for being in 
 no hurry. So there was a mutual understanding, al- 
 though no words had been spoken. 
 
 At last all was completed as far as Manning desired, 
 until his father and sister came, as he wished to consult 
 their wishes in regard to some of the rooms. He was 
 to go for them soon, and would be gone several weeks, 
 in order to settle his business affairs in the West. 
 
 Dora and her parents had urged Manning to bring 
 his father and sister directly to them upon their arrival ; 
 but Manning, though greatly pleased by their kindness, 
 declined, saying that he would rather take them directly 
 to their new home. He would bring their old house - 
 
 125 
 
FROM OUT OF THE WEST. 
 
 keeper with them to superintend the servants already 
 in charge. He felt sure his father would prefer it to 
 going among strangers, no matter how kind. He was 
 anxious to start, now all was ready for their reception, 
 and was arranging to do so in a short time. 
 
 One evening, a few days previous to his departure, 
 he was both surprised and pleased by a visit from 
 Violet. He was always glad to see her, she was so lovely, 
 bright and winsome. Accepting the seat he offered her, 
 she threw back her hood and smiling into his face said : 
 "I have some news to tell you and a favor to ask." , 
 
 "I hope your news is good news," he answered, 
 kindly, "and I shall be glad to do any favor for you." 
 
 "You are the only gentleman of my acquaintance 
 that I would be willing to ask such a favor from. But 
 I know I can trust you, and you will not think my re- 
 quest a strange one, as others might," and her eyes 
 beamed upon him. "Do you remember the rich aunt 
 I told you about once ? mamma's sister, who disowned 
 her after she married poor papa ? Well, last week she 
 died, and her lawyers have notified me that she left 
 
 me a furnished house in the suburb of N , 
 
 and a neat little income besides." 
 
 "Is that so? Why this is news indeed," and Philip 
 arose with outstretched hand. "Allow me to congrat- 
 ulate you," he said, in his warm, impulsive way. "I 
 am delighted to hear of your good fortune." 
 
 "I knew you would be pleased," said Violet, clasp- 
 ing his hand. "I shall not be obliged to wander the 
 streets any longer with a basket of flowers on my arm. 
 I shall have a home of my own, and many things which 
 
 126 
 
FROM OUT OF THE WEST. 
 
 I have always desired but could never obtain for lack 
 of funds. You see Violet, the flower girl, for the last 
 time. I shall lay aside the old cloak and hood, with 
 the basket, after tonight, and I shall be dressed as other 
 ladies are." 
 
 "I shall be sorry to lose my little flower girl," said 
 Manning, regretfully. "You will pass out of my life 
 
 completely, if you make your home in N . 
 
 Among new acquaintances I shall lose track of you." 
 
 "Not unless you wish to," she replied. "I shall not 
 be able to come to you, but you can come to me. 
 
 N is not far from here. I shall not enjoy my 
 
 new inheritance if by it I lose your friendship," and her 
 beautiful eyes filled with tears. 
 
 "Never fear that," said Philip, hastily. "I shall 
 always be your friend, and, as you say, I can come and 
 see you. I shall certainly do so, and bring my sister 
 with me. You and she will be great friends, I am sure. 
 You spoke of some favor you desired, what is it?" 
 
 "I should like to visit my new home, but I dread to 
 go alone. I have never travelled much and I am timid. 
 I know nothing about the place and I want you to go 
 with me," and she gazed pleadingly at him. 
 
 "Why, yes, I can go," replied Manning. "It is not 
 safe for a beautiful young girl to travel alone, espec- 
 ially to a place she is unfamiliar with. When do you 
 want to go ? I start for the West next week, so we shall 
 have to go this week." 
 
 "What day do you intend to start West?" asked 
 Violet. 
 
 "I shall start Tuesday," replied Manning. 
 
 127 
 
FROM OUT OF THE WEST. 
 
 "Then I will be ready to go that day, as N- 
 
 is directly on your road. It will only detain you a few 
 hours and then you can continue your journey after 
 seeing me in my new home." 
 
 This seemed satisfactory to Manning, so he con- 
 sented to the arrangement. 
 
 "Where shall I meet you?" he asked. 
 
 "I will be at the depot, and I thank you so much for 
 granting me your protection. You have always been 
 so good to me." She arose and tied her hood under 
 her chin. Taking up her basket, she courtesied co- 
 quettishly, "Say good-bye to the poor flower girl," she 
 said, gaily, "You will never see her more." 
 
 She looked so sweet and roguish, Manning could 
 scarcely keep from catching her in his arms and kissing 
 the saucy lips. Not one man in a hundred could have 
 resisted the temptation, but Philip had never been free 
 with women. He had always treated them with great 
 reverence, so he only laughed and bade her good- 
 night. 
 
 Violet went directly home, as she knew Harold. 
 Graham was anxiously awaiting her. When she en- 
 tered the drawing room, she found him pacing the 
 floor impatiently. 
 
 " What an infernally long time you have been, Violet," 
 he exclaimed, upon her entrance. 
 
 Violet coolly removed her cloak and hood and seated 
 herself before the fire. 
 
 "Well," exclaimed Harold, anxiously, drawing up a 
 chair opposite her, "What are the arrangements? 
 Could you get his consent ?" 
 
 128 
 
FROM OUT OF THE WEST. 
 
 "Everything is satisfactorily arranged," answered 
 Violet, wearily. "I am to meet him at the depot next 
 Tuesday, and you can have Miss Hutchinson on hand 
 to witness our elopement. Poor fellow, I feel like a 
 great, ugly spider coaxing a poor, little, unwary fly, 
 into my net. He is so kind-hearted and unsuspecting, 
 and I am such a little wretch. He thinks me a good, 
 innocent girl, fit to be his sister's friend. Oh, if he 
 only knew!" and something like a sob broke her voice. 
 
 "Now, Violet, don't get weak-kneed just on the eve 
 of success. You have everything in your hands now, 
 and if, as I suspect, you have learned to care for him, 
 make him marry you. You can do it, and I will write 
 you a check for the ten thousand for a wedding present." 
 
 Violet shrugged her shoulders impatiently. "If I 
 marry him, I will never touch a penny of your money." 
 
 "Oh, well, just as you please," answered Harold, 
 nonchalantly. "I shall be that much better off." 
 
 The next day Harold called on Dora, and adroitly 
 led the conversation to Manning's intended trip 
 West. 
 
 "When he goes, I hope he will stay there and never 
 show his deceitful face in these parts again," he ex- 
 claimed, fiercely. 
 
 "Now, Harold, I do not want to hear any more of 
 your unkind remarks about Mr. Manning," said Dora. 
 " I never could understand your dislike for a man as 
 upright and honorable as he is." 
 
 "I dislike him," Harold replied, vehemently, "be- 
 cause I have seen through his sanctimonious disguise, 
 ever since he made his appearance among us. I have 
 
 129 
 
FROM OUT OF THE WEST. 
 
 watched him charm you all with his big, brown eyes and 
 soft voice, until old friends were forsaken and disap- 
 proved of, because they did not worship at his shrine. 
 I have watched and waited for an opportunity to un- 
 mask him, and at last I have my reward. The time 
 has come when I can prove his falseness." 
 
 Dora had listened with crimson cheeks and flashing 
 eyes. "Harold, are you losing your senses?" she ex- 
 claimed, angrily. "How dare you say such things? 
 What has he ever done to make you hate him so ? You 
 cannot prove one word you are saying, and no one who 
 knows Philip Manning, will believe one word ill of 
 him." 
 
 "I can prove all I say," replied Harold, pale with 
 emotion. "I can prove that he receives visits from a 
 notorious woman in his rooms, at his hotel, that he takes 
 her to drive, and to cap the climax, she will accompany 
 him on his western trip. I hardly think he will take 
 her to his home, but there are plenty of stopping places 
 for such as they." 
 
 Dora sprang to her feet pale and trembling with ex- 
 citement and anger. "Harold Graham," she cried, in 
 a husky tone, "I want you to leave this house and never 
 dare to enter it again or speak to me. All friendship 
 and acquaintance are at an end between us. You have 
 basely maligned a man whose shoes you are not worthy 
 to clean. Did you think I would believe your lies? 
 If you did, you are mistaken. I do not believe one 
 word you have uttered. Now go," and she pointed to 
 the door, her slender figure drawn to its utmost height 
 and her face full of scorn. 
 
 130 
 
FROM OUT OF THE WEST. 
 
 Harold arose, and, taking his hat and gloves, moved 
 towards the door. Turning, he said : " I obey you, Miss 
 Hutchinson, but I reiterate that what I have said is true, 
 and, if you are at the depot at 9.30 Tuesday morning, 
 you will see Philip Manning and the notorious Violet 
 Devereaux leave for the West together, " and he passed 
 from the room, leaving Dora dizzy and stunned by his 
 last words. 
 
 "Violet Devereaux! No, no ; it cannot be! I will 
 not believe it; it is a lie from his own black, jealous 
 heart; I could not be so deceived." She sank into a 
 chair and burst into hysterical weeping. Fearing 
 someone might enter and find her in tears, she man- 
 aged to reach her room; and, when Manning called that 
 evening, he was told she had retired with a severe head- 
 ache and could not see him. 
 
 The next morning Dora's pale face and heavy eyes 
 greatly alarmed her parents; but she assured them she 
 was better, and positively refused to see the family 
 physician as her father desired. 
 
 Mr. Hutchinson lingered over his coffee and paper 
 until his daughter had finished her breakfast and left 
 the room; then, turning an anxious face to his wife, he 
 inquired the cause of Dora's indisposition. 
 
 "I know no more about it than you do," she replied. 
 "Harold Graham called in the afternoon. After he had 
 gone, I went in search of Dora, and found her in her 
 room, lying on the sofa, with the room darkened and a 
 wet towel over her face. To my inquiries she said 
 her head ached, and she should not come down to dinner 
 and to excuse her to all callers. ' To Mr. Manning? ' 
 
 131 
 
FROM OUT OF THE WEST. 
 
 1 asked. 'Yes, even to him,' she replied. I did all I 
 could to make her comfortable and left her." 
 
 "Something unusual must have happened to upset 
 her so," said Mr. Hutchinson, frowning. "She is not 
 subject to headaches. You say Harold called; perhaps 
 they quarrelled; but, no, they have quarrelled all their 
 lives; it could not be that. I sincerely hope it has noth- 
 ing to do with Manning. Could she be grieving over 
 his going away, do you think ?" and he looked enquir- 
 ingly at his wife. 
 
 "No, I think not," she replied. "He called last 
 evening and seemed disappointed at not seeing her. 
 He sat and talked with me a while before he left. How 
 I have grown to love that young man. It would break 
 my heart if anything should occur to separate him and 
 Dora. I know they love each other." 
 
 "Then what could possibly come between them?" 
 exclaimed Dora's father. "I see no reason to fear that 
 he will not do everything that is honorable and right 
 when the proper time comes. I am willing and anxious 
 to give them my blessing and know the thing is settled, 
 for he has grown into my heart as well as yours." 
 
 Dora knew Philip would call to bid her good-bye, 
 that evening, and she did not wish him to find her pale 
 and agitated. He might think she was grieving over 
 his departure, and as yet he had given her no right to 
 express such grief. She wished he had. She wished 
 she could throw her arms about him and cry out upon 
 his breast — not to leave her, or else to take her with 
 him; but this she could not do. Women are so ham- 
 pered by custom and conventionality, that the flood- 
 
 132 
 
FROM OUT OF THE WEST. 
 
 gates of the heart must be kept closed until the man 
 speaks; although the pressure is sometimes overwhelm- 
 ing. So Dora met Philip with smiling lips, though her 
 heart was like lead. He came forward in his boyish, 
 impulsive way, and seemed so solicitous and anxious 
 about her health, that her heart grew lighter. Could a 
 man with such a face be a hypocrite and a deceiver? 
 No, it could not be possible. She was ashamed to 
 think that she had allowed Harold's words to distress 
 her so much. She was so gracious and entertaining 
 that evening, that Manning could hardly resist telling 
 her of his love and asking her to become his wife. 
 He did not speak the words, but he kissed both little 
 hands when he bade her good-bye, and told her he 
 should hurry his business in the West as rapidly as 
 possible, that he might return to her. 
 
 After his departure, Dora felt very desolate and heart- 
 sick. All her old forebodings returned. "I feel as 
 though I had parted with him forever," she thought. 
 The last words of Harold Graham rang in her ears — 
 "If you go to the depot Tuesday morning, you will see 
 him depart with Violet Devereaux." "I would scorn 
 to do such a thing," she told herself. "I would not 
 lower myself to spy upon one I loved; I should be un- 
 worthy of him." 
 
 All that night, she tossed and turned upon her pil- 
 low; she could not sleep. "Oh, if I only knew for cer- 
 tain that he went alone. This uncertainty will kill me," 
 she moaned. 
 
 She arose the next morning, pale and haggard from 
 her sleepless night. She pushed aside the curtain and 
 
 i33 
 
FROM OUT OF THE WEST. 
 
 gazed out. The sun was just rising; it was going to be 
 bright and clear, and Philip was going at 9.30. 9 Would 
 he go alone ? " God forgive me, I must know the truth 
 or I shall go mad." Calling her maid, she gave instruc- 
 tions that she must not be disturbed until lunch, "no' 
 even^mamma," she said. After dismissing the maid, 
 Dora went to a closet and began searching among the 
 dresses. At last she brought forth a plain tailor-made 
 suit of dark brown, and put it on. After coiling her 
 hair tight and snug, she put on a brown walking hat, 
 then enveloped both hat and hair in a thick, brown 
 veil. After her disguise was completed, she went to the 
 door, opened it cautiously, and looked out into the 
 hall. She stood listening a few minutes, then closed 
 the door and locked it, then hurried noiselessly down 
 the stairs and out into the street. 
 
 i34 
 
CHAPTER XVIII. 
 
 DID HE RESIST HER? 
 
 Tuesday morning Wallace Dunlap ran in to say 
 good-bye to Manning. "I am sorry I cannot go to the 
 depot and see you off," he said, "but I have an ap- 
 pointment at 9.30, so must bid you good-bye here." 
 He grasped Manning's hand fervently. "I shall be 
 lonesome without you ; hurry back, old chap, and bring 
 that brown-eyed sister of yours. I am positive I shall 
 fall in love with her at first sight, if she is anything like 
 her brother." 
 
 Manning responded heartily to the handshake. "It 
 is a case'of necessity, or I should not make this trip," 
 he said. "I have made so many friends here that I 
 feel more at home than I shall to go back to the West. 
 When I have my father and sister with me, the West 
 will hold no further attraction for me." 
 
 "I am glad to hear you say that," responded Wallace. 
 "We treated you pretty shabby at first, but you con- 
 quered us; and we should hate to lose you now that we 
 know your worth. Well, good luck to you, I must be 
 off." He ran down the steps and disappeared among 
 the hurrying crowd. 
 
 Shortly after nine, Manning entered the depot and 
 looked for Violet. She was not in the waiting room 
 nor on the platform. He was beginning to consult his 
 watch and feel anxious, when a carriage drove up and 
 
 J 35 
 
FROM OUT OF THE WEST. 
 
 Violet alighted. Manning hastened to meet her, and 
 took the little satchel she carried in her hand. 
 
 "I was afraid something had detained you," he said, 
 with a look of relief. 
 
 " Oh, no, I did not want to be too early," she replied, 
 with a bright smile. 
 
 They entered the car which stood waiting, and passed 
 out of sight. 
 
 A woman, clad in brown, her face concealed by a 
 heavy veil, watched the train as it disappeared from 
 view, then turned and walked slowly away. 
 
 Violet was dressed in a pretty travelling costume, 
 and attracted many admiring glances. Manning was 
 not slow to notice this, and congratulated himself on 
 being able to protect so lovely a girl from possible un- 
 pleasantness. He supplied her with magazines and 
 fruit, and she in her turn made herself so agreeable and 
 fascinating that Manning was charmed, and several 
 times wished she was going the entire distance with him. 
 
 " I believe you are the same young lady I took to drive 
 once," he said, merrily. "I have not seen you since 
 until today." 
 
 " I am glad you remember me, I was afraid you might 
 forget me. You seemed more interested in that flower 
 girl. I think I was a little jealous, but I have got rid of 
 her. She will never trouble me again," and Violet 
 laughed gaily. 
 
 It was about a three hours' ride to N , a 
 
 small suburban station. There were only two others 
 that alighted with Manning and Violet, and they 
 were met by an old farmer with a team, and quickly 
 
 . '36 
 
FROM OUT OF THE WEST. 
 
 driven away, leaving Manning and Violet alone with the 
 station agent who gave them directions where to find 
 the Norton place. 
 
 "It is about a mile from here," he said. "You go 
 down that street," pointing to the village thoroughfare, 
 "until you come to a road crossing the street; turn to 
 your left, and it is the fourth house, with two big maples 
 in front. You can't miss it." 
 
 "Can we get a conveyance of any kind to take us 
 there?" inquired Manning. 
 
 "No," replied the agent, "the bus only meets the 
 eleven o'clock train and there are no carriages. Every- 
 one here in the country walks, or their friends meet 
 them." 
 
 "I would rather walk," said Violet, eagerly. "I am 
 tired of riding, and it will be delightful to walk along 
 these country roads. Everything looks so fresh and 
 green, — even the people," and she laughed roguishly. 
 
 They walked down the village street, past the few 
 stores and out upon the country road. "There is the 
 first house," said Violet, as they came in sight of a pretty 
 white cottage, "now three more, and we shall be there. 
 I never knew that aunt lived in such an out-of-the-way 
 place. I hardly think I shall care to live so far out. 
 It will be lonesome after the life and stir of a big city." 
 
 "Now, I should prefer it," said Manning. "I love 
 the country. You know I was brought up on a farm. 
 This is a lovely old road; what grand shade trees! 
 Here we are at the second house, and there is the third, 
 near by. We cannot be far from the fourth, your new 
 home!" 
 
 I 37 
 
FROM OUT OF THE WEST. 
 
 After the third house had been passed, it was quite 
 a distance before they came to the house they were 
 looking for. 
 
 " There, I see a tall chimney among those trees," 
 exclaimed Violet, "we are almost there," and so it 
 proved. 
 
 It was a pretty, vine-covered cottage, set back among 
 old-fashioned shrubbery. Opening the gate, they 
 walked down a broad, smooth path, bordered on either 
 side with flowers and shrubs. 
 
 "I am so glad you are with me," said Violet, bestow- 
 ing a beaming glance of gratitude upon Philip. "I 
 should never have had the courage to come alone. I 
 believe the place is in the hands of an old servant of 
 aunt's; according to the will, she is to be allowed to 
 stay here the remainder of her life." 
 
 Manning lifted the heavy, old-fashioned knocker, 
 and pealed forth a summons to anyone within. Soon 
 a shuffling step was heard in the hall, a bolt was with- 
 drawn, and the door opened by an old woman, bent with 
 age and rheumatism, who peered inquiringly at her 
 visitors. 
 
 "I am Mrs. Norton's niece," said Violet. "I have 
 come to take a look at my new home." 
 
 The old woman opened the door wide, and stepped 
 aside with a little bob intended for a courtesy, and they 
 entered the house. 
 
 "Now, if you will find us something good to eat," 
 said Violet, "we will take care of ourselves and examine 
 the house at our leisure. Let us know when lunch is 
 ready, for we are nearly famished." 
 
 138 
 
 
FROM OUT OF THE WEST. 
 
 The old woman courtesied again and retired to the 
 rear of the house, while Philip and Violet entered the 
 first room they came to, which proved to be the parlor. 
 It was prettily furnished and showed that its former 
 owner possessed good taste. Opening into this room 
 was a sitting room, and back of that a library, well 
 filled with standard works. They made an inventory 
 of all the rooms, Violet insisting that Manning should 
 accompany her from garret to cellar. It was amusing 
 and they enjoyed it like a couple of children. There 
 were pictures and old pieces of bric-a-brac to examine 
 and comment upon. 
 
 "It is a dear little nest of a house, ,, said Violet, "and 
 I know I shall enjoy it, but I must have company. I 
 would not live here alone with only that old woman for 
 the world." 
 
 "She will marry soon, no doubt," thought Manning, 
 "so as to have a mate in the nest for company. Well, 
 whoever the lucky man is, he will draw a prize. If I 
 had never met Dora, I might imagine myself in love 
 with her; but beautiful as she is, she cannot quite equal 
 my Dora." 
 
 Violet had left him while she investigated the kitchen 
 and dining room. When she returned she brought the 
 welcome news that lunch was ready. They were both 
 hungry and did ample justice to the broiled chicken, 
 snowy biscuit, and fragrant coffee. 
 
 "This reminds me of the last time I poured coffee 
 for you, when you gave me that delightful ride last 
 fall," said Violet. 
 
 "I hope it will not be the last time," he replied, with 
 
 139 
 
FROM OUT OF THE WEST. 
 
 a tender glance. "I shall come to see how you are 
 getting on occasionally, and I am very fond of 
 coffee." 
 
 Violet smiled sweetly. " It will all depend upon your- 
 self," she replied. 
 
 After lunch they went into the garden in the rear of 
 the house. The air was sweet with the perfume of 
 apple blossoms and lilacs. Time passed quickly, and 
 only the rays of the setting sun warned Manning that 
 he must be going; but when he spoke of it, Violet looked 
 frightened, and entreated him not to leave her. 
 
 "But I must," he exclaimed, in perplexity; "I cannot 
 stay all night." 
 
 "Why not?" she asked, innocently. "There are 
 plenty of rooms and plenty to eat. What difference 
 will a few hours make in your journey? And I will 
 not stay here all alone with only that old woman in the 
 house. I will walk back to the village first. There 
 is no train back to the city; you must not leave 
 me." 
 
 Manning was sadly perplexed. He disliked to leave 
 her alone, and still he knew it was not the proper thing 
 to remain. He looked so undecided, that Violet was 
 afraid he would insist upon going, and it required but 
 little effort on her part to burst into tears. Manning 
 was at once terribly distressed. Few men can with- 
 stand a beautiful woman in tears; certainly not such a 
 tender-hearted man as was Manning. He could not 
 leave her like this. Of course it was not the proper 
 thing to do, but there was no one to comment. No 
 one knew of his being here alone with a beautiful, un- 
 
 140 
 
 
FROM OUT OF THE WEST. 
 
 protected girl, only the old serving woman, and she 
 seemed too stupid to notice any lack of propriety. 
 So he begged Violet to dry her eyes and he would stay. 
 
 Her object accomplished, Violet was soon her bright 
 happy self again. They watched the last rays of the 
 setting sun together, and listened to the good-night 
 chirp of the birds. Then the lamps were lighted, and 
 the curtains drawn. Violet had never appeared so 
 lovely and fascinating. She sparkled with fun and wit, 
 and kept Manning continually laughing at her droll 
 remarks. 
 
 After the first qualms of conscience had subsided, 
 he gave himself up to the enjoyment of Violet's society. 
 Not a shadow of guile filled his heart. His thoughts 
 and demeanor were as free from sensuality as a child's. 
 Violet tried every art within her power to arouse the 
 sentimental side of this man's nature; but without avail. 
 She amused him, he admired her, but that was all. 
 No man had ever been so indifferent to her charms. 
 Her eyes filled with angry tears. She loved this man, 
 with his tender eyes and unconquerable heart. She 
 longed for his caresses, but these, from the only man 
 she ever desired, seemed unattainable, and his value 
 was greatly enhanced by that fact. "I cannot win him 
 by fair means," she thought bitterly. "I must resort 
 to stronger measures." 
 
 Late in the evening, coffee and cake were brought 
 in. Watching her opportunity, she dropped a little 
 powder into Manning's cup, and smiled wickedly, as 
 she watched him drink the contents. "If this fails 
 me, I shall try no more," she murmured. 
 
 141 
 
FROM OUT OF THE WEST. 
 
 After the tray had been removed, Manning was con- 
 scious of a delicious languor stealing over him. He had 
 no desire to move or speak, only to gaze at the beauti- 
 ful woman before him. The languor was not oppres- 
 sive. He seemed to be fully as conscious as ever, ji but 
 he felt ecstatically happy. He saw Violet rise from her 
 chair and pass into the next room. He felt the chill 
 of her absence. She soon returned, and stood before 
 him, a vision of rare loveliness. She had changed her 
 costume, and was now arrayed in an exquisite dress 
 of pale green silk which revealed her snowy neck and 
 arms; her beautiful hair was unbound and enveloped 
 her in a golden maze. 
 
 Philip gazed upon her, conscious of no astonishment 
 at her strange appearance; only supreme happiness at 
 her return, and wonderful beauty. Violet slowly re- 
 treated from his side, and poised herself upon her toes; 
 lifting her arms above her head, she looked to Philip 
 like a bird poised for flight. Her body slowly swayed 
 in graceful curves. She began dancing her famous 
 dance, "The Siren," that had brought her thunders 
 of applause from adoring audiences night after night 
 at the "La Favorita." She was a lovely dancer, and 
 made a charming picture, with her lithe, graceful form, 
 bewildering array of sea-green skirts, golden hair, and 
 slender waving arms. All the time, the laughing blue 
 eyes smiled into the brown ones fastened upon her with 
 such fascinated intensity. Never was bird more success- 
 fully charmed by a serpent, than was this man, by the 
 beautiful dancing woman before him. 
 
 She smiled into his eves, and he smiled back. She 
 
 142 
 
FROM OUT OF THE WEST. 
 
 advanced and retreated before him, shaking back her 
 golden hair. Watching her victim with the practiced 
 eye of a serpent, she notes the time to strike. With a 
 light, graceful bound, she reaches his side, and kneeling 
 upon the floor, she wreathes her soft arms about his 
 neck, her beautiful face is close to his, while she mur- 
 murs in a low, sweet voice," Philip — " 
 
 "Violet/' he answers. 
 
 4 'Do you love me?" 
 
 "Yes." 
 
 143 
 
CHAPTER XIX. 
 
 THE HOME IN THE WEST. 
 
 In a far-a-way home in the West, a young girl is ar- 
 ranging a huge bowl of apple blossoms for the center 
 of the breakfast table. The early May sunshine floods 
 the room and lingers lovingly on the brown-eyed maiden, 
 as she frequently buries her face in the snowy blossoms. 
 It is Philip's sister; anyone would recognize the rela- 
 tionship, who had ever seen Philip. She has the same 
 soft eyes, and thick, dark, wavy brown hair; a sweet, 
 sensitive mouth and dimpled chin. Her figure, though 
 slight, is well developed and graceful. She is not tall, 
 and looks younger than her age, which is nineteen. 
 
 An old man enters the room and stands by the young 
 girPs side, watching her with loving eyes. 
 
 "Philip loves apple blossoms," remarks the girl, 
 stepping back from the table and admiring her work. 
 
 1 'Yes, Philip loves apple blossoms and we love 
 Philip," says the old man. 
 
 "And Philip loves us," replies Josie, with a bright 
 smile. "He has not changed in that respect at least." 
 
 "Do you think him changed in any other respect?" 
 asks the old man, anxiously. 
 
 "Oh, no; not in particular. I suppose city life has 
 sobered him somewhat. He is not as gay and lively as 
 he used to be. He seems so grave and thoughtful, 
 that is all. But here he comes, now we will have break- 
 fast." 
 
 
FROM OUT OF THE WEST. 
 
 Philip Manning entered the cheerful little dining 
 room, sweet with the odor of apple blossoms. He 
 wore a rough, gray tweed suit, and an old straw 
 hat. 
 
 Josie sprang to his side. " Now, Phil, you look more 
 like yourself. I was almost afraid of you last night 
 you looked so stylish and citified, but your old gray suit 
 and that hat have restored you to your former self." 
 
 " Yes, Philip is himself again," chuckled the old man. 
 " Ah, my boy, it does my heart good to see you once more. 
 You must never leave me again. I am too old to bear 
 another separation." 
 
 "No, indeed, father, I will never leave you again," 
 replied Philip. "When I return to the city, you and 
 Josie shall go with me." 
 
 "But I do not think I shall enjoy city life," said the 
 old man, in a plaintive tone. " You know I have always 
 lived in the country with the birds and the flowers and 
 plenty of fresh air." 
 
 "You will not live in the city, father, the home I have 
 prepared for you is quite a distance from the noisy city, 
 and you will have the birds and the flowers there, as 
 well as plenty of fresh air, and many comforts and con- 
 veniences that you cannot get here." 
 
 " I know it must be a lovely place from what you have 
 told us about it. I am so anxious to see it," and Josie's 
 brown eyes sparkled with a young girl's enthusiasm. 
 "I tell Mrs. Croft she will have to wear a black silk 
 gown and a lace cap every day. She laughed and said, 
 if she did, everybody would mistake her for the mis- 
 tress. " 
 
 145 
 
FROM OUT OF THE WEST. 
 
 "You must get her rigged up, Josie," said Philip, 
 impressively, "for if she made her appearance in the 
 clothes she wears around here, the servants would never 
 submit to her authority. You have no idea how the 
 city servants dress. You are all right when you talk 
 about a silk dress and a lace cap. That is the proper 
 costume for a housekeeper." 
 
 "If she wears silks and lace, what am I to wear?" 
 laughed Josie. 
 
 "Oh, you will wear satin and diamonds," replied 
 Philip, with an answering laugh. 
 
 There was plenty of work for Manning in the next 
 three weeks. The farm and stock were sold to nearby 
 farmers, and much of the old-fashioned furniture was 
 to go with the house. There were pictures and books 
 to pack, and many articles of value to Josie because they 
 were once her mother's. Mrs. Croft could hardly be 
 restrained from packing all the china and kitchen uten- 
 sils. " But I shall need them," she would say to Josie's 
 remonstrances. 
 
 "No, Philip says not to pack anything but the blue- 
 edged set, and the solid silver. You will find all you 
 need when you get to the new home." 
 
 Mrs. Croft obeyed with reluctance, and handled 
 many an article that she did not believe they would have 
 in the city, and slyly packed away various things dear 
 to her heart from long association. 
 
 Josie had questioned her brother so closely with re- 
 gard to his friends in the city, that she felt quite well 
 acquainted with them. She had discovered with a 
 sister's intuition that her brother was in love with the 
 
 146 
 
FROM OUT OF THE WEST. 
 
 beautiful Miss Hutchinson, and she listened patiently 
 to his raptures of her beauty, goodness and charm of 
 manner. She was sure she should love Aunt Helen, 
 and was prepared to like Wallace Dunlap; the others 
 she was uncertain about. "I know I shall be shy and 
 awkward and countrified at first, and my dresses are 
 all behind the times. I am glad we are going right home 
 instead of among strangers. I shall get some new gowns 
 before I appear among your friends, so you will not be 
 ashamed of me." 
 
 "Miss Hutchinson can tell you about dress-makers 
 and style," said Philip. "You should see her dressed 
 for a ball. The first time I saw her she nearly paralyzed 
 me with her beauty. I long to see you dressed in those 
 soft, fleecy-looking robes, that are so impossible to de- 
 scribe, but lovely to look upon." 
 
 "I don't think Miss Hutchinson's dresses would be 
 very becoming to my brown skin and long brown arms. 
 She, with her golden hair and fair complexion can wear 
 those soft, fleecy, delicate-hued fabrics, but I must 
 have a dash of color." 
 
 "I guess you are right," answered her brother, look- 
 ing at her critically. "You are a very pretty girl, Josie, 
 if you are a little brownie, and in an up-to-date gown, 
 you could hold your own with any of them." 
 
 Josie responded to his compliment with a hug and 
 a kiss. She dearly loved this tall, handsome brother 
 of hers, and a word of praise from him was very dear 
 to her. 
 
 The next^day they paid a farewell visit to their 
 mother's grave. She was buried in the little cemetery 
 
 H7 
 
FROM OUT OF THE WEST. 
 
 adjoining the church where she had been an active 
 member until her accident, and where her children 
 had attended Sunday School. There were only a few 
 graves in the yard, not over fifty. They all looked well- 
 cared for. There were flowers and shrubbery and sev- 
 eral large trees. Under one of these trees, in a shady 
 nook, was their mother's grave. A large, handsome 
 stone marked her resting place, and upon the grave was 
 a large bowl of apple blossoms. 
 
 "Father has been here," said Josie, with tears in her 
 eyes, pointing to the snowy blossoms. For several 
 moments Philip gazed sadly at the little mound which 
 hid his mother's form, his face pale with emotion. 
 
 "I hate to leave her here," he exclaimed at last. 
 "I wish we could take her with us." 
 
 "No," answered Josie, "that would not be best, just 
 at present. Our father cannot stay with us many years 
 longer, and when he dies, we will lay them side by side, 
 and whether we bring her to him or bring him back 
 to this quiet little cemetery, let the future deter- 
 mine." 
 
 "Yes, that would be best," assented Philip. "Our 
 plans will be more matured by that time. Dear mother, 
 how she would have enjoyed our good fortune, and 
 what a sweet, gracious mistress she would have made 
 in our beautiful new home." 
 
 Together they passed from the silent resting place 
 of the dead; each conscious that it might be years be- 
 fore they looked upon their mother's grave again. 
 
 They made several farewell visits in the village be- 
 fore returning home. Everyone regretted their de- 
 
 148 
 
FROM OUT OF THE WEST. 
 
 parture, for they were all warmly attached to the boy 
 and girl who had grown up in their midst. 
 
 As the days passed by and the time for their departure 
 drew near, Philip's heart and thoughts were filled with 
 happy anticipations of soon being among his eastern 
 friends. He wondered if Dora had missed him, and 
 if she was wishing for his return. He longed to have 
 Josie see his beautiful Dora, and he was sure the two girls 
 would love each other like sisters. He pictured to him- 
 self how Dora would welcome him in her sweet, gra- 
 cious way. He should like to take her in his arms and 
 greet her with a kiss, but no, he must not shock her by 
 such undignified behavior; but he would not allow 
 many days to elapse before asking her to be his own 
 dear wife, and they would begin the new year in 
 their new home. So his happy heart ran riot, as 
 the passing hours drew him nearer to his heart's 
 desire. 
 
 At last the huge boxes were packed, the last trunk 
 strapped, and Philip and his little family were whirled 
 away from their childhood home towards the great 
 metropolis, wherein lay the new home, new hopes, 
 and new ambitions. 
 
 Josie enjoyed the trip immensely. It was her first 
 long journey, and as they passed through towns, cities 
 and beautiful scenery, her eyes drank in the ever- 
 changing landscape with a young girl's delight. Poor 
 old dad did not enjoy the trip as well. He clung to 
 Philip like a child, and would hardly consent to his 
 leaving him long enough to procure a sandwich or cup 
 of coffee for their comfort. At every station, he would 
 
 149 
 
FROM OUT OF THE WEST. 
 
 anxiously consult his ticket to see how fast they were 
 advancing towards their destination. 
 
 They reached the city late in the evening and were 
 driven directly to their new home. Josie peered curi- 
 ously from the carriage windows, but only glimpses of 
 lawn, masses of shrubbery and stately trees could be 
 seen in the darkness. The house was well illuminated 
 and presented a cheerful welcome to the weary travel- 
 ers, and as they entered the broad hall, with its great 
 fireplace and massive furnishings, Josie uttered a cry 
 of delight. She could hardly restrain herself sufficiently 
 before the servants, so eager was she to run from room 
 to room and examine the treasures. 
 
 Dad was tired and considerably awed, and was given 
 his supper and put to bed like a tired child. 
 
 Mrs. Croft was bewildered by so much grandeur, and 
 quickly sought her own room to make a more suitable 
 toilette, in which to make her appearance among the 
 well-dressed servants. It was a late hour before Josie 
 and Philip retired, and even then, Josie had to inspect 
 the beautiful furniture, pictures and bric-a-brac, with 
 which her room was decorated. At last when her eyes 
 refused to stay open any longer, she was obliged to go to 
 bed and wait for another day in which to explore and 
 admire her new home. 
 
 Philip would have liked to call upon Dora if it had 
 not been so late, but it was some happiness to realize 
 that he was in the same city with her, only a few miles 
 away, and he would see her on the morrow. 
 
 150 
 
CHAPTER XX. 
 
 A MYSTERIOUS INVALID. 
 
 Upon receiving word that Dora did not wish to be 
 disturbed until luncheon, Mrs. Hutchinson felt no par- 
 ticular alarm; but when the bell rang for lunch twice 
 and Dora did not make her appearance, she went to 
 her daughter's room. She found Dora's maid hovering 
 about her mistress's door. 
 
 "How is your mistress?" asked Mrs. Hutchinson, 
 anxiously. 
 
 "I do not know," replied the girl. " I have 
 listened at the door several times but have heard no 
 sound." 
 
 Mrs. Hutchinson turned the knob softly and entered 
 the room. Passing through the boudoir, she entered 
 the darkened chamber. "Dora," she said, approach- 
 ing the bed. There was no response. "Raise the 
 curtain," commanded the frightened mother to the 
 maid. 
 
 The girl hurriedly flung back the curtain, and Mrs. 
 Hutchinson turned pale as she bent over the silent 
 form of her daughter. The sunlight revealed a pale, 
 drawn face, with half -closed, sunken eyes, and feeble, 
 fluttering breath. 
 
 "Dora, Dora," cried her mother, but there was no 
 reply. "Send John for the doctor immediately," com- 
 manded Mrs. Hutchinson, and the maid flew from the 
 
 *5> 
 
FROM OUT OF THE WEST. 
 
 room to do her bidding. Soon returning, they tried 
 to arouse the unconscious girl. They chafed her hands 
 and feet and put brandy between her lips. Before the 
 doctor arrived they had succeeded in making her open 
 her eyes, but there was no recognition in their azure 
 depths, and the only response to her mother's heart- 
 broken words were moans, and a turning away of 
 her head as though their voices hurt her. 
 
 When the doctor arrived and had examined his 
 patient, he pronounced her suffering from nervous 
 prostration, produced he should judge by some severe 
 shock. He questioned the mother, but she answered 
 that it was impossible, as her daughter had retired the 
 night before in good spirits. 
 
 "No sign of a burglar?" he asked. "I have known 
 cases like this to result from being frightened by burg- 
 lars." 
 
 "No," responded the maid, "I saw my mistress this 
 morning early. She looked pale, and said she should 
 not be down to breakfast and not to disturb her until 
 luncheon." 
 
 "It is very strange," said the doctor, shaking his 
 head. "Dissipation could hardly produce such utter 
 prostration." 
 
 It was late in the afternoon before Dora became con- 
 scious, and responded to her mother's loving words. 
 "Don't talk to me, mamma, I am so tired." But the 
 mother's heart was cheered by the recognition and she 
 was able to meet her husband with composure upon his 
 return so that he need not be needlessly frightened when 
 told of Dora's illness. 
 
 152 
 
FROM OUT OF THE WEST. 
 
 It was a great surprise to all of Dora's friends when 
 they learned she was seriously ill, as she had apparently 
 been in the best of health when last seen. 
 
 Three weeks passed before Dora was able to sit up 
 again, the ghost of her former self, so pale and thin as 
 to shock the few intimate friends who were allowed to 
 see her. As soon as she could walk across the room, 
 she paid a visit to Aunt Helen. She tried to disguise 
 the ravages her sickness had made, by wearing a pretty, 
 negligee gown of becoming color, and her hair prettily 
 arranged. But when she entered the invalid's room, 
 she knew her appearance must have been a great 
 shock to her aunt, who received her with open arms, 
 and, bursting into tears, exclaimed: "Oh, my darling, 
 what has worked this terrible change?" 
 
 Dora was the calmer of the two, and waited until 
 her aunt could recover herself from the shock of her 
 niece's changed appearance. 
 
 " Aunt Helen," said Dora, after they had conversed 
 awhile, " I want you to do me a great favor. Will 
 you ? " 
 
 " Of course, I will, if it is within my power," replied 
 her aunt. 
 
 "I want you to speak favorably of my going to Europe 
 next week, when mamma comes to consult you about 
 it." 
 
 "Going to Europe next week," cried Aunt Helen, in 
 amazement. "Why, child, you are crazy. You could not 
 endure the trip after such a sickness as you have had." 
 
 "Yes, I could, Aunt Helen. I shall gain strength 
 rapidly now that I am on my feet again, and my heart 
 
 153 
 
FROM OUT OF THE WEST. 
 
 is set upon going. I shall have a relapse if you do not 
 further my plans," and she smiled in her old, arch way. 
 
 " But, Dora, you astonish me so. Whom would you 
 go with ? I do not see how your father or mother could 
 go just at present." 
 
 "I shall not expect papa or mamma to go. Mr. and 
 Mrs. Morris and their daughter, Bessie, are going next 
 week. Bessie called yesterday, and told me of their 
 intended trip. She spoke of our last trip together and 
 expressed a wish that I were going with them this time. 
 After she had gone, I sat thinking what a delightful 
 time we had before, and wishing I might go this time. 
 I spoke to papa and mamma about it, but of course 
 they were horrified at first at the idea, but I teased so 
 hard they did not say I could not go. I mean to get 
 the doctor on my side. What he advises will have great 
 weight with them, and I want you to be my ally also. 
 It will be eight days before we start, and I shall be quite 
 strong by that time." 
 
 "What makes you anxious to go just now?" asked 
 her aunt. "Why don't you wait until you have fully 
 recovered. There are always plenty going abroad 
 among your acquaintances, — why such unnecessary 
 haste ? Besides, what will Mr. Manning think to find 
 you gone upon his return, which will be soon now?" 
 
 "Mr. Manning has no right to expect me to sit in 
 the chimney corner awaiting his return," said Dora, 
 with rising color in her pale cheeks. 
 
 " Of course not, my dear child, but you know he will 
 be dreadfully disappointed not to be able to introduce 
 his father and sister to vou." 
 
 iS4 
 
FROM OUT OF THE WEST. 
 
 "I am not strong enough to meet strangers at pres- 
 ent," replied Dora. "I would rather go away for a 
 while. I shall meet them in the winter." 
 
 Aunt Helen looked perplexed and shook her head. 
 "I don't understand the necessity of being in such a 
 hurry; but if your heart is so set upon going, I suppose 
 we shall have to let you go. You have always had your 
 own way ever since you were born, and always will, I 
 expect." 
 
 "Now, Aunt Helen, don't talk as though I was a 
 spoiled, wilful child," said Dora, somewhat fretfully. 
 "I don't see anything strange in my wanting to go 
 abroad with such delightful people as the Morrises. 
 I am tired and sick of the city and I long to be out of it." 
 
 "Well, I will help you all I can, even if I do not quite 
 approve, if you will only return to us with the roses in 
 those pale cheeks again." 
 
 "Aunt Helen, you are a darling," exclaimed Dora, 
 gratefully. "I believe I will go and lie down awhile, 
 I feel tired, and I want to gain strength rapidly for my 
 intended trip," and kissing her aunt affectionately, she 
 left the room. 
 
 That evening the proposed trip was talked over be- 
 tween the parents. "I don't know what to make of 
 that girl of mine," said Mr. Hutchinson, solemnly 
 shaking his head. " Sometimes I think she is in a hurry 
 to get away from here before Manning's return; but 
 what she should want to run away from him for I do 
 not understand, unless it is a streak of vanity. Perhaps 
 she dislikes to have him see her looking so poorly 
 after her sickness. What do you think, wife ?" 
 
 155 
 
FROM OUT OF THE WEST. 
 
 "I don't think Dora would be as foolish as that; 
 she is not so vain of her good looks. She has some 
 other reason, and it is such a strong one, we had better 
 let her go." 
 
 " Of course we shall let her go; when did we ever re- 
 fuse her anything? If she wanted to go to the north 
 pole, we should have to let her go." 
 
 "Well, there is one satisfaction about it, she will be 
 with those we can trust to take as good care of her as 
 we would ourselves." 
 
 So it was decided that Dora was to go to Europe. 
 
 "What a lucky girl you are," exclaimed Jennie 
 Dunlap, enviously. "You have only to express a wish 
 and your parents move heaven and earth to grant it. 
 Now I have been wanting to go to Europe all my life, 
 and my parents turn a deaf ear to all my entreaties." 
 
 "Never mind," replied Dora, smiling at Jennie's 
 disconsolate tone. "When you are Mrs. Adolphus 
 Carlton, you can go every year." 
 
 "That is one of his chief attractions in my eyes. 
 Europe and diamonds would buy my heart any day. 
 No love in a cottage for me — tra la la, tra la la," and 
 she gaily waltzed about the room. 
 
 "What will Manning say?" was Wallace's first ex- 
 clamation upon hearing the news. "I know he will 
 be awfully cut up about it." 
 
 "Dora Hutchinson will go through the woods and 
 pick up a crooked stick at last, is my opinion," said 
 Edith, prophetically. "See the offers she has had 
 and refused. See how she has played fast and loose 
 with Harold Graham all her life, and now, after she 
 
 156 
 
FROM OUT OF THE WEST. 
 
 has made us all believe that her heart is captured at 
 last by Philip Manning, as soon as he leaves her side, 
 she apparently forgets his existence, coolly packs her 
 trunks and starts for Europe on the very eve of his 
 return. I think it is downright shabby of her. I hope 
 he will marry someone else before she returns." 
 
 " Perhaps you would like to be that somebody else," 
 drawls Jennie, teasingly. "You may catch his heart 
 in the rebound." 
 
 "Stranger things than that have happened," re- 
 torted her sister, unruffled. 
 
 On the day of Dora's departure, they all went down 
 to the steamer to see her off. Good-byes were spoken, 
 handkerchiefs waved, as the great steamer slowly with- 
 drew from the dock and turned seaward. Dora re- 
 mained on deck as long as she could see her friends, 
 a smile on her lips so long as they could discern her 
 face; but when distance hid them, she turned a pale, 
 wan face toward the cabin and was seen no more that 
 day. 
 
 *S7 
 
CHAPTER XXI. 
 
 DORA GONE? 
 
 "Philip, I have been exploring the garden, and I 
 found a lovely bed of big, English violets. See, I have 
 brought you a bunch. I remember they are your fav- 
 orite flower. Let me pin some in your coat," and Josie 
 advanced toward her brother to carry out her intention, 
 but he waved her back, his face pale and agitated. 
 
 "No," he cried, "I don't like their perfume, it makes 
 me sick," and he put his hand to his head as though 
 dizzy from their odor. 
 
 Josie stared at her brother in speechless amazement 
 while he was speaking. At last, finding her voice, 
 she exclaimed, indignantly, "Why, Philip Manning, 
 what do you mean ? Violets were always your favorite 
 flower. You and I have picked great bunches of them, 
 and now you say their perfume makes you sick, when 
 theirs is the most delicate perfume in the world. What 
 has come over you?" and Josie gazed keenly at her 
 brother. 
 
 "I know I used to like them," he replied, apologet- 
 ically, "but one's taste changes, you know," and he 
 laughed nervously. 
 
 " Oh, well, you are not obliged to have them. I will 
 take them out of your sight if they have grown so ob- 
 jectionable to you," and with a decided pout on her 
 pretty lips, Jessie left the room. She soon returned, 
 
 i S 8 
 
FROM OUT OF THE WEST. 
 
 however, smiling and happy as ever. Philip was stand- 
 ing at the window gazing out with dreamy eyes. Josie 
 stole softly to his side, and, slipping her hand through 
 his arm, looked out upon the beautiful landscape. 
 Suddenly their attention was attracted by the appear- 
 ance of a solitary horseman, winding his way along the 
 carriage road. As he drew nearer, Philip recognized 
 Wallace Dunlap. His face brightened at once; a smile 
 broke over his lips, as he turned to Josie and said, 
 "Behold the conquering hero comes. Keep a good 
 grip on your heart, Josie. Wallace is a great lady- 
 killer. All the girls are in love with his blue eyes and 
 curly locks." 
 
 "I hope I am not so impressionable as to fall in love 
 with just a handsome face. 'Beauty is as beauty does' 
 is my motto." 
 
 "Well this beauty does about right," said Philip, 
 heartily. "I think as much of Wallace as I would of 
 a younger brother. Here he comes." 
 
 The two men shook hands heartily, then Philip 
 turned to his sister. " Wallace, this is my sister, Josie," 
 he said, simply. "You have both heard so much of each 
 other, you ought to feel almost acquainted." 
 
 Walhce looked at the graceful, slender, brown-eyed 
 maiden, and thought her the sweetest girl he had met, 
 while she, gazing into the merry, blue eyes of the hand- 
 some young man before her, found her heart beating 
 in a very troublesome manner. She shyly withdrew 
 the hand he grasped so cordially, while the crimson 
 blood dyed her olive cheek, and the long, silken lashes 
 veiled the sweet, brown eyes. 
 
 *59 
 
FROM OUT OF THE WEST. 
 
 "Your sister is the perfect image of you, Philip," 
 Wallace exclaimed. "I should have known her, if I 
 had met her anywhere." 
 
 "Is that a compliment to you, or to me, Josie?" 
 asked Philip, laughing. " Yes, we resemble each other. 
 We only lack seven years of being twins," and they all 
 laughed. 
 
 Manning inquired how Wallace's parents and sisters 
 were, he also spoke of several other friends and ac- 
 quaintances, hoping to hear some word of Dora — too 
 shy to inquire outright, but no mention was made of 
 the Hutchinsons, to Philip's disappointment. 
 
 When about to depart, Wallace asked Manning to 
 accompany him. "My mother and sister will take 
 pleasure in calling upon you in a few days," he said to 
 Josie, and the two men left the house together, followed 
 by Josie's admiring eyes, as long as she could see them. 
 
 "Philip is the handsomer," she murmured, with 
 pride, "but Mr. Dunlap is nice looking also. I am 
 sure I shall like him. I must follow Philip's advice 
 and keep a grip on my heart," and she laughed softly 
 to herself. 
 
 "Manning," said Wallace, after they had left the 
 grounds and passed out into the highway, "I have 
 some news to tell you that I thought you would rather 
 hear from my lips than from others. I know you will 
 be very much surprised, and it is not pleasant to have 
 a surprise sprung on one in a crowd. It is sometimes 
 embarrassing." 
 
 Manning turned pale as he involuntarily brought his 
 horse to a standstill, while he gazed at his friend in 
 
 160 
 
FROM OUT OF THE WEST. 
 
 speechless agony. His heart intuitively told him that 
 the news must be of Dora. Was she dead? Was 
 she married? Either would be equally bad. 
 
 "Don't look like that, old chap, you are imagining 
 the worst. She is not dead, only gone to Europe." 
 
 Manning gave a great sigh of relief, and looked re- 
 proachfully at his friend. "You spoke so seriously," 
 he said. "I thought something terrible had happened. 
 I am sorry to hear of her departure. I had anticipated 
 introducing my sister to her. How long will she be 
 gone? Was it not sudden? I do not remember to 
 have heard her say anything of such a trip," and he 
 looked inquiringly at Wallace. 
 
 "Thereby hangs a tale," answered Wallace, impres- 
 sively. "The next day after your departure for the 
 West, Miss Dora Hutchinson was stricken with a se- 
 vere illness, called by her physician 'nervous prostra- 
 tion*. For two weeks she was very ill. The third 
 week she arose, a thin, shadowy ghost of her former 
 self. I never saw such a change in anyone in so short 
 a time; and when the Morrises told her of their intended 
 trip abroad, nothing would do but she must go too, so 
 she gained the consent of old pill-bags, who ought to 
 have known better, and of her parents who never deny 
 her anything, reasonable or unreasonable. So the day 
 before your return, she and the Morrises embarked for 
 Europe. That is the story in a nut shell, perhaps you 
 can crack it, I cannot," and he began to whistle a merry 
 tune. 
 
 Manning had listened attentively, filled with sur- 
 prise and anxiety, to this strange narration of Dora's 
 
 161 
 
FROM OUT OF THE WEST. 
 
 hurried flight upon the eve of his return. He could not 
 understand it. Perhaps she had left a letter or some 
 explanation for him. He was anxious to call at the 
 house and gain some clue to her strange departure, to 
 relieve his suspense and disappointment. 
 
 He was persuaded to go home with Wallace. They 
 received him with sincere expressions of pleasure at his 
 return. They told him of all the gay doings since he 
 had been gone, but, by common consent, they refrained 
 from mentioning Dora's name, for which he was very 
 grateful, as he felt too perplexed and keenly disap- 
 pointed at her absence, to wish to converse about her. 
 He did not stay long, and after leaving the house, he 
 went to his hotel. There were a few articles still there, 
 that had to be packed and sent to his home. 
 
 As he enters the corridor, he gazes apprehensively 
 down its length. Does he fear to see a slender, golden- 
 haired girl, with a basket of flowers upon her arm ? 
 He shudders and hurries to his room. Emerging a 
 half-hour later, he gives the keys to the porter, with 
 directions to have his luggage sent to his residence. 
 
 That evening, as Josie met her brother upon his re- 
 turn from the city, she noticed with anxiety his pale 
 face and sad eyes. To her sisterly solicitations he re- 
 plied, that he had a severe headache, and if she did not 
 mind he would go to his room and rest a while before 
 dinner. 
 
 She watched him as he ascended the stairs. "I 
 don't believe it is all headache," she thought. "He 
 is not subject to them. It is more like heartache, and 
 the perfume of violets has something to do with it. 
 
 162 
 
FROM OUT OF THE WEST. 
 
 There is some unpleasant memory connected with them, 
 and he cannot shake it off." 
 
 "Where is Philip?" asked the old father, coming 
 slowly down the long hall. "I thought I heard his 
 voice. I want to show him a beautiful butterfly I 
 found out in the garden. I really believe it will meas- 
 ure four inches from wing to wing." 
 
 "Come and show it to me," said Josie, taking her 
 father's arm in a pretty, coaxing way. Satisfied to 
 find some one to show his prize to, he eagerly led the 
 way and they left the hall together. 
 
 In the meantime, Philip Manning, in his room, was 
 battling with conflicting emotions. All his plans and 
 happy anticipations were set at naught by this strange 
 story he had just heard. Why did Dora not wait until 
 after his return ? She must have known what a terrible 
 disappointment it would be to him to find her gone; 
 but it looked as though her interest in him had not been 
 sufficient to keep her at home to receive him. She must 
 have known of his love and that he would ask her to 
 be his wife upon his return. Perhaps she did not love 
 him, but had only been amusing herself with him, as 
 a specimen from the wild West, a little different from 
 the other men she had met; and she thought now was 
 a good time to shake him off. Then again he told him- 
 self that it was not possible she could be such a girl. 
 She was so sincere and unaffected, so affectionate and 
 loving in her family, so tender and solicitous of her 
 invalid aunt, and so gracious toward himself, always 
 showing her pleasure in his society. He would not 
 wrong her by unkind thoughts. He would wait for 
 
 163 
 
FROM OUT OF THE WEST. 
 
 an explanation from her or her parents. So he tried 
 to cheer himself into the belief that he had no occasion 
 to make himself miserable at present. 
 
 He joined his father and sister at dinner. After 
 dinner they sang the hymns their father loved before 
 he retired, as he rarely sat up after ten. When they 
 were alone, Philip said: "I wish you would invite some 
 of your girl friends to come and stay with you a while, 
 Josie, for I am afraid you will be lonesome in this big 
 house, and it will be quite a while before our city friends 
 return from their summer outings.' ' 
 
 "Now, Philip, don't you worry about me," answered 
 Josie. "I only had father in our western home after 
 you came East, and now I have you, too, I am perfectly 
 contented. This is such a lovely place, with its beauti- 
 ful, large grounds. I suppose I am selfish to wish to 
 enjoy it all by myself. Perhaps I may invite some of 
 my school friends before the summer is over. I know 
 they would be delighted to come." 
 
 "You remember, Josie, I spoke to you of Miss Hutch- 
 inson, a lady friend of mine?" said Philip, in a con- 
 strained tone. 
 
 "Well, I guess I do," replied Josie, laughing at her 
 brother's evident embarrassment. "You not only 
 spoke of her, you sang her praises for hours, and I, 
 like a good, little sister, listened patiently, and never 
 once called a halt. I am so anxious to meet her. I 
 suppose you have called already. Was she glad to see 
 you? Tell me all about it." 
 
 "How you do run on, Josie. I was going to tell you 
 that she had gone to Europe." 
 
 164 
 
FROM OUT OF THE WEST. 
 
 Josie's big brown eyes opened wide in amazement 
 and her red lips puckered at though about to whistle, 
 "Gone to Europe ! What has she gone to Europe for ?" 
 
 " What does anyone go to Europe for ?" replied Philip, 
 somewhat impatiently. " Why, for recreation and pleas- 
 ure. Besides, she has been very sick, and no doubt 
 thought the trip would be beneficial." 
 
 "But what did she go just now for? Why didn't 
 she wait and make a wedding trip of it?" and Josie 
 smiled roguishly at her brother, who flushed, but made 
 no answer. 
 
 "Now, I shall not see her," continued Josie, in a dis- 
 appointed tone. "How long will she be gone?" 
 
 "I do not know," replied Philip. "I have not called 
 at the house yet. Wallace Dunlap told me of her de- 
 parture." 
 
 "Were you not terribly surprised, Philip? No need 
 to ask that, — of course you were, and disappointed 
 too; and if she hasn't left a nice, little note of explana- 
 tion for you, I shall have my opinion of her," and Josie 
 pressed her pretty lips together in evident displeasure 
 with Miss Dora Hutchinson. 
 
 165 
 
CHAPTER XXII. 
 
 PHILIP'S SISTER. 
 
 The next morning, Philip could hardly wait for nine 
 o'clock before riding to the city to call at Mr. Hutchin- 
 son's office. He would have preferred to call on Mrs. 
 Hutchinson, but, as this would necessitate a later hour, 
 he felt he had not the patience to wait ; so, at nine, he 
 mounted his horse and rode to the city. 
 
 Mr. Hutchinson met him with a cordial shake of the 
 hand. " Glad to see you back, Manning," he said, heart- 
 ily. " Been up to the house yet ?" 
 
 "No," replied Manning; "I thought I would call and 
 see you first. The ladies are well, I trust?" 
 
 "Why, yes, — Mrs. Hutchinson is well," replied the 
 old man, with some embarrassment. "You know Dora 
 has gone to Europe." He picked up an envelope and 
 scrutinized the address very attentively. 
 
 "Yes, I heard she had," was the calm reply of the 
 young man. 
 
 Mr. Hutchinson glanced at Philip, a look of relief 
 on his face. He had been afraid he might be the first 
 one to impart the news, and he was not certain how he 
 would take it. " She has been very sick, you know, and 
 she thought the voyage might do her good." He spoke 
 almost apologetically. 
 
 "I hope it may," said Philip, mechanically. Then 
 there was a silence for a time, while the clock ticked with 
 wonderful distinctness. 
 
 166 
 
FROM OUT OF THE WEST. 
 
 "It must have been a surprise to you?" interrogated 
 Mr. Hutchinson, not knowing what else to say. 
 
 "Yes, I was surprised," said Philip, turning impul- 
 sively to Dora's father. "I loved her. You must have 
 seen it, I hoped to gain your consent to ask her to be 
 my wife upon my return. You can understand my 
 feelings to find her gone." 
 
 Mr. Hutchinson arose to his feet and extended his 
 hand. "I can understand and sympathize with you. 
 Nothing would give me greater pleasure than to receive 
 you as my son-in-law." 
 
 Philip's face lit up with happiness, as he grasped the 
 old man's hand. "Do you think there is any hope for 
 tne ?" he asked, anxiously. 
 
 "Why, yes, plenty of hope. I am sure she likes you." 
 
 "I have no doubt she likes me; but does she love me? 
 that is the question." 
 
 "That you will have to find out for yourself," laughed 
 Mr. Hutchinson. 
 
 "I am sure if she loved me as well as I do her she 
 could never have run away to Europe without leaving 
 a farewell message." 
 
 "Oh, well, girls are strange creatures. Perhaps she 
 thought you a tardy lover and went away to give you a 
 lesson. Go up to the house and talk with her mother. 
 She understands feminine whims better than we 
 do. She can no doubt explain it all to your satis- 
 faction." 
 
 "You have made me very happy by giving me your 
 consent to win your lovely daughter's hand," said 
 Philip, rising. "I will act upon your suggestion and 
 
 167 
 
FROM OUT OF THE WEST. 
 
 call upon Mrs. Hutchinson ; mothers always know their 
 daughters' hearts." (Mistaken man.) 
 
 Again mounting his horse, he rode to the Hutchin- 
 sons' residence, and was received with evident pleasure 
 by Dora's mother. 
 
 "It seems more like five months than five weeks 
 since you left us," she said to Philip. "So much has 
 transpired. Dora's long sickness; then the prepara- 
 tions for the trip and her departure. You must have 
 been surprised," and she looked at him quizzically. 
 
 "Yes, is was a very unpleasant surprise," he replied. 
 "I had looked forward to meeting her again and intro 
 ducing my sister. I have told my sister of your 
 daughter's kindness to the western stranger, and she was 
 anticipating a great deal of pleasure in meeting her." 
 
 "I must make up for my daughter's delinquency," 
 responded Mrs. Hutchinson, smiling. "I am quite 
 anxious to meet your father and sister. How do they 
 like their new home?" 
 
 " Oh, father is contented anywhere Josie and I are. 
 He takes great delight in the gardens and the strip of 
 woods beyond. Josie is also pleased. I have offered 
 to take her away for the summer, but she does not care 
 to go. If she does not go away, I shall persuade her 
 to invite some of her friends to visit her." 
 
 " I doubt if she could find a pleasanter place to spend 
 the summer, than her new, beautiful home," said Mrs. 
 Hutchinson; "for, although so short a distance from 
 the city, it has all the environments of the country, and 
 is far cooler than many of the fashionable summer re- 
 sorts. I think she is a sensible girl." 
 
 168 
 
FROM OUT OF THE WEST. 
 
 The conversation drifted from one subject to another, 
 and nothing further was said on the subject nearest his 
 heart. He longed to talk about Dora to Dora's mother, 
 but he could not broach the subject without an 
 embarrassing abruptness, and this he was unequal 
 to. 
 
 "May I see Aunt Helen?" he asked, thinking pos- 
 sibly Dora's aunt might be more communicative than 
 Dora's mother. 
 
 "Certainly," replied Mrs. Hutchinson. "She will 
 be delighted to see you. I will inquire if she can see 
 you now." She rang the bell and directed John to send 
 the nurse to her. 
 
 When the nurse appeared she gave the information 
 that Aunt Helen was prepared for visitors. Philip 
 followed the nurse upstairs into the invalid's room. 
 There was no mistaking the glad welcome with which 
 she greeted him. She had grown to look upon Philip 
 as a possible nephew, and already loved him as such. 
 They both loved Dora, each heart was full of her, and 
 soon they were talking of her in great confidence. 
 Both felt free to ask and answer questions on this 
 mutual subject so dear to each heart. 
 
 Without the least restraint, Philip poured into her 
 sympathetic ear all his disappointed hopes and fore- 
 bodings. 
 
 "Are you sure there was no misunderstanding be- 
 tween you? Did you part good friends ?" questioned 
 Aunt Helen. 
 
 "Why, yes, I am sure we did. I remember she was 
 not feeling well, but she was as sweet and gracious as 
 
 169 
 
FROM OUT OF THE WEST. 
 
 ever. Yes, we parted the best of friends, and I am sure 
 she understood my feelings towards her." 
 
 "Well, my dear boy, there is no accounting for the 
 whims of an invalid. She was very sick and had not 
 recovered sufficiently to know or care for anyone at the 
 time she left home. We shall get a letter in a few days, 
 and no doubt she will send you a message. Then you 
 can write to her and all will be made clear and satis- 
 factory. I should be terribly grieved if any trouble 
 came between you, for I just think you and Dora were 
 made for each other." 
 
 Philip took his departure and reached home just 
 in time for lunch. Josie searched her brother's face 
 anxiously to ascertain if possible the result of the visit 
 to the Hutchinsons. Philip noticed her anxious gaze 
 and, putting his arm about her, drew her fondly to his 
 side and kissed her. 
 
 "I can see a host of unspoken questions in those 
 eyes," he said, gaily. Then he told her of his 
 visit to Mr. Hutchinson's office, of his cordial reception 
 and the hearty sanction given to his suit, and of his in- 
 terview with Dora's mother and Aunt Helen. "I must 
 take you to see Aunt Helen soon. You will love her; 
 all young people do." 
 
 That afternoon Wallace Dunlap and his sisters called. 
 Josie felt somewhat shy of the stylishly dressed young 
 city ladies. They were not at all like the girls she had 
 been used to. But if shy and quiet, she was not awk- 
 ward, and received them in a sweet, pretty way, and 
 tried hard to follow their conversation that was mostly 
 like Greek to her. She blushingly admitted that she 
 
 170 
 
FROM OUT OF THE WEST. 
 
 knew nothing about lawn tennis or golf. When asked 
 to play, she looked appealingly at her brother, who 
 came to her rescue. 
 
 " Josie does not play the popular music/ ' he explained. 
 "Her music is sacred and played upon the organ. Our 
 father is very fond of his evening hymn. Josie has a 
 good voice and I mean to procure a good teacher for 
 her." 
 
 Edith and Jennie were both brilliant pianists and 
 quite electrified Josie by their performances. Her 
 pleasure and admiration was so evident and sincere, 
 that they felt quite flattered, and voted her quite a nice, 
 little girl after all. 
 
 After their departure, Josie gave a sigh of relief. 
 " Oh, Philip, I shall never be like them. They are so 
 different in every way from me. I felt like a little brown 
 grub among gorgeous butterflies." 
 
 "Well, they are a fair specimen of society girls. 
 When you become more familiar with their ways you 
 will like them better. They impressed me much the 
 same way at first. They did not like my ways, and I 
 did not admire theirs, but we are pretty good friends 
 now, and I am especially fond of Wallace." 
 
 "Oh, he is different," exclaimed Josie, eagerly. 
 "He is quite natural and like other folks. I don't feel 
 a bit afraid of him. Are all the young men nice like 
 him? If they are, I shall like the men the best," and 
 she laughed roguishly. 
 
 "There are some specimens among the men that will 
 be a surprise to you. Wait until you see Adolphus 
 Carlton," said Philip, laughingly. 
 
 171 
 
FROM OUT OF THE WEST. 
 
 "Well, how did you like Philip's sister?" asked Wal- 
 lace of his sisters after they had entered the carriage 
 and driven away. 
 
 "I think she is a stupid, little brown thing, without 
 a particle of style, and no accomplishments. She has 
 country written all over her. That is my opinion/' 
 said Jennie, tossing her head disdainfully. 
 
 "Well," said Edith, "I think that time and oppor- 
 tunity will greatly improve her. She is very pretty and 
 graceful. Her eyes are lovely. If her hair was ar- 
 ranged more becomingly, and she was not quite so shy, 
 she would make quite an impression. What do you 
 think, Wallace?" 
 
 "I think she is the sweetest girl I ever met," replied 
 Wallace, enthusiastically. "She puts me in mind^of a 
 sweet, brier rose." 
 
 "Oh, you might know Wallace would be captivated 
 at once. He feels it his bounden duty to yield up his 
 heart to every pretty new face that comes along," said 
 Jennie, mockingly. "You two can cultivate her if you 
 want to, but please excuse me. I know she is as sanc- 
 timonious as her brother. She only sings hymns, 
 bah I" 
 
 172 
 
CHAPTER XXIII. 
 
 As the days passed by, Manning grew feverishly anx- 
 ious for news from Dora. He called every day at the 
 office. 
 
 "I don't see why Dora doesn't write," Mr. Hutchin- 
 son would exclaim with frowning brows. "They have 
 arrived in safety, for we have received a telegram to that 
 effect. Well, perhaps it will come tomorrow. We 
 must have patience. She is probably tired after her 
 voyage and is resting up a bit." 
 
 At last the long-looked-for letter arrived and was 
 eagerly read by the parents. It was long, and gave 
 an interesting description of their voyage and the people 
 they had met. She wrote that she was feeling much 
 better, and getting some color in her cheeks. She 
 sent messages to different friends, but in all the letter 
 there was no mention of Philip — no inquiry as to his 
 return. When they had finished reading it, the parents 
 gazed into each other's faces in dismay. 
 
 "What does it mean?" "How shall we tell him?" 
 burst simultaneously from their lips. 
 
 The letter was taken to Aunt Helen's room and read. 
 "It looks as though she were bent on ignoring him," 
 said Aunt Helen, sadly. "She left no message for him, 
 and she does not mention his name in her letter. There 
 is only one way to solve the mystery, and that is for him 
 
 173 
 
FROM OUT OF THE WEST. 
 
 to write to her. She will be obliged to answer, then he 
 can judge from her reply the state of her feelings to- 
 ward him." 
 
 "Yes, that will be the best way," said Mr. Hutchin- 
 son. "I will take her letter to the office and let him 
 read it and advise him to write to her. I can't see what 
 has got into the girl," he exclaimed, impatiently. "She 
 must explain herself. I will not have her play fast and 
 loose with Philip." 
 
 "You may be sure she thinks she has a good reason 
 for her conduct, although she has not confided in us," 
 replied her mother, staunchly. 
 
 The next morning, when Philip entered the office, 
 he felt at once that there was bad news for him. He 
 read pity and commiseration in the face of Dora's 
 father, who opened a drawer in his desk and taking out 
 a letter, silently handed it to him. 
 
 Manning received it with beating heart. He gazed 
 at the graceful chirography on the outside of the en- 
 velope. " Am I to read it ?" he asked, in an unsteady tone. 
 
 "Certainly," replied the old man, tenderly, yet 
 tersely, turning to his desk and beginning to write 
 fiercely. He heard the rustle of the turning leaves, 
 then all was silent. He listened for some sound. He 
 dreaded to turn around. A hand laid upon his shoulder 
 caused him to jump nervously. Philip stood at his side 
 and laid the letter on the desk. 
 
 "I am nothing to her," he said, with pale lips, "not 
 worth mentioning. There are messages even for Adol- 
 phus Carlton, but not a word for me. I have deceived 
 myself in thinking that she cared for me." 
 
 174 
 
FROM OUT OF THE WEST. 
 
 "Now, my dear boy," said Mr. Hutchinson, gently, 
 "don't jump at conclusions so hastily. I cannot ac- 
 count for my daughter's conduct, but my advice to you 
 is to write and find out for yourself. As I said once be- 
 fore, she may be piqued at your tardy love-making, 
 and will make no further advances. So I say write to 
 her, here is her address." 
 
 Philip's face brightened ; as a drowning man will catch 
 at a straw, he caught at the old man's suggestion. 
 
 "I will act as you advise," he said, "I will write and 
 learn my fate from her. Thank you for giving me a 
 glimmer of hope. I thought when I read that letter 
 it was all over for me, but I will make one more effort," 
 and he grasped the old man's hand gratefully, and left 
 the office. 
 
 Upon his arrival at home, not wishing to meet any- 
 one, he entered the house at the rear and went immedi- 
 ately to his room. He was eager to write to Dora. 
 
 "I am so anxious and unsettled all the time over this 
 terrible uncertainty. I am not fit for business or pleas- 
 ure. Better to know my fate at once and bear it like 
 a man." He seated himself at the desk and tried to 
 write, but it was hard to express himself just as he would 
 like to. He tore up sheet after sheet ; one was too formal 
 another too reproachful. At last he decided to send the 
 following: — 
 "My Dear Miss Hutchinson:— 
 
 "Allow me to express my surprise and sorrow upon 
 being informed of your recent illness, and my joy at your 
 recovery, as stated in your letter of recent date, shown 
 me by your father. I have called at the office every 
 
 175 
 
FROM OUT OF THE WEST. 
 
 day to ascertain if there was news from you. I thought 
 perhaps I might be remembered with a few kind words, 
 but I was sadly disappointed. So I have resolved to 
 write and ask if I can possibly have offended you in 
 any way. If so, it was unintentional on my part. You 
 could not mistake my high regard for you, but I may 
 in my uncouth, western way, have said or done some- 
 thing to cause you displeasure. If such is the case, I 
 beg you to be frank with me. Only let me know my 
 offense, and I will make all the reparation in my power. 
 Send me just a few lines, to let me know you are the 
 same kind friend I parted with a few weeks ago, and 1 
 shall be the happiest of men. 
 
 i 'Yours sincerely, 
 
 "Philip Manning." 
 
 After the letter was written, Philip's spirits rose; 
 youth is so buoyant and hopeful, rarely depressed for 
 any length of time. So Philip descended the stairs in 
 quite a different frame of mind from when he ascended 
 them an hour previous. 
 
 He found Josie and Wallace planning a tennis court. 
 Every day brought Wallace on some pretext or other, 
 and he was fast losing his heart to the little western 
 maiden; and each time she greeted him with such in- 
 nocent, unaffected pleasure, that he knew his pres- 
 ence was not unwelcome. Philip joined them and 
 helped stake out the ground. Then they all went in to 
 lunch. 
 
 In the afternoon, Mrs. Hutchinson called and was 
 made acquainted with Philip's sister and father. The 
 sweet-faced old man, with his long, white hair and beard 
 
 176 
 
FROM OUT OF THE WEST. 
 
 and dreamy, brown eyes, was a delightful revelation to 
 the society lady, who was used to seeing old men dress 
 and pose like youths. And the slender, dark-eyed 
 sister, who greeted her so sweetly — if a bit shyly — was 
 welcomed with a motherly kiss that won Josie's heart 
 at once. 
 
 "You have not taken your sister anywhere yet, have 
 you?" inquired Mrs. Hutchinson. 
 
 "No," replied Philip. " She says she cannot go until 
 she gets some new gowns, and she seems in no hurry 
 about it. We have been to ride several times, that is all." 
 
 Josie laughed and blushed. "I have been so taken 
 up with my new home, I have not thought much about 
 new dresses, but I must do so soon." 
 
 "I should like to take you to a garden-party next 
 week, if your brother is willing. It is going to be quite 
 a pretty affair and I think you would enjoy it." 
 
 "Oh, that would be delightful," exclaimed Josie 
 her eyes beaming with pleasure. " Of course Philip 
 is willing; and I must get a pretty, new dress. I wish 
 I had some one to advise me about dressmakers and 
 fabrics. I am so ignorant about such things." 
 
 "I will go with you if you would like to have me," 
 said Mrs. Hutchinson. "I regret my daughter is not 
 at home. She would be just the one to pilot you among 
 all the pretty, dainty things you young girls love; but 
 we will see what we can do by ourselves. I know a 
 good dressmaker who will just suit you. She loves to 
 dress young girls, and has a great knack of bringing out 
 all their good points." (Mentally she added, 'She will 
 be delighted with a fresh little][rosebud like you.") 
 
 177 
 
FROM OUT OF THE WEST. 
 
 After further discussion about colors, styles and fab- 
 rics, it was decided that Philip should bring his sister 
 on the morrow to Mrs. Hutchinson's, and they would 
 spend the morning shopping, and Philip should join 
 them at lunch. 
 
 After Mrs. Hutchinson had gone, Josie expressed 
 herself as delighted with her, and joyfully anticipated 
 the morrow. It would be a new, pleasurable experi- 
 ence to the young girl, who had hitherto only been 
 able to buy the necessities of life, with very little regard 
 to beauty or style. But now she could select those 
 bright tints that she knew would harmonize so well 
 with her dark eyes and hair. She could also buy laces 
 and ribbons to trim with. Oh, the delight of being able 
 to spend money freely, without sighing, as it passes out 
 of one's reluctant hands. She could hardly sleep that 
 night, her head and mind were so full of the beautiful 
 tomorrow. 
 
 She arose bright and early and was ready and anxious 
 to start hours before she could persuade her brother to 
 
 go. 
 
 "Why, they have not had their breakfast yet," 
 laughed Philip. " No one starts shopping until 
 ten." 
 
 So she curbed her impatience and waited until the 
 lazy old clock ticked itself around to nine. Philip had 
 given her what she considered a small fortune to spend. 
 
 " Oh, I shall not spend half of it," she exclaimed, in 
 dismay. "Yes, you will," her brother replied, "and be 
 asking for more tomorrow." But Josie shook her head 
 incredulously. It was well she did not see the check 
 
 178 
 
FROM OUT OF THE WEST. 
 
 he gave Mrs. Hutchinson. It would have frightened 
 the little country girl. 
 
 " Josie does not know much about the cost of finery," 
 he said, to Mrs. Hutchinson on their arrival. " She has 
 never had the opportunity to find out. I have given 
 her what she thinks ought to buy a bride's trousseau; 
 but I know it will not go far toward what she needs to 
 appear among other girls, and I want her to have just 
 as pretty things as they do; and I shall consider it 
 a great kindness on your part to see that she is well 
 equipped with everything she needs, and if that check 
 is not sufficient I will settle any bills you may contract." 
 
 "You are a most liberal, kind-hearted brother," said 
 Mrs. Hutchinson, fervently. "I am not going to be 
 extravagant just because you have been so generous. 
 I shall buy for her just the same as I should if she were 
 my own daughter." 
 
 Philip took his sister up stairs and presented her to 
 Aunt Helen. 
 
 "My dear child," she said, "I have grown to love 
 your brother very dearly, and you are as like him as it 
 is possible to be in looks. If you are as lovable in mind 
 and manner I shall love you equally well." 
 
 Josie was greatly interested in the sweet-faced invalid, 
 and promised to visit her often and read to her. 
 
 What a day that was for Josie. She felt as though 
 she was in fairyland, among the bewildering array of 
 pretty silks, laces and muslins. She opened her big 
 eyes very wide in amazement at some of Mrs. Hutchin- 
 son's purchases. Money was so new a thing for her to 
 handle lavishly, that prices and durability still clung to 
 
 179 
 
FROM OUT OF THE WEST. 
 
 her mind ; and when she saw laces, that looked as though 
 a slight breeze would blow them away, it almost took 
 her breath. She hoped it was all right, and would 
 not exceed the crisp notes in her pocket-book. On 
 learning that Mrs. Hutchinson had plenty of money for 
 all the purchases, and to spare, and that all the money 
 in her own little purse was to buy any little trifles that 
 she wanted, Josie gave up worrying and busied herself 
 in purchasing many little articles always desired, but 
 never attainable before. 
 
 From their shopping expedition, they drove to the 
 dressmaker's where they left most of their purchases 
 with explicit instructions from Mrs. Hutchinson to 
 have them made up at once. 
 
 This was promised by the affable modiste, who over- 
 whelmed Josie with her compliments and evident ad- 
 miration of her slender, girlish form and pretty face. 
 Philip joined them at dinner, and in the evening they 
 attended a concert, ending one of the happiest days the 
 little western girl had ever spent. 
 
 180 
 
CHAPTER XXTV. 
 
 A GARDEN PARTY. 
 
 As the days glided by, Philip began to watch anxious- 
 ly for a letter from Dora. Every morning he paced 
 the veranda, awaiting the return of John, with the mail- 
 bag When it came, he would seize it with eager hands, 
 and, carrying it into the hall, tumble its contents upon 
 the table, and anxiously scan, one by one, each letter 
 it contained; but each day brought a fresh disappoint- 
 ment, until at last he realized there was no hope. Dora 
 evidently desired to drop his acquaintance and he must 
 submit to her decision. What her reasons were, his per- 
 plexed brain could not conceive. He resolved to be 
 sensible about it. He would not allow it to spoil his 
 life. He would devote himself to his sister's best in- 
 terests and enjoyment, and try and forget Dora. He 
 did not wish to grow cynical regarding women, but his 
 experience of the past year had opened his eyes to traits 
 in the female character which he had never dreamed 
 existed there. He had greatly admired two beautiful 
 golden-haired women, but both had terribly disap- 
 pointed him. He did not think he should ever admire 
 another blonde woman; they were naturally capricious 
 and false. He was glad Josie was dark; henceforth 
 she would be the only woman of any interest to him. 
 
 It was the day of the garden party, and very sweet 
 and pretty Josie looked in her cream colored organdie, 
 
 181 
 
FROM OUT OF THE WEST. 
 
 trimmed with chiffon and pink roses. A broad-brimmed 
 hat, covered with cream lace and roses, shaded the 
 bright, piquant face. 
 
 "How do I look?" she asked, standing before her 
 brother for approval. 
 
 "Sweet as a rose," he exclaimed, heartily. "I shall 
 be very proud of my little sister. I knew a little finery 
 would bring you out all right." 
 
 They drove to Mrs. Hutchinson's, and then all three 
 drove to a beautiful, suburban residence, where the 
 spacious gardens were filled with guests. It was like 
 a fairy scene to Josie, — the groups of lovely dressed 
 ladies, with the dark suits of the men showing in plain 
 relief against their light, summer gowns; the cosy nooks 
 in shady places for a quiet tete-a-tete; the fountains 
 with gigantic rims on which one could sit and feed the 
 swans; the out-door games for those who cared for the 
 exertion ; the pretty maids in lace caps and ruffled aprons 
 serving creams and ices to all who wished; the great 
 beds of flowers, palms, and shrubs; and the con- 
 servatories filled with choice plants — all to be 
 admired. 
 
 Josie was presented to the hostess and her two 
 daughters, who in their turn introduced her to others, 
 so that she was soon surrounded by a circle of friends 
 and admirers. The women patronized her on her 
 brother's account. "The rich, young Westerner, you 
 know." The men sought her acquaintance because 
 she was a very pretty girl, and a fresh, young face was 
 always welcomed by them. Edith and Jennie were 
 among the first to greet her. 
 
FROM OUT OF THE WEST. 
 
 " My, how she has blossomed out," said Jennie, in 
 an aside to her sister. "Someone has evidently guided 
 her to a dressmaker, and behold the result." 
 
 Wallace devoted himself to her soon after her ar- 
 rival, and showed her such marked attention that sev- 
 eral smiled and nodded their heads knowingly. 
 
 Adolphus was quite taken by the sweet, brown eyes 
 that looked into his without a shadow of flirtation in 
 their velvety depths. Adolphus was a young man of 
 few wits and but few words to express them, but he ad- 
 mired a pretty girl when he saw one, and he thought this 
 one uncommonly charming. So he lingered by her side 
 until Jennie, secretly enraged, carried him off with her 
 in spite of his very evident reluctance. 
 
 Edith made herself very agreeable to Philip, and kept 
 him at her side most of the afternoon. Next to Dora, 
 Philip admired Edith, and it was no difficult task to 
 keep him near her, as he was averse to making new ac- 
 quaintances. 
 
 Mrs. Warren's garden party was a decided success, 
 and in all that gathering, not one enjoyed it as thorough- 
 ly as Josie. To her it had the novelty of being her first 
 party, and she made so many pleasant acquaintances. 
 She had the satisfaction of knowing that her dress was 
 pretty and appropriate, and for the first time in her 
 life she was conscious of being well dressed and in 
 style. 
 
 When Josie reached home, she gave her father and 
 Mrs. Croft a graphic description of the party. 
 
 "Oh, Mrs. Croft, if you could only have seen some 
 of the lovely dresses the ladies wore. They looked aa 
 
 i8 3 
 
FROM OUT OF THE WEST. 
 
 hough they grew on them, they fitted so perfectly. 
 Everyone was so nice to me except one man, he scowled 
 and turned away as soon after the introduction as he 
 could. His name was Graham. I wonder if Philip 
 knows him?" 
 
 When Josie asked her brother if he knew Mr. Graham 
 and why he should scowl at her, he replied — that he 
 did know him, and that he supposed he scowled at her 
 because she was his sister. "But I would rather he 
 scowled than smiled at you; you have nothing to fear 
 from his scowls." 
 
 "Why does he dislike you? What reason has he?" 
 asked Josie. 
 
 "Oh, one of those cases of: — 
 
 " 'I do not like you, Dr. Fell, 
 The reason why I cannot tell. ' " 
 
 "I did not know but what he might be an admirer of 
 Miss Hutchinson's, and resented your coming." 
 
 "You're a sharp little girl," replied Philip, with a 
 sad smile. 
 
 "I was also introduced to Adolphus Carlton," and 
 Josie laughed merrily. "What a queer specimen he is. 
 Just imagine him out on the western frontier. How 
 the cowboys would hustle him. He sat by me a long 
 time and gazed at me through his eye glass as though he 
 found me as great a specimen as I did him. But at 
 last Miss Dunlap came up and asked him to escort her 
 through the conservatories and he meekly obeyed. As 
 they walked away together, I could not help wondering 
 what she saw to admire in him. To me he seemed all 
 collar and cane." 
 
 i*4 
 
FROM OUT OF THE WEST. 
 
 "I think she admires his money as much as any- 
 thing," replied Philip. "He has very little else to rec- 
 ommend him." 
 
 "Oh, by the. way, Philip, I heard some news that I 
 think will interest you. A group of ladies were talking 
 about Miss Hutchinson's being abroad, and one of the 
 ladies said that Mr. Graham, the young man who 
 scowled at me, and a Mr. DeVere were to sail next 
 week. 'He is going to see Dora,' remarked the other 
 lady; 'he is a very persistent wooer, 7 and they both 
 laughed." 
 
 Philip received the information with a calm face, 
 but a sinking heart. Harold Graham was going to 
 renew his suit to Dora; and now that she was offended 
 with him, she would no doubt be easily won. At first, 
 it seemed as though he must fly to her and beg her to 
 listen to him and explain her strange conduct. Then 
 again his pride would prohibit any such course. He 
 would scorn to pursue a lady with attentions she did not 
 desire. No, he must resign her, and make the best of 
 it. 
 
 The next day, two girl friends of Josie's arrived. 
 Then commenced a series of pleasure trips, picnics, 
 boating, tennis and garden parties, all enjoyed so much 
 by Josie, who was no longer shy and quiet, but the life 
 of the party on all occasions. She had such a bright, 
 witty way of saying things, without being sarcastic or 
 personal, that she soon became a great favorite, and 
 received more invitations than she could accept. She 
 liked society, and went a great deal, escorted by her 
 brother, who, the ladies declared, had lost the sprightly 
 
 i8 5 
 
FROM OUT OF THE WEST. 
 
 boyish frankness, they had so greatly admired. He 
 had become grave and taciturn. Many a pretty girl 
 tried all her arts of fascination upon him, but though 
 courteous and pleasant, there was no warmth in his 
 manner; rather an agreeable endurance. This they 
 at last resented and left him in disgust, voting him a 
 stupid old bachelor. 
 
 Toward Edith, his manner was more friendly, and 
 he often sought her society. At first this raised her 
 hopes of eventually winning him, but at last, even she 
 had to admit that he was only friendly, and nothing 
 more; but it was some palliation that he seemed to prefer 
 her society to others. 
 
 Philip rarely visited the Hutchinsons now. The 
 house was too full of associations which he was striving 
 to forget. But Josie liked Mrs. Hutchinson very much, 
 and consulted her on all perplexing matters, as she 
 would have done her mother. 
 
 Mrs. Hutchinson, lonely without her daughter, took 
 the motherless girl to her heart, and urged her to visit 
 her often. Josie soon learned to love Aunt Helen, 
 and spent many hours in her company, telling of the 
 delights of her new life and a good deal of the old life. 
 They grew confidential as to the estrangement of Philip 
 and Dora. 
 
 "I was prepared to love her as a sister," said Josie, 
 sadly. " Philip had told me so much of her beauty and 
 sweet ways. He seemed so sure of her love. But to 
 find her gone and no kind message teft for him, and no 
 word since. I know he must have written to her, for 
 I noticed his eagerness to get the mail every morning, 
 
 186 
 
 
FROM OUT OF THE WEST. 
 
 but at last he must have lost hope, for he is so despond- 
 ent, although he tries hard to hide it. You can hardly 
 blame me for feeling offended with the girl who worked 
 this change in my once gay, light-hearted brother. 
 She little knows the kind, loving heart she has wounded 
 She will never find another like him." 
 
 "Yes," sighed Aunt Helen, "what you say is all 
 right, and I feel as grieved about it as you do. I 
 know she did love him at one time. In fact, it was a 
 case of love at first sight, and what has changed her so, 
 I cannot imagine. She may have heard some malicious 
 story. No one can find a flaw in your brother's char- 
 acter or conduct, and it is unlike her to give credence 
 to anything of that kind. So it is a great mystery and 
 will so remain until her return, and then I shall ask her 
 some very direct questions." 
 
 "What I do not understand," said Josie, "is that 
 she will not give him a chance to defend himself. It is 
 not fair to him. I feel that if they could only meet and 
 talk the matter over, all the mystery might be explained; 
 but instead of that, she condemns him unheard, and 
 will probably marry Mr. Graham and spoil my brother's 
 life as well as her own." 
 
 "I do not think she will accept Mr. Graham. She 
 has known him from childhood, and, although he de- 
 sires to marry her, I am sure she does not love him. 
 We can only wait for her return and reconciliation with 
 Philip." 
 
 "When do you expect her?" asked Josie, anxiously. 
 
 "Not until fall, I believe," replied Aunt Helen. 
 
 "Oh, dear, what a long time to wait," sighed Josie. 
 
CHAPTER XXV. 
 
 A SECOND PROPOSAL. 
 
 In a pretty little villa on the banks of a blue, limpid 
 lake, Dora Hutchinson was slowly recovering both 
 health and beauty. Pleading her recent illness, she 
 withdrew herself from many of the merry doings at- 
 tended by her friends, and spent much time upon the 
 lake. In a pretty canopy-covered boat, she lazily rows 
 or floats for hours, declining all company but her own 
 sad thoughts, and they are sad indeed, as she thinks 
 of her ruined hopes and the deception of one whom she 
 had thought all goodness and nobility. She often 
 thought of the gypsy's words spoken that Christmas 
 eve, and how she had scornfully repudiated them. She 
 thought of the conversation upon the morality of men 
 in general, that day when Edith had expressed no faith 
 in any man. How she had defended Philip, even 
 against this notorious woman, Violet Devereaux, whom 
 he had taken with him on his western trip. And he 
 had returned, expecting to find her ready and waiting 
 to drop into his arms, whenever he condescended to 
 extend them. 
 
 "Well, he did not find me," she murmured, with 
 curling lip, "and I don't mean that he shall very soon. 
 And then to write, begging me to explain any mis- 
 understanding or offense he might have committed. 
 No, there is no explanation, Philip Manning, for what 
 
 1 88 
 
FROM OUT OF THE WEST. 
 
 I saw with my own eyes. I would not have believed 
 an angel, but I must believe what I saw for myself." 
 
 Dora had received letters from both her mother and 
 Aunt Helen, speaking in high terms of the beauty and 
 sweetness of Philip's sister, and lamenting the fact that 
 she was not at home to make her acquaintance. "You 
 would love her like a sister," wrote Aunt Helen. But 
 Dora thought differently. "I never want to see her," 
 she thought, "it she is as much like her brother as they 
 say, no doubt she is just as deceitful and hypocritical as 
 he is. I shall not disclose my secret to any of them. They 
 may think me a coquette, or anything they choose, be- 
 fore I will confess spying upon the man I loved, and 
 seeing him elope with another woman. I should die 
 of shame," and the angry tears rolled down her crimson 
 cheeks. 
 
 One day, returning from a row upon the lake, she 
 was met at the door by Mrs. Morris, with the informa- 
 tion that a gentleman friend was waiting for her in the 
 drawing room. 
 
 "Who is it?" gasped Dora, with pale lips. 
 
 "Why, do not look so frightened," cried Mrs. Morris, 
 anxiously; "it is only an old friend from home. He 
 arrived on the 'Romania' that landed yesterday." 
 
 "I cannot see him," cried Dora, staggering up the 
 stairs. "Send him away, tell him I am not well." 
 
 Mrs. Morris gazed after the retreating figure with wide- 
 open eyes of amazement; then went to the drawing 
 room to deliver her message. She laughed nervously 
 as the young man came forward to meet her. "I hardly 
 know how to tell you," she said, in evident embarrass- 
 
 189 
 
FROM OUT OF THE WEST. 
 
 ment, "but she does not wish to see you, and begs to 
 be excused. She is very much changed since her ill- 
 ness and denies herself to everyone." 
 
 "May I ask of you another favor?" asked Harold 
 Graham, for it was he. "Will you kindly hand her 
 this card? I think she will see me after reading it," 
 and he penciled a few lines upon a card and handed it 
 to Mrs. Morris, who graciously accepted the commission 
 and left the room. 
 
 Going to Dora's room, she knocked softly. After a 
 few moments of silence, she knocked again, louder this 
 time, and Dora, opening the door, peered out with pale 
 face and frightened eyes. 
 
 "My dear Dora," said Mrs. Morris, gently, "I hate 
 to disturb you, but that troublesome friend of yours 
 begged me to hand you this card." 
 
 Dora received it reluctantly, but upon reading it, 
 her face cleared up, and a sigh of relief burst from her 
 lips. "Oh, it is Mr. Graham," she said. "Tell him 
 I will be down soon," and Mrs. Morris left the 
 room thoroughly convinced that Dora Hutchinson was 
 a changed girl indeed. 
 
 Dora again read the few lines penciled upon the card. 
 They were as follows: — "Dora, I have crossed the 
 ocean to see you, it will break my heart if you refuse. 
 Harold." 
 
 "Poor Harold, I believe he is the only friend I have 
 after all," sighed Dora. " I had no right to be so angry 
 with him for telling me an unpleasant truth; but I 
 thought at the time he was deceiving me. Oh, what a 
 weary world this is, with deceit and disappointment on 
 every hand." 
 
 190 
 
 
FROM OUT OF THE WEST. 
 
 She made a hasty toilette, hurried downstairs and 
 entered the drawing room. Harold hastened to meet 
 her with outstretched hands, his handsome face beam- 
 ing with joy. " Oh, Dora, I am so glad to see you once 
 more," he exclaimed, holding her hands in a close grasp, 
 while his eager eyes devoured her lovely face. 
 
 "Well, this is a great surprise, Harold, surely," said 
 Dora, smiling sweetly. 
 
 "It is a pleasant surprise, I hope," he answered, 
 eagerly. 
 
 "Yes, I am glad to see anyone from home. Did you 
 come over alone ?" 
 
 "No, DeVere came with me. He has gone to Paris, 
 where I shall join him later." 
 
 "How are all the folks, Harold? You must tell me 
 all about them. When did you see my parents last? 
 Are they well?" 
 
 "Now, Dora," exclaimed Harold, with a grave, dig- 
 nified air that he knew so well how to assume. "If 
 I tell you about our friends, I may say something to 
 arouse your displeasure, and I don't wish to run the 
 risk." 
 
 "Poor Harold," said Dora, with a laugh, "You are 
 the only victim of my unhappy temper. I never quar- 
 rel with anyone else; but I promise to be more careful 
 in the future. I must school myself to hear unpleasant 
 news without being so sensitive about it and venting 
 my wrath upon you. So you need not fear to tell me 
 anything you think will interest me." 
 
 "Well, there is not much to tell," said Harold. 
 "Jennie Dunlap has at last convinced Adolphus that his 
 
 191 
 
FROM OUT OF THE WEST. 
 
 future happiness depends upon making her Mrs. Carl- 
 ton, so they are engaged. Edith is trying her best to 
 captivate Philip Manning, and is in a fair way to suc- 
 ceed, as he is constantly by her side." Harold did not 
 look at Dora as he made this last remark. 
 
 She uttered no comment and he proceeded. "Man- 
 ning's young sister is making a favorable impression, 
 especially on poor, susceptible Wallace. He follows 
 her everywhere, and her liking for him is patent to all." 
 
 "How do you like her?" asked Dora, indifferently. 
 "Is she pretty?" 
 
 "Well, yes, I suppose she is considered pretty, but 
 I do not care for brunettes. She is a little slender, 
 brown-haired girl, with big, brown eyes, shy and soft 
 as a gazelle's. I should never like her for her resem- 
 blance to her brother, whom I detest, as you well know. 
 She has ingraciated herself into the good graces of 
 your mother and Aunt Helen, and spends a good deal 
 of her time there. Your mother chaperons her every- 
 where. She quite takes the place of the absent daughter. 
 I hope when you return, you will rout her out." 
 
 "I know I shall dislike her," sighed Dora. "Poor 
 mother is so easily taken by a pretty face and an ap- 
 pearance of youth and innocence ; but she will not de- 
 ceive me," and Dora shut her lips with a firm, decided 
 pressure that brooded no good for poor little Josie. 
 
 Mrs. Morris invited Harold to stay to dinner and he 
 gladly accepted the invitation. In the cool of the even- 
 ing, they all went out upon the lake, and Harold made 
 himself so agreeable and entertaining that he was cor- 
 dially invited to call again. 
 
 19* 
 
FROM OUT OF THE WEST. 
 
 i 
 
 Dora was somewhat quiet, but not unhappy. She 
 was glad to see Harold and be friendly with him once 
 more, and his evident pleasure in her society was like 
 balm to her wounded heart. 
 
 When Harold left the villa that evening, with the 
 memory of Dora's smiles and evident pleasure at seeing 
 him, he congratulated himself upon the success of his 
 well-laid plans. Here in this quiet little villa, with no 
 rival to interfere, his persistency would win her heart, 
 while it was sore and wounded at another's deception. 
 She would look upon him as one who had saved her 
 from a terrible fate, by letting her know the true charac- 
 ter of the man she thought so perfect. After he had 
 won her consent to become his wife, he would hurry 
 the marriage before she found out his deception. 
 Afterwards should she accuse him of misrepresenta- 
 tion, he could laugh and affirm that all was fair in 
 love. 
 
 Day after day found Harold at the villa. He made 
 himself so agreeable and charming that Dora learned 
 to look forward to his visits with a great deal of pleasure, 
 and when he absented himself for a week to take a run 
 up to Paris, she was very lonely, and welcomed his re- 
 turn with more pleasure than she would have thought 
 possible six months previous. Another thing that 
 helped Harold's wooing very much, were the continued 
 praises sung by Mrs. Morris and her daughter. Harold 
 had completely won their admiration, he was so hand- 
 some and gallant, so witty and entertaining, and so 
 lavish with his money. Not a day passed, but fruit, 
 flowers or music were sent to the villa. They looked 
 
 <93 
 
FROM OUT OF THE WEST. 
 
 upon Dora as a very fortunate girl to secure such a lover. 
 They knew nothing of Philip Manning, and the sad 
 secret locked in the breast of their friend, so they urged 
 her on to her fate. 
 
 If we hear a person continually praised, it is sure to 
 affect our liking for him. Of course Dora realized to 
 what this was leading, but she seemed indifferent to 
 the future. To enjoy the present, and forget the past, 
 was all she desired. She did not love Harold Graham, 
 but he had been her childhood's friend, and she liked 
 him as well as it would be possible to care for anyone 
 now. She had always intended to marry him until 
 she saw Philip, and now she must go back and take up 
 her life at that point, blotting out all that had happened 
 since. True, Harold had been wild, but he had not 
 been deceitful and tried to hide his failings under a garb 
 of sanctimony. So one day when they were out on the 
 lake together, and Harold pleaded his case once more, 
 Dora consented to be his wife. 
 
 "You know I do not love you, Harold; but if you are 
 satisfied with my friendship, I am willing to be your 
 wife." 
 
 "I am perfectly satisfied," he replied, "for I do not 
 despair of winning your love. I will write to your 
 father tonight and inform him of my happiness, and 
 ask his consent and blessing; and pray, Dora, let the 
 wedding be at an early date. I should prefer to marry 
 at once, and travel for several months before our 
 return. How would that suit you?" he asked, 
 eagerly. 
 
 "No," said Dora. "I must be married at home. 
 
 194 
 
FROM OUT OF THE WEST. 
 
 I am an only child, and it would be a great disappoint- 
 ment to my parents, if I was married elsewhere." So 
 it was decided that they should return home early in 
 the fall, and be married soon after. 
 
 *S>5 
 
CHAPTER XXVI. 
 
 SAVED FROM THE FLAMES. 
 
 The summer months drifted by and fall came with 
 its bright-hued foliage and cool, crisp days. Philip 
 had become quite reconciled to the inevitable. He 
 had heard of Graham's trip to Europe, and his subse- 
 quent engagement to Dora. They were expected 
 home soon, and he would be obliged to meet her in 
 society. It would be a trying ordeal to see her fair, 
 sweet face and know she was to be the wife of another, 
 and that other so unworthy. Even though she had 
 treated him so ill, he felt nothing but sorrow and pity 
 for her future, if she placed it in the keeping of such a 
 man as Harold Graham. And he would have striven 
 so hard to make her life one of pleasure and happiness. 
 Why must she choose the wrong man ? That was the 
 puzzling question of his life. 
 
 One night Philip attended the theatre. He was fond 
 of a good play; it helped to while away many an other- 
 wise dreary hour, and caused him to forget himself in 
 watching the portrayal of mimic life upon the stage. 
 Arriving late, he was unable to procure a choice seat, 
 and was obliged to take one in the pit, and found him- 
 self wedged in between an old man on one side, and a 
 pert, pretty miss on the other, probably a nurse girl 
 enjoying her night off. The play had begun; the cur- 
 tain had fallen on the first act. Philip, after reading 
 
FROM OUT OF THE WEST. 
 
 his programme carefully, gazed leisurely about him. 
 There was a full house; every seat was taken. There 
 was the usual flutter of fans, the mingling perfumes, 
 bright faces and sparkling jewels. In the boxes were 
 groups of beautiful ladies in evening dress. As his 
 eyes swept from box to box, he saw many with whom 
 he was acquainted and who would gladly have welcomed 
 him among them. As his eyes rested upon the last 
 box on the lower tier, nearest the stage, he started with 
 surprise. Recovering himself, he buried his face be- 
 hind his programme for fear of attracting attention by 
 his agitation. What had he seen to produce such an 
 effect upon him? Only a beautiful woman, with a 
 mass of golden hair framing her lovely face; great blue 
 eyes looking into his, but with no recognition in their 
 depths. He looks again and shudders; she has turned 
 away, and he can only see her perfect profile. He 
 studies her curiously; it is the beautiful woman that re- 
 sembles Violet, and so close is the likeness that it fas- 
 cinates him. He cannot keep his eyes from her lovely 
 face. "How like," he murmurs. She does not look 
 at him again, but smiles and talks with a group of men 
 who surround her. Diamonds gleam upon her white 
 neck, and in her hair. She carries a great bunch of 
 cream roses, and each man in her box wears a cream 
 colored rose. Many a lorgnette is levelled at that box, 
 and knowing nods and winks are exchanged, but all 
 acknowledge her to be the most beautiful woman in the 
 house. The play proceeds, but it has lost its interest 
 for Philip. He has made up his mind to leave as soon 
 as the curtain falls on the next act. 
 
 197 
 
FROM OUT OF THE WEST. 
 
 What is that little wreath of smoke issuing from above 
 the curtain? There is no powder or fire being used 
 on the stage. He watches it closely and curiously. 
 Now others have caught a glimpse of it. Someone cries 
 "Fire!" and at once the mass rise to their feet, and the 
 cry is caught up, "Fire! Fire!" resounds through the 
 house from frightened lips. In vain the manager shouts 
 to the audience to compose themselves. The smoke 
 fills the house and tiny jets of flame are seen. The actors 
 have hurried from the stage, and the crowd is rush- 
 ing and struggling for the door. Philip tries to calm 
 and advise those nearest him. He helps to extricate 
 the women and children thrown down by the maddened 
 crowd. All at once he hears his name called in an agon- 
 ized tone of entreaty : " Philip, Philip, save me." Look- 
 ing up, he sees Violet Devereaux, standing alone in her 
 box, deserted by ail her admirers, her white arms ex- 
 tended towards him, while she calls upon him to save 
 her. 
 
 It takes but a moment to clear the seats and reach 
 her side. The flames have caught the draperies upon 
 one side of the box, and she is enveloped in smoke; 
 overcome, she is sinking to the floor when he reaches 
 her. Tearing down a curtain still untouched by the 
 flames, he throws it over her, and taking the slender 
 form in his arms, he carries her to a place of safety, and 
 at last succeeds in reaching the pavement. Finding 
 her carriage, he carefully lifts her in, and directs the 
 driver to drive home as fast as possible. He cannot 
 leave her in this unconscious condition, so he enters 
 the carriage and holds the golden head against his 
 
 198 
 
FROM OUT OF THE WEST. 
 
 shoulder until they reach the handsome, brown stone 
 house, Violet calls her home. The driver rings the 
 bell frantically, and sends out the frightened maids to 
 help Philip with their mistress. They carry her in and 
 lay her upon her luxurious bed. Philip has all he can 
 do to calm the frightened servants and assure them that 
 their mistress is not dead. One is sent immediately 
 for the doctor, and Philip directs the others to undress 
 their mistress and chafe her hands and feet and use 
 such restoratives as they have until the coming of the 
 physician. He repairs to the hall below to await his 
 coming. He does not feel like leaving until he ascer- 
 tains how she is and sees she has good care. 
 
 As he sits in the hall awaiting the arrival of the doctor, 
 the strangeness of the situation strikes him. He, to 
 be in the house of Madam Devereaux, a woman his 
 heart loathed; but she was a woman in danger and he 
 had gone to her assistance. "How strange that she 
 should call to me. How did she know my name? I 
 could have sworn it was Violet. I never saw two 
 women so nearly alike in my life." 
 
 The doctor came soon, and, after spending a half- 
 hour with his patient, returned to Philip, with a serious 
 face. 
 
 "How is she?" Philip inquired, anxiously. 
 
 "She is resting quite comfortably now," he replied. 
 
 " She has received no injuries; she will recover soon ?" 
 asked Philip. 
 
 " I doubt if she lives a week," said the doctor. " She 
 may live ten days, but no longer. She inhaled some of 
 the smoke. Her lungs are not strong enough to bear it, 
 
 199 
 
FROM OUT OF THE WEST 
 
 and her heart is weak; all these things combined with 
 the shock will prove fatal soon, I fear." 
 
 Philip gazed at him in horror and incredulity. "The 
 flames did not touch her. Oh, you must be mistaken. 
 It would be horrible to lose her young life like that, 
 and she is so beautiful." 
 
 "Well, the young and beautiful have to die occasion- 
 ally, as well as the old and decrepit. One comfort is, 
 she has neither parents, husband, nor children to mourn 
 her loss, and not many friends I am afraid. Poor 
 child, she has led a gay, careless life. Are you acquain- 
 ted with her?" 
 
 "No, lam a perfect stranger," replied Philip. "She 
 called to me and I went to her assistance. Has she a 
 competent nurse?" 
 
 "Oh, yes; she will be well cared for." 
 
 "Then I will go home if I can be of no further use," 
 and Philip took up his hat. 
 
 At that moment a maid ran down the stairs and de- 
 livered a message from her mistress. "She wants you 
 to call tomorrow; she will be better then, and she is 
 very desirous of seeing you, and wants you to promise to 
 come." 
 
 "Yes, I will come," said Philip. "I was intending 
 to call to see how she was getting along. I hope she 
 will be quite recovered by tomorrow. Good-night," 
 and Philip passed out of the house. 
 
 When he reached home he was relieved to find all 
 quiet, for they had evidently not heard of the fire. He 
 was tired and glad to escape the questions and explan- 
 ations he would have to make had the household known 
 of it. 
 
 300 
 
FROM OUT OF THE WEST, 
 
 The next morning the family was all excitement. 
 The early morning papers had a full account of the 
 burning of the theatre. Josie knew her brother was 
 intending to go that evening and as soon as he made his 
 appearance, she overwhelmed him with questions, 
 and made him describe the scene and his rescue of the 
 beautiful lady, and cried when Philip told her what the 
 doctor had predicted. 
 
 "Oh, how very, very sad. I do hope he is mistaken, 
 I shall be so anxious to hear from her. Could I call 
 and see her?" 
 
 "I am not quite sure," replied her brother, in a hes- 
 itating manner. "If you can do any good, I will let 
 you know." 
 
 After breakfast Philip rode to the city and called 
 at Mr. Dunlap's office to see Wallace. Here he had 
 to give another description of the fire. He spoke 
 of assisting several women and children, but he 
 did not mention the rescue of the beautiful Madam 
 Devereaux. 
 
 "Have you heard that Dora Hutchinson arrived home 
 yesterday?" asked Wallace. 
 
 "No, has she?" said Philip, in a tone he strove to 
 make indifferent. 
 
 "Yes, and Graham is with her. I expect we shall 
 have a wedding before long. Well, I wish her much 
 joy in her choice. I do not believe Harold Graham is 
 calculated to make a woman happy for any length of 
 time; but it will serve Miss Dora just right for treating 
 you in the way she did. I never could understand it. 
 Did you ever get a clue to her conduct?" 
 
 301 
 
FROM OTJT OF THE WEST. 
 
 "No/we parted the best of friends, but something hap- 
 pened during my absence to part us, and she does not 
 wish to explain or hold any communication with me." 
 
 "Well, I have known Dora Hutchinson for a number 
 of years and always considered her one of the finest 
 girls I knew. She was always so generous and high- 
 minded, but she is a puzzle to me now," and Wallace 
 shook his head. 
 
 Philip left the office and proceeded homeward, his 
 mind filled with vague thoughts of the two fair women 
 who had crossed his path, aroused his admiration and 
 love, then passed scornfully by, leaving him in deep, 
 wondering mystery as to their conduct. 
 
 After lunch Philip prepared to call upon Madam 
 Devereaux. He wished he did not have to go, but 
 common decency made it imperative that he should call 
 and inquire how she was; and he had promised to do so. 
 "I suppose she wants to see and thank me for saving 
 her from the flames. It will be terribly embarrassing. 
 I would rather go to the dentist." 
 
 x>» 
 
CHAPTER XXVII. 
 
 A CONFESSION. 
 
 Philip ascended the brown stone steps and rang the 
 bell. The door was opened by the same maid who had 
 delivered the message the night before. It looked as 
 though she had been watching for him. 
 
 "Come right in," she said, hurriedly. " Madam 
 has been expecting you a long time and wants to see 
 you at once." 
 
 "How is she?" inquired Philip, stepping into the hall 
 and laying aside his overcoat and hat. "Won't it agi- 
 tate her too much to receive a stranger?" 
 
 " No, she is calm now you have come. Her agitation 
 was all before you came, waiting and listening, and ask- 
 ing a dozen times if you had come." 
 
 She led the way up the broad stairway, and opening 
 a door, bade him enter, while she stepped back into the 
 hall and closed the door. 
 
 The room Philip entered was a daintily furnished 
 boudoir, all blue and gold and white. Upon a pale 
 blue velvet couch lay Violet Devereaux. A negligee 
 robe of white silk clothed the slender figure. Her 
 golden hair was plaited in two long, luxuriant braids, 
 making the lovely pale face look like a child's. As 
 Philip entered the room, she gazed at him with a plead- 
 ing, frightened look in her great, blue eyes. He drew 
 nearer and was about to politely inquire how she was 
 
 203 
 
FROM OUT OF THE WEST. 
 
 feeling, when his eyes suddenly dilated with incredu 
 lous amazement. The woman before him was Violet, 
 the flower girl. 
 
 She stretched out her white hands towards him and 
 cried in trembling tones, "Oh, Philip, forgive me." 
 
 He stood as though petrified, gazing down upon her, 
 while she covered her eyes to shut out the horrified, 
 questioning gaze that seemed to be searching her very 
 soul. At last he spoke: "So you are Madam Dever- 
 eaux! Is this another trap you have led me into?" 
 and his voice rang with such scorn and disgust, that 
 she shrank as though he had struck her. 
 
 "Don't, don't!" she cried, in such tones of anguish 
 that Philip's harshness softened before them. 
 
 " I want to make some reparation; I want to explain," 
 she moaned. 
 
 " Do not agitate yourself so," said Philip, imploringly. 
 "You will harm yourself. God only knows what this 
 all means, but do calm yourself, I beg." 
 
 "Yes, I must be calm, if I would do and say all I de- 
 sire. Only listen to me as kindly as you can. I have 
 wronged you bitterly, I am a very wicked woman, but 
 perhaps I can undo some of the wrong before I die. 
 Did you know I had got to die, Philip?" and she raised 
 herself and looked at him pitifully. 
 
 He bowed his head in reply, unable to speak. 
 
 "Hand me that glass of medicine," and she pointed 
 to a little stand covered with glasses and bottles. 
 "Then sit down while I tell you all my treachery and 
 deceit. You will hate me, but that I expect and deserve. 
 I have no power or wish to harm you more, and if I 
 
 2Q4 
 
 
FROM OUT OF THE WEST. 
 
 can reconcile you to the girl you love, I shall die 
 happy." 
 
 Philip mechanically handed her the medicine, and 
 after she had taken a swallow, replaced it on the table. 
 Sinking into a chair, he buried his face in his hands. 
 
 "Philip, I want you to know that I consider you one 
 of the truest and noblest of men. You are the only 
 really good man I ever met, and what little love my 
 poor, wicked, callous heart was capable of feeling, was 
 given to you. My first motive in seeking your acquaint- 
 ance in the disguise of a flower girl was done through 
 bribery. I was offered ten thousand dollars to ac- 
 complish your ruin and part you from Dora Hutchin- 
 son." 
 
 Philip sprang to his feet, his face white as death. 
 "You were bribed to ruin me? To part me from the 
 woman I loved — for the paltry sum of ten thousand 
 dollars? What had I ever done that you or anyone 
 should plot to wreck my life?" He paced the floor in 
 his excitement. 
 
 Violet waited until the impetuous flow of words had 
 ceased. Then she continued: "You were a stranger 
 to me. I had no object at first but to win the money; 
 but you were so tantalizingly shy and unapproachable, 
 that at last I became piqued by my failures and became 
 interested in the only man I could not bring to my feet. 
 Then you were so good and kind to the poor flower girl. 
 I began to loathe myself for the part I was acting, and 
 soon learned to love you, and money was no object to 
 me then. I wanted you, and I redoubled my efforts 
 to secure you. I plotted and lied and led you on step 
 
 305 
 
FROM OUT OF THE WEST. 
 
 by step, vowing I would never give you up until I had 
 won your love in spite of yourself. It was a struggle 
 worthy of a better cause. You know how well I have 
 succeeded, and what has it amounted to ? I parted you 
 from the girl you loved; I have wrecked your life, and 
 only gained your hatred." 
 
 Philip sat motionless, his heart and brain stunned 
 by the terrible words this woman was uttering. "You 
 spoke of bribery," he said, at last. "Who was your 
 accomplice in this shameful scheme?" 
 
 "Harold Graham," she said in reply, in a tired, 
 weary tone. 
 
 "I might have known without asking," he said, bit- 
 terly. "He is the only enemy I ever had. Well, you 
 have helped him to accomplish his purpose. He is en- 
 gaged to Miss Hutchinson, and they are to be married 
 soon. It is strange how the wicked flourish. Perhaps 
 you can tell me what caused Miss Hutchinson to with- 
 draw her friendship from me, and refuse to have any 
 communication with me." 
 
 "She was told that when you started for the West 
 you took me with you." 
 
 "Who told her that?" demanded Philip, fiercely. 
 
 "Harold Graham told her; she was at the depot and 
 saw us leave together." 
 
 "My God! I would not have believed that any human 
 creature could perpetrate such a dastardly scheme." 
 He laid his head upon the table and sobbed aloud. 
 
 Violet raised herself to a sitting position, her face 
 drawn and haggard, "Philip," she cried, "you will kill 
 me." and gasping she fell back among the pillows, so 
 
 206 
 
 
FROM OUT OF THE WEST. 
 
 white and still, that it arrested his own grief, and he 
 sprang to her side. He saw she had fainted. Ringing 
 the bell, he summoned the maid. 
 
 "Your mistress has fainted," he exclaimed, hurriedly. 
 "I am afraid she has overtaxed herself by talking. If 
 she does not recover soon, send for the doctor," and 
 Philip passed out of the room and left the house. 
 
 The bright sunshine seemed a mockery. The hurry- 
 ing throng jostled him carelessly, and went laughing by. 
 How could they do it? How could anyone laugh in 
 such a world of sorrow? He walked on and on, un- 
 conscious of where he was going. There seemed noth- 
 ing else to do but walk, walk, until he could walk no 
 longer; and, dropping exhausted upon a seat in a small 
 park, there he sat until a suspicious policeman ordered 
 him to move on. Mechanically rising he started to 
 walk on, but he was so tired and his head ached so hard 
 that he could hardly see. 
 
 "Want a hack?" shouted a voice in his ear. 
 
 "Yes," answered Philip, "take me home." 
 
 "All right," chuckled the cabby, winking at his com- 
 panions. "Where do you live?" 
 
 Philip produced his card, and upon reading it the 
 cabby whistled, "Well, I must say, you have wandered 
 a good ways from home. It is a good eight miles. 
 You will have to pay me well." 
 
 "You shall be well paid," answered Philip, "only 
 get me home as soon as you can." 
 
 "All right," and, taking Philip's arm, he hustled him 
 into a carriage and, springing upon the box, drove 
 off. 
 
 207 
 
FROM OUT OF THE WEST. 
 
 The long ride rested and revived him, so that by the 
 time he reached home he was quite like himself. Pay- 
 ing the hackman liberally, he entered the house, and 
 found the young people in the music room. Not dis- 
 turbing them he went to his room. A cheerful fire 
 was burning on the hearth, and drawing up an easy 
 chair, he sat down to think. His mind was clearer 
 now, and he tried to recall every word she had uttered. 
 Well, the mystery of Dora's actions was at last solved, 
 and now she was about to marry the very man who had 
 wrecked his life. It was too late to untangle the web 
 fate had surrounded him with, and he felt deeply hurt 
 that Dora had not given him a chance to vindicate him- 
 self, as he could have done. And now it was too late. 
 Perhaps some day she would learn the truth and be 
 sorry. 
 
 He went down to dinner as usual, resolved not to 
 betray his bitter secret. He would not parade his 
 bleeding heart to a curious, unsympathetic world. 
 
 Josie asked many questions about the sick lady. He 
 tried to answer her satisfactorily and truthfully, but 
 it was a hard task. 
 
 "When shall you go again?" she asked. 
 
 " Never," he came near shouting, but checked him- 
 self in time. " I do not think she will expect me again," 
 he replied. 
 
 "Oh, but you must call again," said Josie, positively. 
 " I am so anxious to know how she gets along. Has she 
 a mother or sisters?" 
 
 Philip thought of the beautiful woman lying alone 
 amidst her luxurious surroundings, tended by no living 
 
 208 
 
 
FROM OUT OF THE WEST. 
 
 hand but her servants, and a pang of pity shot through 
 his heart. But he answered, " She has good care," and 
 turned away to preclude further questioning. 
 
 Josie was not half satisfied, but she saw her brother 
 did not wish to continue the subject, so, with a sigh, 
 she joined the others, but often during the evening she 
 stole glances in Philip's direction. " Some fresh trouble 
 is worrying him," she thought. "He is becoming so 
 changed. I shall have a long list of grievances against 
 Miss Dora Hutchinson by the time she comes home. 
 I believe I shall hate her." 
 
 That evening Wallace called. After a few pleasant 
 words with Josie, he came over to where Philip sat, 
 and, slapping him vigorously on the shoulder, exclaimed : 
 " I have just heard of your rescue of Madam Devereaux 
 the other night at the theatre. Why didn't you tell a 
 fellow? You might have known how interested I 
 would be. Tell me all about it," and Wallace seated 
 himself comfortably by Philip's side, ready and anxious 
 to hear full particulars. 
 
 "There is not much to tell," said Philip, wearily. 
 "She was in danger and I carried her out, found her 
 carriage and took her home. I then sent for a doctor 
 and after he came I left." 
 
 "Well, that is about as few words as you could squeeze 
 it into," said Wallace, laughing. "Are there no de- 
 tails?" 
 
 "Nothing worth mentioning," replied Philip, calmly. 
 
 "Old man, you are positively growing dull in your 
 old age. Don't, for heaven's sake, take things so seri- 
 ously. Wake up and shake off this lethargy. Take 
 
 209 
 
FROM OUT OF THE WEST. 
 
 the advice of a man of experience. Oh, by the way, 
 Manning, what has become of that beautiful flower 
 girl, who looked so much like Madam Devereaux ? " 
 
 Philip groaned in spirit. When would this torture 
 cease? "I have not seen her lately/' he answered, 
 shortly. 
 
 "Well, I won't torment you any longer," said Wallace, 
 rising. "I see you are not in a conversational mood 
 tonight, so au revoir. I am going to seek more con- 
 genial company. Your sister will make up for your 
 deficiencies," and he strode away to find Josie. 
 
 9X0 
 
CHAPTER XXVIII. 
 
 Dora was glad to be at home once more. She had 
 been away several months and the joy of her parents 
 at her return was very pleasing. Aunt Helen had 
 missed her more than the others. Secluded in her own 
 room, with but few visitors, she missed the bright face 
 with its sunny smile, and the long, pleasant talks. 
 
 "I do not know what I should have done if it had not 
 been for Philip's sister," she said. "I am so anxious 
 for you to meet her. You will love her, I know," and 
 she gazed at her niece wistfully. 
 
 "I am glad if she was able to make you happy," 
 Dora replied, and quickly changed the subject to a 
 pleasant episode that occured during the voyage home. 
 
 Mrs. Hutchinson had cautioned both Aunt Helen and 
 her husband not to assail Dora with questions about 
 Philip as soon as she returned. "Wait a few days," she 
 said, "and give her a chance to speak of him of her own 
 free will. We shall gain nothing by trying to force her 
 confidence." So Dora was received with open arms and 
 no unpleasant questions asked. 
 
 She had been at home just a week, when one morning 
 a messenger boy ran up the steps and inquired for Miss 
 Dora Hutchinson. Upon her appearance, he handed 
 her a letter and departed. Dora gazed at the letter 
 curiously. Her name was traced upon the envelope in 
 
 211 
 
FROM OUT OF THE WEST. 
 
 a weak, trembling hand. She broke the seal and, glanc- 
 ing at the signature, read the name of Violet Devereaux. 
 She uttered a sharp cry and sank into a chair, faint 
 and trembling. "What can Violet Devereaux want of 
 me?" she cried, with white lips. At last composing 
 herself, she read the letter, which was as follows: 
 
 "Miss Hutchinson: — 
 
 "I want to see you. I am dying. I have only a few 
 days to live. I beg of you to come and see me, (as you 
 value your future happiness). Come at once, is the 
 dying request of 
 
 "Violet Devereaux." 
 
 "Violet Devereaux dying, and wants to see me! 
 What does it mean? Perhaps she wants to exonerate 
 her lover before she dies. It may be at his instigation 
 that ^he sends for me. I will not go, nothing she could 
 say would have any influence on me. It would be un- 
 pleasant for us both; no, I will not go." She tried to 
 dismiss the subject from her mind, but she could not do 
 it. All the time, she kept repeating: "Come as you 
 value your future happiness. Come to me; I am 
 dying." "Yes, I will go," she resolved at last. " I will 
 hear what she has to say, poor thing, perhaps she will 
 die happier." 
 
 So Dora ordered the carriage and was driven to the 
 home of Violet Devereaux. She was admitted at once 
 and taken to the same pretty boudoir where Philip had 
 listened to the story of his wrongs. With a woman's 
 keen eye Dora noted the dainty, luxurious taste with 
 which the room was furnished. It was such a different 
 room from what Dora had imagined. She had ex- 
 
 213 
 
FROM OUT OF THE WEST. 
 
 pected to be ushered into a darkened chamber, — the 
 proper abode of a dying woman; but this great, sunny, 
 cheerful room had every suggestion of life. In front 
 of one of the sunny windows a couch had been placed, 
 and among the pillows lay a little, fairy-like creature, 
 with masses of rippling, golden hair, that looked like 
 tangled sunbeams. Could this be Violet Devereaux, — 
 a creature to be shunned and despised? Why, she 
 looked more like an angel than anything earthly. No 
 wonder men went mad over her, and lost their heads 
 as well as their hearts." Dora felt like taking her in 
 her arms and kissing her, and she had expected to hate 
 her. 
 
 "Are you very ill?" asked Dora, advancing towards 
 the couch, sympathy in her fresh, young voice. 
 
 "Yes, I am ill unto death, they tell me, although I 
 do not suffer pain," replied Violet, sadly. "I am so 
 glad you came. I wanted to see you before I died." 
 
 "I am so sorry for you," exclaimed Dora, her eyes 
 full of tears. "Can nothing be done?" 
 
 "No, nothing can save me; I am young and life is 
 sweet, but in a few days more I shall have passed out 
 of its sunshine into the dark, damp grave. I have 
 lived a merry, careless, wicked life, and this is the 
 end." 
 
 "Have you no relatives or friends with you?" asked 
 Dora. "Is all being done that could be, to make you 
 comfortable?" 
 
 "I have good care," replied Violet, evasively. "Do 
 not waste your pity on me, Miss Hutchinson. I have 
 a story to tell you that will drive all pity from your 
 
 2x3 
 
FROM OUT OF THE WEST. 
 
 heart; but if I can right some of the wrong I shall die 
 happier." 
 
 Dora listened patiently, making no comments, but 
 steeling her heart against any good word this woman 
 might speak of Philip Manning. She felt sorry for the 
 dying woman, but no sympathy for her love affairs. 
 
 "You think Philip Manning my lover, but you are 
 mistaken," continued Violet, in a low, sad tone. "He 
 never loved me. There is not a nobler man on God's 
 earth today than Philip Manning, nor a more bitterly 
 wronged ore." 
 
 Dora listened in amazement at these words. "If 
 he was not your lover, wfcv did he take you "West with 
 him?" she gasped. 
 
 "He did not take me West with him. There you 
 were deceived. I asked him to go with me on a bus- 
 iness trip, only three hours' ride from the city. I re- 
 turned to the city and he went on to his western home, 
 alone." 
 
 "Oh, can this be true?" cried Dora, in heart-stricken 
 tones. 
 
 " Can you not believe the words of a dying woman ?" 
 asked Violet, reproachfully. " I know my life has been 
 full of lies and deceit, but I am telling the truth now. 
 Philip Manning has always loved you and no one else. 
 He is heart-broken over your conduct towards him, 
 which was a great mystery, until I solved it for him two 
 days ago, by disclosing the treacherous scheme that 
 had parted you." 
 
 "How did you become acquainted with Mr. Man- 
 ning?" asked Dora, puzzled to understand it all. 
 
 214 
 
FROM OUT OF THE WEST. 
 
 "I disguised myself as a flower girl and sought to at- 
 tract his attention." 
 
 "But what was your object?" asked Dora, still per- 
 plexed. "He was a perfect stranger to you!" 
 
 "I was hired to do it," replied Violet, calmly. 
 
 "Hired? By whom? For what purpose?" cried 
 Dora, in amazement. 
 
 "I was hired by Harold Graham. When Mr. Man- 
 ning first came to this city, the boys took offense at his 
 superiority over them, both physically and morally. 
 He was a standing rebuke to them, and they resolved 
 to dip him in the city mire of vice. They tried in every 
 way to pull him down to their level, but he resisted all 
 their efforts, much to their chagrin. At last, Harold 
 Graham came and persuaded me, for a consideration 
 of ten thousand dollars, to take him in hand, and not 
 only lower his pride of conscious virtue, but part him 
 from you as well. I accepted the bribe. I schemed 
 and planned and succeeded in parting you. Then I 
 grew to love him; but his heart was all yours. He was 
 kind and gentle to me, and admired my beauty, but 
 he did not love me. I had not seen him during the 
 summer until the night of the fire. I stood in my box, 
 alone, surrounded by smoke and flames. The others had 
 fled, and I called to Philip to save me. He came and 
 rescued me from the flames. The next day he called 
 and recognized me, and I told him all. He rushed from 
 the room nearly crazed by what I had said. He will 
 never forgive me," and Violet covered her face with 
 her hands, whiie the tears flowed down her pale 
 cheeks. 
 
 215 
 
FROM OUT OF THE WEST. 
 
 Dora was sobbing too. Oh, the sad, unhappy 
 hearts of those two women. 
 
 "How could you do such a pitiless, cruel thing?" 
 cried Dora. "You have spoiled two lives for a paltry 
 ten thousand dollars. I would have paid you twice 
 that amount not to have done it." 
 
 " Oh, it was not so much for the money," said Violet, 
 wiping her eyes. "I thought it would be great fun at 
 first to bring down this young saint a little. Then I 
 became interested in him. But I am sorry now. I 
 wish I had never been tempted to see him." 
 
 "And you say Harold Graham was the one who 
 bribed you to do this thing? Do you know that I am 
 engaged to him, and was to have been married next 
 month?" 
 
 " But you will not marry him now," exclaimed Violet, 
 anxiously. 
 
 "No, I shall certainly not marry him after all his 
 treachery. It was he who told me you were going West 
 with Mr. Manning, and I foolishly believed him, and 
 went to the depot to prove his words. I saw Philip 
 meet you, and together you passed into the car. It 
 was a terrible shock to me. I was sick for a long time, 
 and when I recovered, my one thought was to go away 
 that I might not meet him on his return. When I heard 
 that my friends, the Morrises, were going to Europe, 
 I thought that was my opportunity, and I pleaded to 
 go with them, and my parents consented, much against 
 their wishes. I crossed the ocean with my friends 
 and slowly recovered my health, but not my spirits. I 
 shunned all society and brooded over my sorrow. One 
 
 216 
 
FROM OUT OF THE WEST. 
 
 day I received a letter from Mr. Manning, begging me 
 to write and tell him his offense. I never answered 
 the letter. Then Mr. Graham came. I was glad to 
 see him, and consented to become his wife, thinking 
 he loved me, and all others were false. And although 
 you have done me a great wrong, I am glad you told 
 me the truth before I became Harold Graham's wife. 
 That would have been a greater wrong." 
 
 "You will see Philip, and allow him to speak for 
 himself, very soon, will you not?" asked Violet, anx- 
 iously. 
 
 "I do not think he will desire it," said Dora, sadly, 
 "as I did not trust him or give him an opportunity to 
 explain. He will not consider me worthy of his love. 
 But I am glad to know he is the true, good man I always 
 considered him." 
 
 "I shall not be happy until you are friends again," 
 said Violet, wistfully. "Can you forgive me for the 
 suffering I have caused you ? I have no right to expect 
 it, but I wish you could." 
 
 "Yes, I forgive you," said Dora, gently. "You have 
 saved me from an unhappy marriage and re-established 
 my faith in a dear friend. You have made what rep- 
 aration you could. I can hardly think of my own 
 wrongs, my heart is so full of pity for you in your sad 
 condition. I wish I might do something for you. Is 
 there no other doctor you would like to consult ? You 
 know doctors differ in their opinions; another might 
 give you hope." 
 
 "I did not expect such kindness from you," said 
 Violet, gratefully. "I think my old doctor, who has 
 
 211 
 
FROM OUT OF THE WEST. 
 
 known me for years, has diagnosed my case correctly. 
 I shall consult no other. If he is mistaken and I re- 
 cover, I will lead a different life. I always despised 
 what are called good people, thinking they were all 
 hypocrites, and hid their sins, or were without tempta- 
 tion; but you and Philip have made me think 
 differently." 
 
 "But suppose the worst comes, and you have to die," 
 said Dora, in trembling tones. "What of the future? 
 Have you made your peace with God ? Have you seen 
 a minister? I am far from being a good Christian 
 myself; I cannot point the way as some good minister 
 could. Will you let me send my pastor to you?" 
 
 "No, no; do not, I beg of you," said Violet, earnestly. 
 "I shall die as I have lived. I will not insult the Lord 
 by thrusting upon Him the last few hours of my wicked 
 life. I have always lived in the present never thinking 
 or caring for the past or the future. Perhaps you will 
 come again before the end," and Violet looked plead- 
 ingly at Dora. "I would rather see you than all the 
 ministers in the city, and I am sure you would do me 
 more good." 
 
 "Yes, I will come again," answered Dora, heartily, 
 "and I shall hope to find you better. I cannot help 
 thinking the Lord will let you live to be a good, true 
 woman yet," and Dora bent down and kissed the 
 sweet, pale face of the erring woman, and left the 
 room. 
 
 Upon reaching home, Dora went immediately to her 
 room, and wrote a note to Harold Graham that read as 
 follows: 
 
 21$ 
 
 
FROM OUT OF THE WEST. 
 
 "Mr. Graham: — I have seen Violet Devereaux. 
 She has revealed all your treachery and deceit. I re- 
 turn your ring. All is over between us. I never wish 
 to see you again. 
 
 "Dora Hutchinson." 
 
 She sent a servant at once to find Harold Graham 
 and place the package in his hands. 
 
 "I feel happier already," she thought. "I should 
 never have been happy as his wife. I ought not to 
 have promised. How can I explain to my father and 
 mother and Aunt Helen ? I shall get the name of being 
 a fickle coquette. Poor Philip, what must he have 
 thought of my silence, after writing as he did ? How 
 foolishly I have acted and spoiled my own life as well 
 as his. He will never trust me again. I am unworthy 
 of him. He would never have treated me so." So 
 Dora tormented her repentant heart until she made 
 herself nearly ill, and, pleading a headache, she retired 
 «arly to avoid seeing anyone. 
 
 219 
 
CHAPTER XXIX. 
 
 THE DOUBLE TRAGEDY. 
 
 The following morning, when the early morning 
 papers were brought in and laid at Mr. Hutchinson's 
 plate, he took one and glanced carelessly at the head- 
 lines as usual, but something he read caused his face 
 to blanch with horror. "My God!" he exclaimed, 
 in such a tone that Mrs. Hutchinson shrieked with 
 fright. 
 
 "Oh, Henry, what is it?" she cried. "How you 
 frighten me," and she arose to come around to his side, 
 but he waved her back, and trying to speak calmly, said: 
 
 " Mary prepare yourself for a terrible shock, but it is 
 imperative that we should both be calm, so we can con- 
 sider what is best to do." 
 
 "I will try to, but I am so frightened. Are any of 
 our friends dead? Do not keep me in suspense." 
 
 "Well, listen," and Mr. Hutchinson read in husky 
 tones: 
 
 "MURDER AND SUICIDE. 
 
 "Harold Graham, one of our most popular 
 and wealthy young men, shoots his mistress 
 through the heart, and then sends a bullet into 
 his own brain. The noise aroused the servants 
 who, upon finding the dead bodies, rushed 
 shrieking from the house and gave the alarm. 
 
 230 
 
FROM OUT OF THE WEST. 
 
 The young man was removed to his home, 
 where his family is plunged in the deepest grief, 
 as he was an only son, and soon to be united 
 to a beautiful young lady in his own circle. 
 The murdered woman was the beautiful Violet 
 Devereaux, who, a few years ago, entranced 
 admiring audiences at the 'La Favorita, , by 
 her beauty and graceful dancing. The house 
 is in charge of a band of Christian women until 
 relatives of the dead woman can be found. 
 "The motive that provoked the crime is a 
 mystery. The young man's family and his 
 fiancee have the heartfelt sympathy of the 
 whole community." 
 
 Mrs. Hutchinson listened, almost paralyzed with 
 horror. When her husband ceased reading, she gasped 
 one word, — " Dora." 
 
 "Yes," said her husband, "we must break it as 
 gently as possible to Dora. I am thankful she is late 
 this morning and we have received the first shock." 
 
 "I fear it will make her ill again, she is not very 
 strong. Oh, how can we tell her!" And Mrs. Hutch- 
 inson wrung her hands. 
 
 "We can tell her better than others, and we must do 
 it at once, before she sees the papers. Hark ! here she 
 comes. For God's sake compose yourself," and Mr. 
 Hutchinson hastily swallowed a cup of coffee as Dora 
 entered the room. 
 
 "I am sorry I was so late," she began, but ceased 
 when she saw the pale faces of her parents. ' ■ Why, papa 
 
 221 
 
FROM OUT OF THE WEST. 
 
 and mamma, you look as though you had heard bad 
 news. What is it ?" and she took her seat waiting anx- 
 iously for an explanation. 
 
 "Dora," said her father, "we have indeed heard 
 terrible news. You will be as shocked to hear it as 
 we were; but you must try and be calm for your own 
 sake as well as ours." 
 
 "I will try, papa," and Dora clasped her hands 
 tightly, while her big, frightened eyes were fixed upon 
 her father's face inquiringly. 
 
 "A friend of yours has committed suicide," said Mr. 
 Hutchinson, in a tone he strove to render calm. 
 
 "A friend of mine has committed suicide," her pale 
 lips repeated after him. "Who is it, papa?" 
 
 "Oh, Dora, my child, how can I tell you, but you 
 must know sooner or later. It is Harold Graham," 
 and he sprang to his daughter's side just as she was 
 slipping from the chair. 
 
 " It will kill her, I knew it would," sobbed her mother. 
 " Oh, send for the doctor at once." 
 
 "Wait a few moments," said Mr. Hutchinson. 
 " Don't get excited, get the hartshorn and help me bring 
 her to." 
 
 Together they worked over the unconscious girl, 
 and soon had the satisfaction of seeing her open her 
 eyes. 
 
 "What is the matter? Did I faint?" she asked, 
 sitting up and gazing about her in bewilderment. 
 "Oh, Oh," she cried, covering her face and shudder- 
 ing, as her memory rushed back, overwhelming her 
 with horror. 
 
 222 
 
 I 
 
FROM OUT OF THE WEST. 
 
 "Compose yourself, my daughter," entreated her 
 father. "There is still more for you to hear and you 
 must nerve yourself to bear it." Then gradually and 
 gently he told her all. 
 
 She caught her breath several times during the re- 
 cital, but did not faint again. Her heart was filled 
 with pity, — not for Harold Graham, but for the beau- 
 tiful, misguided woman, his victim. 
 
 "He need not have added murder to his other crimes," 
 she thought. "The poor girl was dying, but he always 
 had a terrible temper, and the knowledge that Violet 
 had told of his treachery maddened him no doubt; and 
 now she lies alone amid her splendor with only 
 strangers' hands to perform the last, sad rites. What 
 a terrible ending, with no hope of Heaven's pardon. 
 God pity her!" 
 
 It was hard for Dora to receive the many 
 visits of condolence, and letters of sympathy, while 
 all the time she was thinking, "Oh, if they only 
 knew." 
 
 Dora read the daily papers eagerly for items in re- 
 gard to the funeral and burial of Violet Dcvcreaux. 
 She had been obliged to attend the funeral of Harold 
 Graham for the sake of appearances, and to simulate 
 a grief she was far from feeling. The funeral was 
 strictly private, only the near relatives being present; 
 and the curious multitude shut out. It was over at 
 last, and the two forms were laid away. The interest 
 died out. Other tragedies, equally startling, filled the 
 papers, and they were soon forgotten by all but the two 
 whom they had so cruelly wronged. 
 
 223 
 
FROM OUT OF THE WEST. 
 
 One afternoon, about two weeks after the tragedy, 
 as Dora entered the drawing room, she was surprised 
 to find a strange, young girl, in the room, who 
 started like a frightened fawn upon her entrance. 
 Dora recognized her at once by her wonderful likeness 
 to her brother. So this was Philip's sister. For a 
 moment she was embarrassed, then she hastened for- 
 ward with outstretched hands and a sweet smile. 
 
 "1 am sure you must be Mr. Manning's sister," she 
 said, "I am happy to meet you," and she took the 
 little gloved hand in hers. "Won't you be seated, and 
 lay aside your wraps?" 
 
 "Oh, no thank you," replied Josie, a little stiffly. 
 "I called to see your aunt." 
 
 " Does that mean that you did not expect to see me?" 
 asked Dora, smiling. 
 
 "I thought perhaps you would be out," said Josi 
 in evident embarrassment. 
 
 "So you were going to come when you thought I 
 would be out ? Now, I don't call that kind of you. I 
 have heard so much about you, that I feel as though you 
 were an old acquaintance. I am sorry you tried to 
 avoid me," and Dora looked reproachfully at the young 
 girl. 
 
 Josie blushed, and felt ill at ease. "I did not t 
 you would care to meet me," she said, naively. 
 
 It was Dora's turn to blush now. She remembe 
 how she had once thought she should not like to m 
 this girl, — but that was when she considered 
 brother a "gay deceiver", and the sister so like hi 
 must be also deceitful. That was all changed now 
 
 224 
 
 : 
 
FROM OUT OF THE WEST. 
 
 she had learned her mistake, and now she longed to 
 make friends with this girl whose eyes were so like 
 Philip's. 
 
 "I think I understand you," said Dora. "You 
 thought if I did not care to be friends with your 
 brother, I would not care to be friends with you. Well, 
 at one time I did feel that way, but now I want to be 
 friends. I have acted very foolishly in the past, and 
 through my foolishness lost your brother's friendship. 
 I do not wish to make any more mistakes." 
 
 Josie's face became radiant with delight. "You say 
 you made a mistake; have you changed your opinion 
 of my brother ? Have you at last found out how good 
 and noble he is ? Are you going to be friends with him 
 once more?" Josie poured forth her questions eagerly, 
 her eyes fixed earnestly upon Dora. 
 
 "Yes," answered Dora, "I have at last found out 
 that your brother is all that is good and true, but I was 
 led to believe otherwise at one time, and never wished 
 to see him again." 
 
 "But now," exclaimed Josie, eagerly, "you will give 
 him a chance to explain and exonerate himself?" 
 
 "I am ashamed to, Josie. — May I call you Josie? 
 I did not trust him; I treated him shamefully. I do 
 not think he would care to be friends now after what 
 has happened." 
 
 "Oh, but he would; I know he would. He has felt 
 so hurt over your conduct. He is growing so thin, and 
 takes no interest in anything. He used to be so jolly. 
 I had quite made up my mind to hate you," and Josie 
 looked reproachfully at Dora. 
 
 225 
 
FROM OUT OF THE WEST. 
 
 "Well, take off your wraps, and we will talk it over 
 and sec, if we at least, can't be friends." 
 
 "I am willing," said Josie, "but you must remember 
 the old adage, — * Love me, love my dog.* Now, I 
 haven't a dog, but I have a brother," and she looked 
 so roguish that Dora laughed and kissed her. 
 
 "Now, we will go and see Aunt Helen, and then you 
 must stay to dinner. John will take you home in the 
 evening." 
 
 " I know a better plan than that," said Josie, her eyes 
 twinkling. "I will stay with pleasure if you will invite 
 my brother to come and escort me home." 
 
 "I am afraid he would not come," answered Dora. 
 
 "Do you want him to come?" persisted Josie. 
 
 "Yes, I want him to come," acknowledged Dora, 
 blushing charmingly. 
 
 "Well, you write a note telling him I am here, and 
 that you would like to have him call for me, and I'll 
 risk but that he will come," and Josie nodded her head 
 convincingly. 
 
 So Dora, glad to be persuaded, wrote, asking Philip 
 to call, and sent it to the house that he might get it when 
 he came home. 
 
 Aunt Helen was delighted when the two girls en- 
 tered her room, apparently the best of friends. "Now, 
 if she will only make friends with Philip again, I shall 
 be so happy," she thought. She little knew how soon 
 her happiness was to be realized. 
 
 That evening, Dora looked so lovely as she entered 
 the drawing room that Josie impulsively exclaimed, 
 "Oh, how beautiful you are!" 
 
 226 
 
FROM OUT OF THE WEST. 
 
 Dora blushed with pleasure. "You are a little flat- 
 terer," she said, with a smile. 
 
 After dinner came a season of nervous expectation 
 for both girls. "Would Philip come? If not—" and 
 Dora's heart grew cold at the thought. And if he 
 did come, how could she meet him ? What should she 
 say? 
 
 Josie thought, "If Philip does not come now after 
 she has asked him, he is too proud and stubborn to be 
 worthy of her." 
 
 So they made a pretence of talking, but each was 
 listening for a footstep. At last there was a sharp ring 
 at the doorbell. Both girls started with beating hearts. 
 In a few minutes the door was thrown open and Mr. 
 Manning announced. Dora felt as if she was going 
 to faint. She grasped the back of a chair and turned 
 her pale face towards the door. She had not seen Philip 
 for many months. She was conscious of a great change 
 between the man advancing to meet her, and the bright, 
 impulsive Philip she had first known. This was a 
 grave, dignified man, apparently ten years older than 
 the other Philip. He seemed like a stranger. "I have 
 lost him," her heart cried. "This is not my Philip." 
 
 Josie watched them anxiously, as they exchanged 
 greetings. "They are both on a high horse," she said 
 to herself. "I must try and bring them down," and 
 she exerted herself to that end, but with poor success. 
 Both Philip and Dora seemed to be vieing with each 
 other to see which could be the most excruciatingly 
 formal and polite. At length Josie conceived the happy 
 thought of leaving them alone together. So she madJe 
 
 227 
 
FROM OUT OF THE WEST. 
 
 the excuse that she had forgotten to ask Aunt Helen 
 a very important question, and, excusing herself, left 
 the room. 
 
 After Josie's departure, Dora could hear her own 
 heart beat with alarming distinctness. She would like 
 to have rushed from the room after Josie, but she seemed 
 unable to move or speak. 
 
 At last a deep, grave voice spoke. " Dora, why did 
 you treat me so?" 
 
 "Oh, Philip, forgive me," she cried. "He told me 
 you were fake, and I believed him. It nearly killed 
 me." She was sobbing now. 
 
 Philip came to her side and put his arms about her, 
 and said: "Now that you know I have always loved you, 
 are you willing to love and trust me in the future ?" 
 
 "If you will only let me," she sobbed. 
 
 "Then begin by drying your eyes, dear, and we will 
 forget all the sadness of the past and make the most of 
 our future. Nothing shall ever part us again, my dar- 
 ling." 
 
 "No, never again," repeated Dora. 
 
 At this point the door opened, and Josie's mischiev- 
 ous face peered in. "May I come in?" she asked, "or 
 is two company and three a crowd?" 
 
 "Come in, Josie," said her brother, "and congratu- 
 late me. I have made my peace with Dora, and soon 
 she will be your own dear sister." 
 
 The two girls embraced each other and laughed and 
 cried as girls will when under great excitement. 
 
 Mr. and Mrs. Hutchinson returned later in the even- 
 ing, and great was their surprise and ioy to see th< 
 
 228 
 
FROM OUT OF THE WEST. 
 
 daughter looking bright and happy, and apparently 
 upon the best of terms with Philip and his sister. 
 When Philip explained matters and asked their consent 
 to make Dora his wife, their delight knew no bounds, 
 and there was more kissing and hugging. 
 
 "I have always wanted you for a son," said the old 
 man, " but lately I had despaired of getting you. Lord, 
 how things do turn out, I feel like a schoolboy. I should 
 like to throw up my hat and holler, * Hurrah V " 
 
 229 
 
CHAPTER XXX. 
 
 CONCLUSION. 
 
 Christmas Eve, there was a quiet wedding at the 
 Hutchinson mansion. Dora and her mother would 
 have preferred to postpone the wedding until spring 
 and had a brilliant affair with a host of pretty brides- 
 maids and all the accessories usually attending the 
 wedding of the only daughter of wealthy parents; but 
 Philip and Mr. Hutchinson were opposed to such a 
 long delay, and over-ruled the objections to a quiet 
 wedding. 
 
 Another thing Philip had insisted on, and that was, 
 the presence of Aunt Helen at the wedding ceremony. 
 At first she could not be persuaded to leave her room 
 but when Philip convinced her that he could carry her 
 down stairs so easily and carefully, that she would be 
 as safe as in her own chair, she consented, and was the 
 most honored guest at the wedding. When Philip 
 carried her back to her own room that evening, he told 
 her it was not the last time he should get her out of her 
 room. "I shall have you up to my house yet," he 
 said. But Aunt Helen shook her head doubtfully. 
 That seemed like an impossible trip to the poor 
 invalid. 
 
 There were many comments made as to the marriage 
 taking place so soon after the tragic death of Harold 
 Graham. " She could not have loved him very much," 
 
 230 
 
FROM OUT OF THE WEST. 
 
 they said. But Dora and Philip did not allow these 
 criticisms to interfere with their happiness. 
 
 The New Year found them settled in their new home, 
 greatly to the delight of Josie, who had learned to love 
 her beautiful sister-in-law dearly. 
 
 Dora was especially kind and indulgent to the dear 
 old man, who looked upon his new daughter as some 
 bright, beautiful creature from another sphere, and 
 worshipped her with as much awe and devotion as 
 though she were a young goddess. 
 
 Dora and Philip insisted upon their parents and 
 Aunt Helen making their home with them during the 
 summer, so the house in the city was closed in the early 
 spring, and they came to live in the lovely suburban 
 residence of their children. Philip had an invalid's 
 carriage made for Aunt Helen. It was small and of 
 light weight, so she could propel and steer it herself. 
 She broke down and cried like a child when Philip 
 presented it to her, and her first trip around the garden 
 was a joy almost beyond belief. 
 
 14 Oh, to be on God's earth once more !" she exclaimed, 
 with streaming eyes. "I am a shut-in no longer, and 
 I owe it all to Philip." She and dad were inseparable 
 companions, and most of their time was spent out in 
 the gardens among the flowers and birds. 
 
 One day Wallace Dunlap sought Philip, and asked 
 for his sister's hand in marriage. " Once I asked a great 
 favor of you which you granted, and made a man of me, M 
 he said. "Now, I ask a greater favor; let me be your 
 brother-in-law as I have long been in heart." The re- 
 quest was granted, and the following fall there was 
 
 231 
 
FROM OUT OF THE WEST. 
 
 another wedding, this time at Philip's home, and Josie 
 left to preside over a home of her own. 
 
 Dora and Philip never mention the name of Violet 
 Devereaux between them, but every spring Dora visits 
 a lonely grave in Greenwood. 
 
 The inscription upon the tall, white marble shaft, 
 reads: 
 
 Violet Devereaux, 
 Age 25. 
 
 The grave is covered with violets, planted by the 
 loving hand of the woman made happy through the 
 dying confession of the beautiful, erring woman, resting 
 beneath the sod. 
 
 The End. 
 
IB 32947 
 
 M256063 
 
 
 THE UNIVERSITY OF CALIFORNIA LIBRARY