Beadle's New York Dime Library No. 437 — page 19: what you’re looking at

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assuring you of my sympathy, will now return home. Good-night!” He raised his hat, turned and went down the walk. He did not look around until the street was reached. When he did, Claudia had disap- red. ** So,” he thought, with a grave smile, ‘‘ there has almost been a fatal tragedy at Woodside House. Miss Woodside was determined to keep me out of the house; a proceeding which was not so very wise on her part. It would have awakened suspicion where none existed, but, in this case, suspicion would have arisen, auyway. To-day Arcuibald Woodide’s wronged wife vis- ited him in company with boisterous, though stupid men; this evening, the professor bas been aimost shot dead with a revolver, The conclu- sion is plain—hemmed in and desperate, Wood- side has attempted suicide!” The detective was notin a very cheerful mood for he saw bitter pain ahead for those connected with his case. If, as Ralph Hathaway believed, Professor Woodside bad deliberately murdered the former’s father, he was undeserving of pity, and no punishment could be too great, but with Ralph and Claudia it was different. They bad joined their lives in marriage, but Ralph now heew of that old tragedy, and Claudia must soon know of it. When she did learn that her father had murdered her hus- band’s father—what then? **Poor Claudia!” muttered Dorgan; see only misery for her in the future!” He returned home, retired, and slept the night out peacefully. The next morning he received two items of news. The first was to the effect that Horace Wilberson had escaped from the atrolman, when on the way to the station- 10use, and that he had not been found. The second was in the form of a telegram from the Bangor police chief, in answer to his inquiries. I[t was as follows: “The old church is yet standing, though now occupied for business purposes, One of Zachary Rose’s old associates is here; he served time for counterfeiting, and is now apparently trying to lead an honest life. Possibly you could make him talk.” Dorgan quietly folded the telegram. ‘¢T will certainly try to make him talk—I will start for Bangor to-day. The idea is strong in my mind that if Rose did not destroy the mar- riage-certificate, it is hidden in that old church. If I can once get it, I shall be able to win Mrs, Rose’s case and give ber Professor Woodside as a husband—if she then wants him. I doubt if she will when she knows that he killed Temple Hathaway.” Finishing breakfast, the detective went to the station-house to see his prisoner, Brown. That person had had time to meditate, and his fears might have been aroused so that he would con- fess. They might have been, but, in point of fact, were not. Brown had never more stoutly de- clined to talk, and after an unavailing attempt, Duke left the station and called on Mrs. Rose. He only remained to surround her with extra safeguards, for he knew that Peters would be on the alert and anxious to repossess her, and this Duke was determined he should not do, When he left her he started at once on his journey. It was made without accident, and, in due time, he reached Banger. Once there, bis first step was to see the chief of police, and after a short conversation the latter agreed to take him to Zachary Rose’s old associate, He was now running a hotel, and Dorgan had but little faith in bis reported reformation when he saw the locality and the building. It seemed a fit resort for thieves and cut-throats, and: he felt to see that his revolver was in place before entering the sinister-looking building. “T can CHAPTER XXIII. RALPH IS SUMMONED. PROFESSOR WoopstpE had passed a good night, and was in better condition in the morn- ing than even the doctor had expected. Deli- cate and nervous as he looked he plainly had marked powers of recuperation, and his con- dition was so favorable that he was only nomin- ally confined to his bed. ; He showed a quiet resolution, too, which was new to him, and Claudia felt sure there was no longer danger that he would do harm to himself, If, as she believed, he had tried to commit suicide, it was only when he was so sorely beset that his mind was temporarily clouded. He had evidently repented thoroughly, and resolved to bravely face whatever trouble threatened him. In a quiet way, and with womanly tact, Claudia tried to win his confidence and learn the truth. She knew the folly of direct ques- tioning, but, feeling that she ought to know his troubles, she gave him every chance to tell, yet covered every advance carefully and well. But Woodside did not explain. Claudia had her private griefs tobear. She had not heard from Ralph Hathaway since that | tuneatistactery, ‘perpen visit to his home, and she felt grieved that this wasso. She was his SS SS TS LT TT wife, yet, almost the hour after the marriage, he first declined to see her—then met her with cold manner and strange words—and now he | neither came nor sent any word, What did it mean? Was he, could he be already tired of ber?+—he, in whom she had | trusted implicitly, feeling that she could depend | upon him in any oh ae No; she would | w not believe evil of him, All would be well: in some way he would explain all satisfactorily. It | was a woman’s reasoning, blind, yet comfort- ing, more comfortable. He had had all done for him to this end that was possible; Claudia had be- | stowed every care and attention upon him that her ingenuity could devise, and aware of if. Nor was he ungrateful. day to her long devotion to his happiness and comfort. side, ‘** What can I do, father?’ ‘Nothing, exceps to sitdown and listen. I want to speak of Ralnh Hathaway!” A shadow crossed her beautiful face. ‘* Hadn’t we better postpone the subject?” ‘*No. I have been thinking, and speak. Claudia, do you love this young man deeply?” ‘*T do, with my whole heart,” replied Claudia, | with simple earnestness, ‘* And he returns your affection?” *~ Veer ‘* And wishes you to be bis wife?” ref 4. Claudia’s mind flitted back to that secret mar- riage in the dim old church, and she wondcred what the professor would say if he knew all, but he gave her no further time for reflection. He went on steadily: ‘‘IT have been thinking earnestly, and I see that I ought to regard your happiness above all things. eaven forbid that I should stand be- tween you and that happiness, I have opposed Ralph, knowing that there was a stain on the family name, and jealous of your reputation— dreading to see any one look scornfully at you aes I am convinced that I hava been too sensi- ive. : ‘* Father!” ‘** Yes, I admit it; I have been too critical. Far be it from me to visit any man’s faults on the head of his innocent children, and I believe Ralph Hathaway to be an honorable man. He surely is not responsible for his father’s shortcomings, ad it would be a cowardly act to try and make him responsible. Heaven forbid that fault of mine should be visited on my chil- | dren!” The professor had grown nervous and some- what excited, and Claudia kissed him tenderly. ‘* Dear father, that can rever be. know you also know that you are above blame and without fault.” the remark, and went on earnestly: ‘* Having reasoned all this out, Claudia, I see that [have been wrong. Evenif the hard, un- feeling world sneers, it will be but a passing rip- | ple; others will follow and sweep away the first. But you, my caughter, when a woman like you loves, it is not for a day, a month, or a year alone—’tis for life and eternity.” Claudia silently caressed bis hand, ‘Realizing all this,” the professor resumed. ‘‘T may compress my decision in a few words: Send for Ralph, let me see lim first, and alone, and if he talks to me as [ believe he will—as an honest man should—he can then go to you with my consent to your marriage!” hus it was that when Raph returned from his daily work that evening, he found a note from | Claudia awaiting him. It was brief, barely ask- ing him to call without fail, and adding that she had good news for bo‘h of them, but through if ran a vein of hope which found no responsive echo in Ralph’s troubled mind. _ The young nan seemed to have aged greatly in a few days, He was no longer the strong, self-reliant person of old, aud his haggard look was painful, yet it was nothing to what he ac- tually endured. Married to the daughter of his father’s mur- derer, and she the dearest of all women. the letter, “but [ cannot go—I cannot enter that man’s house!” But, anon, he grew softer of will, and the promise of Claudia’s note moved him. She bad ‘good news.” Perhaps—well, in any case, he would go and see her. He went, and was received by a servant and ushered into an up-stairs room. Until he en- | tered Ralph was ignorant of two things—the professor’s ‘‘ accident,” though it was mentioned in the papers casually, and of the fact that he would see Woodside, not Claudia. When he did see the professor. sitting un in bed, with pil‘ows at his back and his head ban- daged, the young man paased abruptly. The sight surprised him, | “Mr. Hathaway,’ said Woodside, kindly, _ During the afternoon the professor was even | e was well | Whatever his faults | he loved Claudia, and she had only added that | /tyighbs feel in his cooler moments, | that Woodside had decided to give him Claulia Those who | 19 ‘please take this chair beside me. I would like to talk with you, if agreeable to you.” A flush of anger was mounting to Ralph’s face. As he mentally expressed it he had been decoyed into this interview, and with a man he loathed. it was cowardly, he thought—a base deception. Yet, somehow, he felt compelled to obeyed the quiet gesture of Woodside’s band, and he sat down as directed, in silence. ‘* You expected to see Claudia?’ questioned the elder man, with a smile. ‘* Yes,” was the mechanical reply. ‘* You shall do so soon, but I wish to speak to you first. You are aware, Mr. Hathaway, that have opposed her marriage to you, and you know my motive. I am now convinced that I have been unjust. I beg your pardon!” ‘* You beg my pardon?’ Ralph echoed, iF da”? ‘*T do not understand.” ‘*In saying who is fit, and who unfit, tomarry re _ Claudia, [ had no right to look beyond the man, He lay a long time in deep thought, and ended | by calling ber name. She came quickly to his | himself. Each one of us should be judged by his individual character alone, and in this esti- mate I believe you are not wanting. Believing you, then, to be an honest man, I feel that I can no longer stand between you and Claudia.” By this time Ralph was himself again, His surprise—his mechanical conduct—was gone, | an want to | his mind had resumed its wonted action. Something like a smile crossed his face, but it was not an agreeable expression. ‘‘Tf [ understand you, you withdraw your opposition to our marriage?” * That is it, exactly.” W vodside spoke with all the outward kindness possible, but Ralph’s lips curled with scorn. ‘*[ know your motive!” he said, but his sup- nressed emotion was misunderstood by the pro- fessor. * | thought you would understand.” ‘* Understand!” echoed Ralph, vehemently: “it would be a blind dolt who did not under- stand. JI] am not now blind, however it has been in the past, and I do comprehend that you offer me Claudia as a bribe to secure your own safety—to save your miserable self!” . He bad arisen and was pouring out these words rapidly, but Woodside’s face expressed only surprise. ‘*Ralph—Mr. Hathaway!” he exclaimed, ‘‘I do not understand.” ‘* You understand well enough.” \ Tne professor flushed slightly. ‘* Pardon me,” he said, ** but you surely do not realize the force of what you say—” **T fully realize all, and let me say this much more: If you could add to your bribe all the wealth of Manhattan Island, I could not be enticed into the trap. Sir, | would not own re- lationship to you if you could offer me Claudia’s hand a thousand times over!” He meant what he said then, however he Believing so that he—the professor—need not be punished for the murder of Temple Hathaway, the young ‘ man turned with loathing from the bribe and W oodside | oars deeply, hesitated, ignored | the briber. | But Woodside seemed utterly dumfounded; he sat and looked at Ralph as though he be- lieved that he had taken leave of his senses, and. words refused to come at his bidding. ‘* A cunning trick, but it won't succeed,” Ralph added, bitterly. Then the professor found his voice, and he answered with grave dignity: ‘Mr. Hathaway, you have said what you will regret in your calmer moments, but IT remem- ber that you are still young. For Claudia’s sake, I pardon you—” ‘*T refuse to be pardoned!” was the fierce in- terruption. ‘‘Do you think pen can play with me? No! by Heaven, no! said awhile ago. that I was no longer blind, and Tam not. I know al!, and, having said this, I will remain no longer in a house where I insult the dead by conversing with the living.” He turned away, but Woodside’s voice arose: in sharp, unnatural tones, yet commandingly: “Stop! You have said too much not to say more. I demand an explanation!” Ralph wheeled fiercely. ‘So be it then, if you wll have the truth. You have objected to me because, forsooth, there ' was a blot on my family name, and becanse that of your daughter was so eminent, so spotless! I > have been made to feel that I was the inferior Heaven pity us both,” he said, as he read | of the two. my face—” ‘“f deny it; I emphatically deny it!” cried’ Woodside. ‘** And the false, vile charge against my father has been barped upon,” Ralph went on, almost madly; ‘and you have posed as a model of vir- tue and respectability. Let me tell you, sir, that [ know the truth at last, and were Clandia a thousand times dearer to me than she is, [ would not enter vour family. I know now, sir, that thongh mv father was not a dishonest man he was the victim of a cowardly murder. And vou—vou, Archibald Woodside—are the man. who murdered him!” Vehemently be poured forth these words, shaking his hand before Woodside’s face, and’ both faces were pale and tremulous, though from. > + *ecomicbooks My poverty has been flaunted in a we ee See ee ee Pa — > Ne — ‘a _—— — — Aca geen oe ars s a oe