Beadle's New York Dime Library No. 437 — page 20: what you’re looking at

Machine-transcribed from the original scan — historical spelling and the odd misread are preserved.

~ e = ~ _ 3 . “a - , ; 3 : ae eee ee rer ee - eS SO er rr ee es eee ° = -— al iy al HE: . . Seno rer —_— : _—' a bE ss . SP ait A . —-- _ = =. rH ; & a Ue ' What has happened? «lifferent causes; but, at the last words, Ralph | hers all the more because he knew that she mi wheeled and ran from the room and down the | stairs, Claudia met him in the hall, but recoiled at pe of his face. Its pallor, and the wild gleam of his eyes, struck a chill to her heart. - Ralph!” she gasped, ‘‘oh! Ralph, what is bogin AM He laughed loudly, wildly. * Nothing!” he cried; *‘ nothing but ruin and desolation!’ And then, unheeding the fact that she would have stopped him, he dashed out cf the house and down the walk like a madman. And he was little else then. Claudia clasped her hand over her heart and reeled against the wall, dumfounded and dizzy, but, recovering her strength a little, hastened up-stairs and to her father’s room, The profes- -sor lay on the bed in a death-like swoon! CHAPTER XXIV. THE TEST OF A WOMAN’S HEART. Ciavupta fell upon her knees beside the bed. -All her strength seemed gone, and she could neither act nor think like herself. A few min- utes before she had been happy in the thought that she would soon be united in reality to Ralph, and now he had fled from_ the house \ without a kind word to her, and her father, whom he had just left, lay there in a swoon like death. The blow went to her heart like a dagger- ‘thrust. ‘“Oh! merciful Heaven!” she cried, ‘* what— bo pet has happened? In mercy’s name, let me ‘die!’ It was the outpouring of misery, all the more bitter because blind, and with one like Claudia, . it could not long last. Her strong will—her heroic self-control—returned, and she forgot her- self and sprung to her feet. One caress, one kiss, ‘she gave the unconscious man before her, and then set to work to revive him. Again there was that remarkable steadiness of her hands seen when the professor was wounded, and her every movement was to the ‘point. Her heart seemed breaking, but she would not let her feelings rule then. Her duty was to her father, and she went -about it heroically. Her efforts were successful. Not many min- utes had passed when signs of returning con- -sciousness became visible to her close gaze, and then, at last, the professor opened his a and looked at her with reason, if not with calm- ness, A shiver shook his whole frame, and his mind at once turned to the late interview. “Ts he gone?” he asked in a whisper. ‘Yes; and, oh! father, why did he go as he did? He rushed from the house, almost without ‘a word to me—without one word of kindness. Oh! tell me, what has happened?” : She felt that it was no time to ask such ques- tions, but her heart was full to overflowing, and she could not govern herself. The professor hesitated, shivered again, and then replied in a husky voice: “Don't ask me!” ‘‘ Did you quarrel?” ‘¢- Yes, no—I don’t know. That is, I tried to be kind, and bring about ail that I promised, ut he would not—” He paused in his stammering speech, and Claudia, pale and trembling, slowly asked: ** Would he not listen to you?” ‘’ Ask me nothing, my child. It is better that ‘-you— Ask me nothing, but leave me alone.” ' He showed such evident signs of distress, and of worrying himself into a fever, that Claudia would not press the subject. She did not leave him, though. He had closed his eyes and was lying very still, but she felt that he was suffer- ‘ing mentally, and that it was unsafe for him to , be alone. It was a dreary time for the girl. No ray of hope appeared on the horizon; her father was ill and gleorable, and Ralph’s conduct was unex- plainable by any theory she could adopt; the shadow of trouble rested darkly on them all, and she was utterly in the dark, At one time she thought of writing to Ralph and imploring , commanding—him to explain, but her ‘pride rebelled at the idea, hatever was Pets 3 it was his duty, she believed, to be frank with his young wife, and his conduct was an in- t to common sense and to her, Tt would be no caprice—no act of temper—if -she settled down with dignity to wait until he apologized. FP he night passed, but it was a restless, un- favorable one for Professor Woodside, as was the following day. He did not vouchsafe any explanation, but lay for hours in thought, star- ing at the blank wall. She felt that he suffered, vel he made no explanation and she could ask for none. No word came from Ralph, and the nse was something terrible, Despite this she was outwardly cheerful, and never had Woodside received more tender care. aid her with kind, loving words, but his heart, like hers, was full. She clung to him as ‘her only sure friend; he realized his love and : ' a ee eee ee soon receive a terrible blow through him. If open disgrace came, it would be worse for her than for him, The second day found him much improved. He rallied from the new blow as he had from that dealt by Abe Benlow, and grew firm and calm. It had occurred to him that, for Claudia’s sake, he ought to face the danger bravely, and ward it off, if possible, and he in- tended to do it. For tho first time since his wound was inflict- ed he was wp and about the room, and he seemed nearly as strong as ever. Claudia’s spirits rose with his, and she was greatly encouraged, It occurred to her that he would soon be in his study, and she stole down there to put it to rights somewhat. This had long been her task, for Woodside had. always declared that she was the only woman who could handle his treasures without spoiling one-half and losing the other. As she worked she came upon one article which he must have had in use just before his * accident,” for it had not been returned to its lace. She knew where it belonged; in the ower drawer of the cabinet; and she proceeded to restore it to its proper place, As she opened the drawer she caught sight of a small package of papers which looked like let- ters tied in a pile, and on the upper side was this inscription: ‘‘ CORRESPONDENCE: Woodside—Hathaway.” Her attention became fixed, and she mur- ‘mured: ‘What can it mean? Itis father’s writing, and he must have been corresponding with Ralph unknown to me.” A great desire seized her to know what was in those letters, but her sense of honor male her hesitate. She had been taught to regard the reading of another’s private letters as despicable meanness, and such was her own opinion, but the temptation was now overpowering. Ter- haps by reading them she could solve the whole mystery, and surely she had a right to know. ““T will read them!” she suddenly exclaimed... ‘‘TIn this case, at least, the end justifies ths means, and I shall wrong no one more than I have been wronged.” This decision arrived at sho was not slow ebont making the investigation. Shewntied tho pact- age and unfolded the first paper, lt was a let- ter, and at the bottom was the signature— ‘“Temple Hathaway.” ‘* Ralph’s father!’ murmured Claudia, in sur- prise. Yes, the letter was so signed, and dated a score and more of years before, and the paper on which it was written was of a bluish tinge and oeculiar surface. No such paper had been on the market since Claudia could remember, but she had seen sheets like if among~tho professor’s old-time papers before then. She had found the letters otherwise than what she had expected, but their attraction was not lessened. Letters from Temple Hathaway to her father, twenty odd years ago! What might they not reveal? ‘“T have a right to know!” murmured the ir]. . They were four in number, and she read the first, She gathered from its contents that Tem- ple Hathaway had been one of a business firm on Leonard street, New York, and it seemed that her father, Archibald Woodside, had made some business proposal to the firm. Just what this was did not appear, but South America was fre- quently referred to, and it seemed that the firm hesitated to adopt the scheme suggested, because it was ‘‘risky.” The serond and third letters were much like the first, and merely indicated the progress of negotiations, though the third indicated that the firm intended to comply with Woodside’s sug- gestions and give him a share of its profits. The fourth and last, dated a week after the third, was more startling and interesting in its nature. It read as follows: ** ARCHIBALD WoopDsIDE:— ‘‘ Your last 1 tter is received and read, It contains some plausible arguments, but they fall on me with- out effect. Now that you have thoroughly shown us your scheme, I decline to take part in it. I cannot answer for my partners, but it is dishonorable, and I will not be a party tosuchascheme. I have told my partners so. As for your thinly-disguised threat, when you say we dare not retreat after going so far, T say we dare and vill. Your proposal is dishonest; 1 will not take part in it. I am ready to overl ok your intemperate language to me, but id you be. ware how you attempt to j/rrce us to cdo your will, Tam ready to believe _youa po ery man in more ways than cne. but I care nothing for that, In- trenched in the stronghold of honor, I defy you! “Temple HATHAWAY.” Claudia completed the letter, but sie sat for a long time staring at it blankly. After all that Professor Woodside had said about Temple Hathaway’s want of honor, this letter came in strangely. It seemed to reverse the case, and she remembered with a strange sinking of her heart that Ralph had intimated that tbe barrier to their union arose, not from what his father had done, but from what had been done to him, “Can it be,” thought the bewildered girl, Deep Duke, the Silent Sleuth. cr CC CC Ct ti ttt i oo } ght | ‘‘that my father was once less than an honcra- ble man#—that he, not Temple Hathaway, was the wrong-doer? W hy else should Ralph refuse to have the past overlooked? But no, no! I will not believe it! I will believe nothing against my kind, noble fatber!” She paused for a moment, then slowly added: ‘Yet these are dangerous, tell-tale papers to hive around. What if some one else should see them? I will not leave them here, for prying eyes to see; I will take them to my room and when I have considered the matter further, wv ill either destroy them, or advise father to do so.” She did take them to her room, and there ccn- cealed them carefully but not so easily did she clear them from her mind. ‘Their purport troubled her, and more than cnce she caught herself wondering if Temple Hathaway had been the guilty man he was represented. If he could have been cleared in ony way ex- cept by throwing blame on her own father, she would have haijed the chance. As it was—she shivered whenever she t2ought cf it. No; she would believe nothing against her father, Late in the afternoon she thought she heard the professor’s voice in the hall, and she stepped out of the back parlor. Yes, there he was, fully dressed—a fact not so surprising, considering how well he had been all day. But he was not alone. Two strangers were there, having evidently forced their way past Jaines, and one now advanced toward her fa- ther. ‘‘ Archibald Wocdside,” he said, in a Joud voice, ‘* I have a correct warrant here, and J ar- rest you in the name of the law!” The speaker was Levi Peters. CHAPTER XXV. THE PROFESSOR’S CASE DARKENS. It was a striking and startling tableau. There was Peters as the principal actor in tho scene, pompous, confident and triumphant—for this time he was armed with a warrant and in- tended to bring Woodside to his feet, anyhow. Ife really did seem to hold a winning hand, and the almost gigantic fellow at his back would not hoan easy man to throw out, if the people of the house were mad enough to scorn the warrant an try their old tactics. Professor Woodside stood staring at him in evident terror. He had felt strong enough until then, but had grown weak—terribly weak. He scarcely managed to keep his feet, and his visible trembling and pallid face would have moved a less bard-hearted man. Not so with Peters. He was smarting under the memory of his past experience in that house and now was the hour of his revenge. What mattered it to a mind as ignoble as bis if the vic- tim was old end gray-headed? The professor was unable to speak, but not so Claudia. She sprung forward and threwher arms about her helpless father. “Sir,” she indignantly cried, ‘‘ what miser- able jest is this? How dare you use such words here?” : ‘6S Dare’ isa big word, my lady,” mocked the private detective, witha swagger, ‘* and it don’t fit wellin your mouth. I care because I have here a warrant for the arrestoft Archibald W ood- side. ‘ ‘Tt is a trick,” began Claudia, but he inter- rupted her brusquely. ** Look at it for yourself!” He spread the document, out, and though she had never seen one like it, its official appearance struck new alarm to her troubled, almost break- ing, heart. ‘* Yon shall not take him from me!” she cried. ‘Who'll prevent?” he coarsely asked. “T will—I, his daughter! He is weak, ill; you shall not take him away. I will defend him with my life, and I pray heaven to giveme strength. He has done no wrong, and he shall not be dragged away. I will go hefore the mayor—the governor—any one—J don't care who; but they can all tell you that Archibald Woodside is too honorable a man to have dene any wrong!” \ t was a noble, if illogical, speech, and hover- . ing tenderly over the miserable old man, who cowered and had no words at his command, she rose to the hight of grand declamation, but Peters laughed unfeelingly. **So were Judas and Cain!” he retorted, “Tell me, if you dare, what charge is against him?’ Claudia vehemently added. “T will, if you say so, but he knows already—” ‘Tell ma the charge!” she imperiously added. “Just as you say. Archibald Woodside is charged with—” ‘‘ You have said enough, Stor!” It was a new,a commanding voice, and it arose from a point directly behind Peters. wheeled like a flash. = ‘* Duke Dorgan !” he almost gasped. . Yes, there was Duke Dorgan, as calm as though no matter of importance was trans- piring, but his gaze met that of the private detective in a strong, steady, ominous wa which made the Jatter recoil and grow alarmed, Somehow, he feared Dorgan as he kad never before feared any man, é Goilm JOOKS (E gts