s

 

was a light in Dick’s eyes that meant business.
His busy brain was at work, and no sooner was
the delegation out of earshot of spies than he
made known his idea to his companions.

“ See here, gentlemen,” he cried. “ VVe’ve got
work before us.” '

“ What is it!” asked the leader of the party.

“ To run down the messenger of the Mahdi,
and take his dispatches from him. The chal—
lenge has been flung in our faces, and we’re
babies if we give it the slide—by. Mustafa has
been sent to stir up old Osman Digna to fight.
Now if we capture them dis atches and knock
Mustafa in the head, or fotc him in prisoner,
it’ll put a heavy spoke in the Mahdi’s wheel. It
mought turn out a fu’st—class job for our side.”

The Arabs listened with interest to this prom-
ising scheme. But their leader, an Egyptian of-
ficer, shook his head. ,

" it is not honorable,” he said. “We have
been fairly treated by the Mahdi. It would be
treacherous to serve him this trick in return.”

“Fairly treated!” repeated Dick, in disdain.
“ thy, the old coon jist snickered in his sleeve
at us. Sent out this Mustafa afore our faces,
and told us what for! Then kicked us out with
a flea in our ears! Mebbe that’s your Egyptian
idea of what’s square, but us Yankees don’t like
that sort of cabbage in our broth.”

“ By the nose of Moses, ye’re right, boy 1”
roared old Bob. “It’s entirely too much pork
fur a shillin’.” .

The ollicer seemed to be struck by Dick’s ar-
gument. He remained in deep thought for seve-
ral minutes before answel‘lllg‘;

“You are right,” he remarked.
been treated with very little respect. But the
project you breach is not a safe one. If we pur-
sue the Mahdi’s messenger and capture his dis-
patches, it will become known, and will break
off all official intercourse between the two par-
ties. VVo are here as ambassadors, and cannot
commit a hostile act.”

“ There are no birds in the desert to carry the
story," cried Dick, impatiently. “ Let me do it.
I'm only a volunteer. Send me off fu’st. You
can foller afterwards. You give Mustafa ten
hours’ start, that will cover your game. Mean-
while I’ll run him down.”

“ You, boy!” The officer looked at him doubt—
fully. ‘* You are no match for this fellow.”

“ Ain’t I? Try me, then. I’ve got Yankee
grit, and that’s as good as Arab spunk.”

“ And I‘m a tar as sails in the same ship l” as-
serted Bob. “ Let me and the lad go together.
I reckon two full—blooded Yanks kin counter—
march on one bloody thief of an Arab.”

“ N o, it will not do,” decided the oflElcer. “ One

“ We have

only can 0, and he must slip out of the town
quietly. will give you the opportunity, boy.
on have your spurs to win. You are good

with the pistol, which makes you the Arab’s
match.”

He considered for a moment more.

“ It will not do to take a camel,” he remarked
at length. “ It must not be known that you are
on a journey. Take my horse. Slip away as if
you are on a ride for exercise. Do not put the
animal to speed until you are outside of the
soldiery. But— Can you ride ?”

“ Like a monkey.”

“ The horse I lend you is worth his weight in
gold. I risk him in the Khedive‘s service. But
if any harm comes to the animal you shall an—
swer for it. Its life is worth two of that of any
man in our ranks.”

Dick suppressed a uiet smile. He valued
himself something big er than the best horse
that was ever foaled in Arabia. But it was not
worth while to buck against the officer’s fancy.

“ All right,” he declared. “ I’m responsible.
If I don’t fetch back the boss, take my skin in
payment. Trot out the animal.”

Such was the conversation that gave rise to
Dick‘s solitary journey. The officer dressed and
armed him in true Arab fashion. and girded
to his side one of the long, straight, double—
edged swords of the Haniran elephant-hunters,
with which they can cut a man in two at the
waist with a single slashing blow, and cut iron
without turning the edge of the keen steel.

\Vith this weapon, and a giraffe-hide shield,
Dick formed a beau ideal of a youthful Arab
warrior, and slipped out of the town and the
surrounding camp without exciting any suspi-
cion as to his object.

It was not until the next morning that the of-
ficial delegation left the town, without a suspi-
cion on the part of the authorities that there
was any diminution in their numbers.

Dick thought all this over as he rode toward
the welcome palms. that were rising higher and
growing clearer with every step toward the pro-

‘mising shade.

Selim gave a neigh of joy, and kept on straight
as an arrow. But Dick suddenly drew on the
reins and checked his headlong speed. The Des-
ert Pearl was not without a visitor! He had
caught sight of a horse beneath the trees, and of
a human form beside the animal. In these days
of war caution was necessary. Arabs were hos-
tileto each other as well as to the Egyptians.
Dick’s disguise might not save him from meet-
ing an enemy.

As he drew near the grove, its former tenant
sprung tothe saddle of his steed and rode out
upon the sands with a long spear couched inrest.
It was an Arab of muscular build.

‘ ‘ W he comes here ?” he shouted in trum t—like
tones. “Are you for the Khedive or or the

‘ Mahdi 3”

“ For the Khedive!” answered Dick, boldly.

“ Then defend yourself. The crystal waters
of the Desert Pearl are not for slaves and trai-
tors !’

The boy’s quick eyes had recognized his antag-
onist at sight. It was Mustafa, the Sholo sheik,
and the man he sought. His breast heaved and
the ardor of combat boiled in his veins.

“ Come on, then,” he cried. “ Life or death
let it be. The desert gives its waters to all alike.
I am a boy and you a man. but I fear you not,
and I defy you to comba -.”

The fierce sheik rode furiously forward, his
long lance couchant. Dick at the same time
had drawn his sword with a quick motion, and
reined up his well-trained steed to meet the
shock. He had practiced with the weapon, and
well knew how to handle it. As Mustafa came
dashing on, the sharp spear pointed straight for
his defiant young enemy’s breast, Dick gave the
intelligent beast a touch with his finger. Selim
sprung aside with a cgiick bound, letting the
spear glide harmlessly y.

At the same instant down came the double-
edged sword with a powerful swing, and the
tough wood of the spear handle was shorn in
two as though it were a blade of grass. The use-
less liead of the weapon fell to the earth.

With afurious yell Mustafa wheeled and rode
back at his foe. As he did so he flung away the
remnant of his spear, and drew his sword. Dick
had just time to lift his own in guard against the
blow. .

The good steel of the two blades clashed with
a ringing sound, while Mustafa’s blow flashed
harmlessly by.

Again and again they cut and parried. Their
breaths came quick and short. The heavy wea-
pons whirled in short circles in the air, and
clanged like hammer on anvil.

The trained horses darted to and fro, at the
least signal from their riders. Hotter battle had
never before occurred beside that desert spring.

But it was soon evident that the Arab was far
more skillful in the use of his weapon than Dick.
And though the boy had plenty of strength, he
lacked the trained muscles of his antagonist.
Only the fact that his horse was the most agile
and better trained of the two saved him from the
keen, slashing blows of his skilled foe.

At length Mustafa got in a cut so close and
well directed that Dick only saved himself b
parrying it with the touch leather of his shiel ‘.
1n the confusion his sword dropped from his
hard. He was unarmed!

With a yell of mocking triumph Mustafa
rushed at him, swinging his blade in flashing cir-
cles around his head. Dick put his horse to his
speed. A hot chase over the desert ensued, the
two Arab steeds rushing forward with wcnder-

ful pace. Dick’s teeth were set, his eyes flash-
ing; the fight was not out of him yet. Mustafa
continued his savage yells as he fiercely pur-

, two swords,

 

 

 

 

 

Buta flying fee is a dangerous one. Dick’s
steed proved the faster racer of the two A
minute or two put a space between the combat-
ants. Then the Yankee boy swerved aside and
checked his pace. The Arab went thundering

by.

At the. same instant a pistol bullet struck the
sword in his hand, near the hilt. with such a
stinging blow that he was forced to let it fall.
It was followed by another bullet that pierced
his turban, close to his ear. Dick now had the
whip hand of the game. Revolver in hand, the
life of his foe was at his mercy, if he chose to
bring him down..

“ Well. old hoss, what do you think of the fun
now 3’” asked Dick, mockingly. “You’ve got
in your work. N ow it’s my turn. Where would

ou sooner have it, in the head or the bread-

asket?"

He leveled the revolver over his arm as he
spoke, and waited with mocking eyes for the
Arab’s reply.

A sudden and marked change came over the
aspect of the latter. His look of ferocity was
replaced by one of Cunning amity.

“ Don’t shoot,” he cried. “ The boy has won
the game. I give in beaten. Let us be friends
and sup togfther by the desert spring. I was
but trying t e courage of my youthful friend.”

“ You had a queer way of showing it, then!”
rejoined Dick. “ There, just you leave that bit
0’ steel alone. I’ll take charge of them weepons.
I’m boss of this yard.”

He sprung from his horse and picked up the
The discomfited Arab ground his
teeth in anger. But the pistol was still in Dick’s
hand. He had to submit,

“ Now, my noble friend,” continued the boy,
“ by all the rules of the game your life belongs
to me. I won’t kill you just yet, though. \Ve’ll
have some grub first. And I want to hold a bit
of a chat with you. How does that suit? You
ain’t got no objection to my puttin’ off killing
you till after supper?”

“None at all,” answered the Arab, showing
his teeth as if he appreciated Dick’s sarcasm.
“ A handful of dates and a cup of cold water
will make us friends, I ho And your horse
has come far. He needs a raught. He is a no-
ble animal of the royal breed.”

His eyes were fixed with ardent admiration on
Dick’s steed, as the trained animal walked up to
his master.

“ All right then. I won’t kill you till after
grub-time. But don’t try no trick, or down goes
your house, instanter !”

A half-hour afterward the two late foes were
seated on the borders of the desert spring, eating
their supper of dried dates, while the two horses,
in as friendly amity, were cropping the grass
that grew richly beside the spring.

“ There, we have eaten salt together.
friends ” remarked Dick.
other this trip.”

“ That is so. We have eaten salt,” answered
Mustafa. -

_ We are
“ Can’t kill one an—

 

CIIAPTER VI.
YANKEE AND ARAB TRY WI'rs.

THE sun sunk low as the two late combatants
continued their conversation by the desert
spring. Ere long it vanished below the horizon,
leaving only a rosy gleam to mark the spot
where it had sunk to rest.

Yet then b the two travelers talked as freely
as if they ad been old friends, it was evident
that all was not as it seemed. There was a half-
disguised uneasiness about Mustafa which prov-
ed that the situation was not quite to his taste.
As for Dick his voice was full of a quiet mock-
ery. He seemed playing with his late antag-
onist.

“ Dates and spring water in the desert are
equal to quail and sherbet in an emperor’s pal-
ace,” said the Arab. “ It is the appetite that
gives flavor to the food." ,

“ That’s sound lo ic,” answered Dick. “ I‘ve
seen the time I coul chaw a bit of sole-leather
and think I was eatin’ fried oysters.”

“ Hunger is the best sauce,” repeated Mustafa,
as he half-reclined upon his elbow. “ And now,
if I may ask, to what tribe does my brave young
friend belong?”

“ To the Shoshones of the valley of the Jor-
dan,” rejoined Dick, with unwinking calmness.

“ Then you are far from your native land of
Syria.”

“ Off on a trip to see the world,” answered the
self-possessed boy. “ I came down here to see
the land of the Soudan, and to meet a celebrated
warrior, whose name is spoken far in the Nort .”

“ Who is that?” asked the Arab. curiously.

“ Mustafa, the Sheik of the Sholos.”

The surprised Arab sprung hastily to an up—
right position, while a flash of anger crossed his
swarthy face.

“ You mock me, boy l” he harshly cried.

“ Not much,” answered Dick, calmly. “ I
have heard your fame, Mustafa. Keep cool. I
will prove what I have said.”

The Arab sunk down again, while a smile of
scorn curled his dark lips.

“ I’roceed,” he said. “ What do you know of
me?’

“ You shall hear. First. Mustafa the Sholo is
now acting as messenger from the Mahdi to Os-
man Digna. He carries to the latter dispatches
commanding him to make battle with the Eng-
lish invaders of the coast.”

The face of the Arab worked with a hundred
emotions as he heard these words. How could
the desert wandering boy know this? He had
ridden straight as an arrow since receiving the
dispatches, and they were now two hundred
miles from the Mahdi’s camp.

“ Has not the desert prophet spoken the truth?”
asked Dick. “ I will prove it to you.”

He rose quickly and approached Mustafa’s
horse. In an instant he had snatched a roll of
papers from the saddle-pocket. Mustafa rushed
hastily forward. -

“ Surrender that! On your life!”

He as quickly fell back as Dick’s pistol stared
him in the face.

“ Keep cool, Mustafa! I’m a little nervous,
and this wee on mought go off. J u squat
d0wn. I’ll ta e care of this till we git ough
with our confab.”

With a muttered im .reeation, the defeated
Arab flung himself on t e sand. He was thor-
oughly at the boy’s mercy, and had the sense to

know it.
“ Go on,” he hoarser said. “ We will settle
this afterward.” .

Dick resumed his seat, and took up the broken
thread of the conversation, in the same tone of
quiet mockery which he had used throughout.

“One year ago Mustafa was, like me, on his
travels. He went north through Egypt to the
great city of Cairo.”

Again the Arab started with surprise.

“ s in desert friend a wizard?”

“ \Vhi e there he met an American traveler, a
man of middle age, with long, white beard and
bright eyes. He guided the American to the

amids. He slept with him in the temple of
arnac. Is it not true?”

“ There is magic in this,” muttered the Arab,
drawing slightly back, as if there was something
uncanny about the boy.

“ I have not told all,” continued Dick. “ I’Vhen
the American awoke his Arab guide was gone.
And gone with him was the jewel—casket of the
traveler, filled with gems of priceless value.”

Mustafa sprung half up in overmastering dis-

may.

“ It is false!” he hoarser cried. “ The Syrian
boy lies!” _

“ I lie, do I?” exclaimed Dick. “ Now, see
here! Don’t you say that ag’in. For if you do,
I’ll salt and pepper it. and ram it down your
throat. I don’t take the lie from no thieving
bound of a Sholo. ’Specially when he carries his
stolen game in art'n round his neck!”

Mustafa clap ed his hand quickly to his throat.
It was as Dick ad said. He wore a necklace of
valuable pearls.

“Now see here, my covey!” continued Dick.
“ If a peaCOck spreads his feathers a fool can see
the color of his tail.
home to him, even in the heart of the desrrt.
Now listen to me. These jewels were in a sm: ll
casket, inlaid with ivory and mother—of—pearl.
Answer. And don’t try any lie on the truth-
seer.

 

A thief’s trick may come ,

  

Mustafa looked at the boy with a rowing
awe. The Superstitions Arab really lieved
there was something supernatural in this in-
formation. The whole affair appeared to him
weird and uncanny. He recalle how he. had
met this Itran e youth alone in the heart of the
desert, and ri g a courser of the royal Arab
breed, and how he, a trained warrior, had been
defeated in battle by a mere lad. The magical
tales of the Arabian Nightsrose to his mind.
Was he in the presence of one of the genii of the
desert? His flesh crept with fear as this thought
gassed through his mind. In the ‘dusk twilight

ick’s form seemed to grow larger, and take on
something of a superhuman aspect.

“ Well, ’exclaimed the b0 , who had no idea
of what was passing in the s eik’s mind. “ Your
answer? That casket had in it, under the jewels
it held a folded parchment, which was written
on with mysterious characters.”

“ You speak the truth,” rejoined the awe-
struck Arab. “ The parchment was there. Were
the characters those of magic?”

“ Yes,” answered Dick, quickly, as he can ht
the meaning of the strange look in Musta a’s
eyes. “ It was lucky for you that you were not
able to read those words, or you would have call-
ed down the spirits of the air, and been swept
off in a raging fire. Even to keep it is deadly.
The American was a magician. If any harm
comes to that paper your days will come to a
horrible end.”

“And what does my noble visitor demand?”

“ That paper,” answered Dick, solemnly. “ Re-
turn the pa r and the jewels are yours. Keep
it, and I W' demand all, and your life into the
bargain.”

A shudder shook Mustafa’s strong frame. Just
then a superstitious fear had robbed the power—
ful Arab of all his stren th.

“ I have it not here,” e said, hoarsely. “ It
is in my bag age, with my tribe, who are a day’s
march ahea of us, seeking the coast.”

“Then hand over that necklace of pearls! I
will keep that as hostage. To-morrow we will
ride after your tribe. then I receive the stolen
parchment, the necklace and the Mahdi’s dis—
patches shall be returned to Mustafa.”

“And why do you ask it?” demanded the
Arab, with some suspicion in his voice.
“ lVbat is the magic document to you? Does it
hide the secret of some buried treasure, to whose
worth these jewels are as dross?”

“ Ask me not,” returned Dick, with a 'great
effort to speak in hollow and deep tones. “ The
American magician has called me up by a pow-
erful spell. He has sent me abroad over the
desert in search of Mustafa the Sholo. I must
send the parchment to him through air and sea.
On your peril retain it not.” .

Dick had com letely got the best of the fears
of the Arab. e drew the necklace of shinin

arls from his throat, and gave it to the shrew

0y.
“ Keep it as hostage,” he said.
word for its return?”

“ You have.”

With a feeling of triumph Dick clutched the
valuable string of gems, and thrust it. with the
Mahdi’s dispatch, into the folds of his hmic.
Anodd smile curled his lips as he did so. To
think that he was taken for one of the magicians
or genii of the Arabian Nights’ Entertainments!
He could hardly help laughing outright in Mus-
tafa’s face.

Yet there was something passing in the Arab’s
mind which Dick could not perceive. He had
no sooner yielded the pearl necklace than a sus-

“I have your

“mum-Immuni-
Bit
@ ©
g

a?

this way soon, it’s all up with Dick Dareall. A
boy 0’ my weight can’t live by chawing grass,
like a horse or a donkey, though I s’pose I’m
donkey enough every other way.”

It was, in fact, a terrible situation. Da 3
might pass ere any traveler came that way. 0
might die of slow starvation. He gazed for
hours desolately cut over the sands in all direc-
tions. Only desert and sky were visible. The
brave heart of the boy sunk within him. To die
the death of a soldier or a hunter he was ready,
but it was hard to perish like a starved dog in
the desert.

“ Why didn’t he kill me and be done with it,
’stead of leavin me to starve?” he sadly mut-
tered. “ If he’ been wise he would, for if I git
out 0’ this scrape I bet you I make him howl,
smart as he is.”

He paused and fixed his eyes on the distant
horizon. Some object had caught the glance of
his keen sight. ,

( To be continued—commenced in No. 125.)

 

LOOKING AFAR.

BY ALDIE D. ROLLSTON.

 

 

Little one, little one. twil ght is falling;
Lilies shine white thro’ the aim, purple gloom;
Our. from the woodland the nighibird is calling
Her mate from the glow of the Amaranth bloom.
Little our, little one, naught in the wildwood
Blossoms so fair to hie—nothing so free
Grows in the meadows or hlomns by the hillside—
Naught in the wide world is fairer than thee!

Would I could keep thee thus far from the shad-
0ws!
Never a teardrop to darken thy eyes.
Clear as the brooklet that dimples the woodland,
Pure as the starbeams that gladden the Skies.
Newer to blossom ard grow with the summers,
Never to slip from my arms with the years,
timer to know aught of bitter refining.
Aught of life’s sorrow and passionate tears!

Ah! but the years will not pause in their fleeting;
Day after day thro’ the purple of spring

The gold ofihe summer and autumn lime tender,
Thy heart from its fullness of gladncss will sing!

Yet there may come to the Hub? one, pretry one—
Out from the mists of the shadowy year——

Pale-tinted blossoms in m mystical dreamland,
Steeped all their sweetness in vain, bitter tears.

Would I could keep thee, my darling, my darling,
White as the lilies and pure as the air
That tints thy soft cheek with the brightness of

summer.
Till lilies and roses blend tenderly there!
i t t t It 1!

Little one, prett one let thy cool fingers

. Steal o‘er my ace with the SWeelnrss of balm
Till all the heart-pain and passionate SOl'l ow
Cease with the touch of thy pulse-beatings calm.

Here in the gloaming, with naught but the star-

beams,
The hux-h of the night and the breath of the flow-
ers.
List to me, darling: the years that are weaving
Soft-tinted blossoms to gluddtn thy hours
Yet ma bring harvasts of sadness and darkness;
Life-dyi'eams are fairest when cherished alone;
Then may the seeds of thy heart’s purest blossoms
Ever in sweetness and silence be Sown!

 

[DiunArizA'rion RIGHTS RESERVED.]

The Jew Detective;

 

picion that he had been played with rose under
the feeling of awe which had held him captive.
He said nothing, however, and even concealed
this doubt. The cunning of the Arab was over-
coming his superstitious fears.

“Guess we’re about ripe for a snooze now,”
remarked Dick. “There’s a still night before
us, and a long ride to-morrow. We must be up
and on the sands soon after midnight, if we
would rest under the noon sun. So good-night,
Mustafa, and leasant dreams.”

Dick stretc ed himself on the sands, with a
slight knoll for a pillow. But not to go to sleep.
He had no intention of that. In his left hand as
he lay he clasped the hilt of his sword, in his
right hand the stock of his pistol. He did not
trust either the faith or the fear of the Arab
and determmed to sleep with one eye open, and
a finger on the trigger.

But, although really wide awake, the shrewd
boy seemed to be asleep. He lay motionless, his
breath coming slow and regular, his form re-
laxed in all the restfulness of slumber. Yet
from a corner of his seemingly closed eyes he
watched the movements of his dangerous com-
panion.

Mustafa seemingly had no thought of playing
the traitor. He rose and paid a moment 5 atten—
tion to his yet grazing horse. Then he walked
beyond the narrow circuit of the grove and cast
a glance upon the sky. The evening prayer of
the Mahometan followed. A few minutes were
thus occupied, then he returned and laid him-
self u n the sand, in the attitude of slumber.

An our passed. Dick was still awake, though
he had made no movement. But Mustafa ap-
peared lost in the arms of unconsciousness. A
mlonged snore at length told of one whom sleep

utterly overcome.

“He is not afeard 0’ me, anyhow,” thought
Dick. “I s’Ipose I want a snooze worse than
him. But won’t trust the ugly dog. I’m
bound to keep awake all night. Don’t want to
wake up in the morning with my throat cut.”

Such was the boy’s fixed resolution. He kept
it by falling fast asleep inside of another hour.
It is one thing to make up your mind. It is an-
other thing to defeat nature. A sleepy youth
like Dick stretched out in the warm silence of ,
the desert, could no more have kept awake all ’
night than he could have whistled down the
moon.

The slow hours of the tropical night slipped on.
Midnight passed, and time moved toward the
morning hour, and still Dick slumbered soundly.
Indeed, it was not until the first rays of the
rising sun invaded the depths of the palm grove,
and fell upon his closed lids, that he awoke with
a yawn.

“ Bless my stars, where am I?” he asked him-
self, as his senses slowly came back. “ Wonder
if I was dreamin’ ’bout havin’ a good time with
the boys of the Bowery? This ain’t much like a
New York park bench. Hillel Mustafa! Where
the ble zes—”

Dick was on his feet in an instant, his eyes now
wide enough open, his heart full of a feeling of
dismay.

“here was Mustafa? Where was his horse?
Where was Selim? Here were the palm trees
and the spring, ,with its bright gushing waters.
Yonder was the desert, with the sun rising over
its eastern border. But Dick was alone, solitary.
deserted. It was as if all his late comrades had
been visions of the night, and had fled before
the rising sun. Mustafa and the horses alike
were gone, and the befooled boy stood deserted
beside the waters of the Desert Pearl.

This was a sweet situation. He hastil ' felt for
the pearl necklace and the Mahdi’s ispatch.
They had vanished. His weapons remained, but
he had clasped them firmly in 'his hand. The
truth was evident. Mustafa had risen in the "
night, slipped his treasures from the pocket of
his unconscious companion, and rode silentl
my, taking Selim, Dick’s noble steed, wit

Any one to have heard Stowaway Dick for the
next five minutes would have known that there :
was the spirit of a New York newsboy under the 3
hide of an Arab. There was no harsh name in
and out of the dictionary which he did not call
himself, of which fool, ape, and idiot were
among the least, while Mustafa came in for some ,
epithets that he'must have felt away off on his
desert 'ourney.

“ If don’t git even with you yet, you copper—
colored son of an Arab monkey, then fry my
brains in butter, and kick me into the middle of
next week!” roared the furious boy. “ You’ve
had your innings. Let’s see if the Yankee boy

THE BEAUTIFUL CONVICT.

BY COLONEL PRENTISS INGRAHAM,

AUTHOR or “MERLE, THE MUTINEER,” “ MONTE
CRISTO AFLOAT,” ETC., ETC.

CHAPTER XXX.
THE PAWNED DLAMONDS.

IVH‘EN Simon, the young pawubroker ran out
after Cora upon her departure with a sad heart
from the shop, he found her walking slowly
along in deep meditation.

She felt that if she could borrow only five hun-
dred dollars on the diamonds, she must draw
upon the money she had at home, and which
was her all, and even then she would not have
enough by a couple of hundred.

She had little more at home to pawn, but
what she had she would bring, and if that was
not enough Frank must then make some sacri-
fice and part with his diamond studs, for she
would have done all that lay in her power.

In this ' ful reverie she was interrupted by
the breat less Simon, who called out:

“Come back, mish, and I gif you some more
monish.”

lVith a glad heart Cora followed the young
figw, and again handed over her diamonds to

 

m.

He glanced at them once more cautiously and,
convinced that he had offered all that was prop-
er under the circumstances, he said:

“ I takes them one minits.”

Then he handed them to Alvan Judah who
stood just inside the office-door, with the re—
mark:

“ Dey vas not wort’ it, sir.”

“ Give that lady the sum she asks for ” was
the whispered but stern rejoinder, and imon
Went back to his post and in a confidential way
said:

“ Vell, mish, since I look at dem over once
more, 1 vas gif you t’e t’ousant tollars.”

“ Oh, sir, from my heart I thank you.”

This burst of gratitude had no effect upon Si-
mon, who took the diamonds, attached a card to
them. and then made out a ticket which he
handed to Cora, along with the money, which
he,thrice carefully counted out, for he was not
one to make mistakes against himself.

“You will be careful with the diamonds, sir,
will you not, for I prize them very dearly.”

“ Oh, yes; I vas alvays careful.”

Taking her mone Cora hastened away, and
glancing at a card s e held in her hand, wended
her steps toward one of the cross-streets at a
point near Broadway.

Ascending the steps of a mansion, she rung
the bell and asked the one who answered it:

“ Is Mr. Fenton in?”

“ Yes, mis,” responded the negro, and he ush-
ered her into a room which at first she mistook
for a parlor, but soon discovered was the gem-
bling-saloon, by the fare, roulette and other
tables that stood about.

Now, in broad daylight it was deserted.

Mr. Fenton soon came in, having just arisen,
and tried hard to penetrate the thick vail that
covered Cora’s face. and which had hidden it
also from Simon’s enetrating glances.

“Mr. Fenton, I elievc?”

“ Yes, madam,” and the gambler bowed in a
courtly way.

“ May I ask if you hold anote signed by Frank
Keene. and due to-morrow ?”

“ I hold two I. O. U.’s, madam, signed by Mr.
Frank Keene, and due to—morrow, and they are
for the sum of five hundred dollars each.”

“ I thank you, sir; and I have come to take
them up.

“ Here is the amount they call for, which I
have brought, as it was not possible for my
brother to come.”

“ I thank you, Miss Keene. and here are the
due-bills, and I trust your brother Will not again
force. his sister to transact such an unpleasant
duty for him,” said the gambler. warmly.

Cora bowed, took the due-bills. and departed,
her heart he py at saving her brother’s honor.

After a ew slight purchases, which were
needed, she returned home, and was handed a
sealed package by her negro maid, wh0, in her
misfortunes, had not deserted her, and now
served as maid-of—all-work.

“ A messenger brought this, Missy Cora.”

“ What is it, Lucy?”

“Dunno, missy, but he says it was intensely
valuable, and I s’pose it is.”

 

don’t get his. I’ve a whopping notion to foller
the bound afoot across the sands. But I’m tied -
here. He’s even carried off my water-bottle, the
bull-nosed imp. I couldn’t carry a drop of wa- '
ter. And I haven’t a day‘s grub left. There’s

 

plenty of drink, but if some traveler don’t slide

Cora threw off her outer clothing, and seating
herself at the little table, broke the seal.

What she beheld caused her to start with
amazement.

“ My pawned diamonds!” she said, in a slow,
trembling voice, as she saw the case returned to

her, with the diamonds intact, which, but a
couple of hours before she had pawncd. -

“ What can it mean?” she murmured.

Then her eyes fell 11 u an official-looking en-
velope, also a part of t eeontents of the package.

Breaking this open she discovered an envelope
addressed to her, and a number of papers that
had a financial look to them.

Og‘cning the letter addrcsed to her she said:

“ his may clear up the mystery."

The handwriting was evidently disguised, and
this fact she quickly noticed.

Half—aloud, slowly, and taking in every word,
she read the letter, which was as follows:

“Will Miss Keene allow me to prove to'her that in
all her trials and deep afihctions she has one friend
who will not desert her, one who, though he must
remain unknown, is watching over her With the care
he might bestow upon a lovin slalor?

“Hoping that she will so fee and believe. and that
she- will keep the secret of this unknown friend‘s in-
terest in her from her brother, 1 will make known to
her that I act only from purest motives in befi ie—nd-
ing her, and in striving to prevent her brother from
going on the road to ruin which he seems so anxious
to take.

" Knowing Miss Kcene’s adversities, and seeln
her enter the pawnbroker’s this morning, I learne
what took her there. and therefore took the liberty
of at once redeeming her jewels. and hereby return
them to her, begging her [0 accept them.

“That she paid the gambling debts of her brother
1 am also aware; but that Frank Keene might act
from fear. if not for self-respect, honor. and the love
he should ban: for so noble a sister, I demanded of
him a pledge not to enter another gambling-saloon
in this city. or to gamble privately, or drink.

“I forced this pledge from him last night through
the papers within. which tell their own story.

“ I am sorry that they tell of a brother‘s shame to
a sister, one so pure and devoted as you have been:
but they are papers which Were to be held (as you
see by a letter within written to the former holder
or them by a confederate in villainy) over your bro-

 

ther‘s head and thus used were to force from him,
your father and yourself, a large sum to get pcsses-
sion of them.

“ As] Understand the private memoranda within,
the notes and checks inelosed were forged by your
brother and taken up before they reached the eyes
of those whose names were thereon forged.

“ The pa: ty taking them up did not do so to save
your 1m ither. but to get possession of these papers
to use against him, and thereby force money from
him Wnen the proper time came to do so.

"This man I know only as ‘D 1.23. but he has a
COIlfk aerate in guilt, whom the memoranda speaks
of as having been one Macy Belden. and who was an
escaped convict, killed by your own hand in the
roadway near your father’s farm up the country

“ This same memoranda, which takes almost the
form of a diary, came into my posseSsion. it mat-
ters not how, and no other eye has seen these tell-
tale papers.

“ Knowing their power for good, if properly used,
Iforced the plecge of reform from your brother,
by telling him that they were in my possession, and
should be brought out against him if he failed in his
promiSe.

“ Now. as l have no idea, nor ever had, of using
them against him, I send them to you. that you
may destroy them, for they are of too dangerous
a character to have about, as they tell their own
story.

" Still, after readingthcm and destroying them, it
would be as well to let your brother know that you
are aware of their existence. and will confront him
should his Conduct demand it.

“In conclusion let me. say that if your brother
will report to the firm of Calhoun. Clinton (9: Com‘

any, of Broadway. be will find a situation open to

im m tln-ir office, which will certainly pay house-
hold cxpenses, if [20 more.

" Now with every wish for your happiness, let me
sign myself your stnown FRIEND.”
Thrice did Cora Keene read ‘this letter over,
and then she turned to the telltale papers of her
brother’s sin.

These she put into the fire and watched them
burn to ashes with an expression of delight up-

 

on her face.

Then she looked again at her diamonds, and
turning once more to the letter, said with deep
feeling:

“ Disguise his hand as he may, I recognize the
same writing that was in the letter inclosing me
the five-hundred-dollar draft.

“ Yes. and the undertaker described the one
who paid that bill, and I know that my unknown
friend is none other than Judah the Jew, and

find him Iwill J” -

CHAPTER XXXI.
THE Two LETTERS.

THE coil of circumstances, that was gathering
around Frank Keene, day by day, convmced him
that, nolens rolens, he had to mend his we 5.

Since he was fifteen years of age he ha had
his way, and he certainly looked then as much
the man as most youths of twenty.

His manners. when he wished them to he,
were elegant and dignified. and at all times he
was reserved, so, in spite of the striking likeness
between himself and sister, and their being
twins, ’most every one deemed him several years
her senior. -

Although he could turn out a very respectable
beard, he had no ambition or vanity that way,
and wore his face beardless, though Cora joked
him often for so doing, by telling him it was be-
cause his djmpled chin and handsome mouth,
girlish in expression, were so much admired.

His hair was red-gold in hue, curling, and in
fact he was a very handsome youth, and would
have been greatly admired but for his evil
course, which caused him to run recklessly into
debt. gamble, and commit all kinds of sins to
extricate himself from the dangerous positions
into which he plunged without thought of the
consequences.

When he found himself brought up with a
round turn by the old Jew, after leaving Fen-
ton‘s gambling-rooms, and then refused the dia-
monds to pawn, and to be allowed to pay his
debt, by his sister, he felt that he must turn over
a new leaf.

Cora certainly had nothing more to pawn for
his reckless dissipation, and, with forged papers
hanging over his head. and the knowled e that

he was watched, he determined to put t e best
face possible upon the matter, and pretend a
reformation he did not feel in his heart.

“'ith this intention, however, he came home
to dinner in good time, appeared cheerful, and
said:

“ Sis, I have hope of getting work.

This was the same old story, and Cora was
confident that Frank had no better prospects
than before. so said:

“ Frank. if you will go down in the morning
to the firm of Messrs. Calhoun, Clinton & Co.,
on Broadway, you will find employment.”

“ Indeed! How do you know this, sis?”

“Some one that knew you needed a place,
sent word here for you to go there.”

“ Guess it was a hoax. sis.”

“ You can at least go and see.”

“ I will do so to—morrow some time.”

“ No. go at once after breakfast.”

“Well. to please you, I will, but I have no
hope that it will turn out anything.”

“I have,” was Cora’s quiet reply, and then
she continued: V“!

“ Frank, I pawned the diamonds to-day that
mother left me."

“ “’ell?”

“ I was offered a low sum at first, but the man
saw that I evidently needed money very much,
so gave the price I asked.”

“ HOW much?”

“ One thousand dollars.”

“ IVhy did you not strike him for more ?”

“ Because I wished no more, for I have some

 

money, as ou know, in the house, and with
what I got paid your debt of one thousand.”
“ Ha! ou saw Fenton?”

“ Yes, went to his house, asked for him, and
when he came in, told him as it was impossible
for you to come, I did so.

“ Here are your notes.”

“ Did he say anything to: you?” nervously
asked Frank.

“ Yes, he said that he hoped my brother would
not place me in a likb painful position again.”

Frank muttered something that was inaudible,
and Cora continued: "" ‘ l

“ Now, Frank, you will et a situation with
Calhoun, Clinton 8.: Co., am certain, and I
shall paint pictures for a living, so that'we can
get along nicely.

“ I sent two of my paintings to the art rooms
yesterday, and hope they will bring me some-
thing, for I know that they are not bad, and the
celebrated artist, you remember, who stopped

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

  

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