CHAPTER LVIII.

"Once all was sunshine and brightness,Life had no sorrow or care;Love filled my soul with its brightness,As flowers perfume the air.Where now is Pleasure, the beauty?Where now is Hope's cheering beam?Where are those friends once all duty?All vanished, all gone, like a dream!"

We must follow the fortunes of Geraldine after being placed in the sleigh by her cowardly abductor.

Tucking the sleeping girl warmly under the heavy robes, he took the reins from the man he had employed to hold them, and drove off at a spanking pace for his destination, the old country-house of which Miss Erroll had told the detective.

As the night was propitious to his purpose, and the road remarkably fine, he reached the place in a short while, and without any misadventure.

The old woman, Jane Crabtree, in expectation of his coming, had muzzled the savage bull-dog, and came down the lane to the gate to meet him, as they had agreed upon.

The woman was a giant in stature, as the detective had said, and looked strong enough to floor John L. Sullivan with one hand.

In the light of the bull's-eye lantern that Standish flared into her eyes, her coarse face, with its straggling black locks blown about by the swirling snow, looked capable of committing any evil deed.

He dropped some twenty-dollar gold pieces into her hand, gave her some instructions, and drove his team toward the city. A few hours later he boarded a train for Cincinnati at daylight, and remained away five days, in order to throw the searchers for Geraldine off guard.

But as we have seen, the forged note, representing that she had gone of her own free will to marry her betrothed, had effectually prevented any hue and cry over Geraldine's disappearance.

So the villainous abductor had it all his own way, andfor two long weeks, until Hawthorne's return, he was free to come and go as he chose in the prosecution of his designs against the poor girl.

As for the poor victim, who can judge of her surprise and terror on awaking the next morning from her drugged sleep, in a strange room, and guarded by an old giant of a woman, with the most villainous face she had ever beheld.

The night before she had fallen asleep in her own lovely, luxurious room, and the last sight her eyes had rested on was the handsome, smiling face of Miss Erroll, the governess.

But her sleep had been haunted by terrible nightmare dreams, and when she waked at last in that shabby room in the presence of her horrible old jailer, she thought that she was dreaming still.

Recoiling from the woman, she threw out her arms, groaning helplessly:

"Oh, those dreadful nightmare dreams! How they haunt me! Will not some one wake me, please? Martha, where are you? Come to me at once. Oh, Cissy! oh, mamma!"

Old Jane Crabtree came and stood over her scowlingly, snapping out:

"You an't dreamin', gal; you is wide awake!"

But it took her some little time to assure her captive that this was not a continuation of her terrible nightmare dreams.

When she at last convinced her that this was an awful reality, and boldly told her that Clifford Standish had brought her here in a drugged sleep, the terrible truth rushed over her mind.

"That wine Miss Erroll gave me was drugged! She was in the plot!" she cried, wildly.

The hag nodded sullenly, and Geraldine continued, passionately:

"He will never get my consent to marry him, never!"

And then she fell to pleading with the old woman for her liberty, promising to make her rich if she would only restore her to her friends.

But Jane Crabtree laughed her to scorn, sneering at the idea of Geraldine being able to reward her for her liberty.

Standish had cleverly prepared her for all that the girl might threaten or promise, by telling her not to listen to anything, as the girl was only a poor salesgirl from Siegel & Cooper's, on a salary of three dollars a week.

So the old witch grunted scornfully at her pleadings, threats, and promises, and presently went out, locking thedoor after her until she returned with a coarse breakfast of badly served food, from which the girl turned with loathing.

While she was absent, Geraldine rose and looked from the window to see if there was any chance of escape.

What she saw made her turn shudderingly back to the bright coal-fire, the only cheerful object in the poor room.

The window was very small, and the grimy panes were guarded by heavy iron bars.

Beyond these bars Geraldine saw a level stretch of country covered with a mantle of snow. A wild snow-storm was raging, and the wind drove against the shutters with terrible violence, banging them to and fro until the old house shook in the terrible gale.

She realized that she was in a farm-house, far removed from any other habitation, and that if she could have walked out of the house at that moment she must have perished in the deep drifts of snow while struggling to escape.

That terrible first day passed in alternate weeping and praying. Standish did not make his appearance, and Jane Crabtree remained down stairs, attending to her household tasks, except when she came up to replenish the fire and minister to the wants of her captive.

That first day Geraldine ate nothing. At night she sobbed herself to sleep.

The next day hunger drove her to partake of a little of the coarse food.

For three days the monotonous blizzard raged, and the snow grew deeper and deeper. Geraldine felt as if she should go mad.

She wondered despairingly if she should ever get free from the power of her cruel jailer, or if she should die here, as old Jane had boldly threatened.

The woman had become very impatient over Geraldine's continued weeping, and one day she said, roughly:

"You might as well hush that snivelin' an' make your mind up ter marry that man, for if you don't he'll kill you!"

"Kill me! He dare not!"

"He'll dare anything, and if he don't, I will. Sho! I don't mind killin' anybody. I beat a poor-house chile to death last year, and only three months ago I p'isened my husband with arsenic. An' that isn't all I done, neither, for——" She paused in the recital of her crimes, for thelistener had dropped limply in a swoon, overcome by the horror of the story.

Oh, the weary days, and the terror-haunted nights! How did the poor captive drag through them? The wonder to her ever afterward was that she did not go mad.

At last Clifford Standish came.

It was a full week since he had brought her there and the storm had somewhat abated in violence, but the snow still lay deep upon the ground, and the wailing of the winter wind was like the knell of hope in her ears.

The door opened, and her cowardly abductor stood within the room, gazing at his cruel work.

Pretty Geraldine had wept till her brown eyes were dim and heavy, with purple shadows beneath them, and her cheeks all wan and sunken. She had not taken the trouble to exchange her blanket wrapper for the cloth gown Miss Erroll had put in the hand-bag. She had not given a thought to her appearance.

But even her disheveled locks and haggard looks could not quench the fire of passion in the villain's heart. He looked at her gloatingly, exclaiming:

"Good-morning, pretty Geraldine. I suppose that after your week with Jane Crabtree, you are glad to see even me!"

SENTENCE OF DEATH.

"Alas, a wicked man am I;With temper fierce, too prone to strife,And quick to wrath, my hands I plyTo evil deeds."

Benjamin Hathaway.

Geraldine gave the smooth villain a glance of measureless contempt as she answered, bitterly:

"The sight of his satanic majesty would be more welcome than you, Clifford Standish!"

"Still defiant!" he laughed, mockingly. "Why, I thought that a week of Mrs. Crabtree's society would bring you to your senses!"

"Say rather would cause me to lose my senses!" she retorted, bitterly, and there was a moment's silence, which he broke by saying, impatiently:

"I will come to the purpose of my visit, Geraldine, I wish to marry you."

"So you have told me before," disdainfully.

"Well, I tell you so again, and I am fully determined that you shall become my wife!"

"You have a wife already, you villain!"

"She died in New York recently, and I am free to offer you my hand in honorable marriage. Will you accept it, Geraldine?"

"Never! I would die before I would marry you!"

"It is the alternative you must accept unless you become my bride!"

The steel-blue glitter of his eyes was diabolical as he fixed them upon her, and continued:

"Of course you understand that I have run a great risk in bringing you here, and made myself liable to the law for kidnaping—that is, unless you marry me, and give the affair the color of an elopement."

He paused, but she did not speak, so he went on:

"No search is being made for you by your friends, for a note was left in your room, stating that you had fled to marry your lover, Harry Hawthorne. Your mother believes that statement, and so there is not the least suspicion that I carried you off."

"You fiend!" she cried; then added: "But Harry Hawthorne will search for me!"

"Harry Hawthorne gave up the search for you weeks ago, and sailed for Europe."

"It is false!"

"It is perfectly true. Why he went, I know not, but I have read in a New York paper of his going. Believe me or not, as you will, my charmer, but you are entirely in my power, without hope of rescue, and I am desperate with love for you. I will not permit rivalry from any living man. Either my bride you shall be, or the bride of Death!"

She sat listening and shuddering before the terrible decision of his words, and the blue fire of his determined eyes. She felt that neither prayers nor tears would move him. He was mad with love, stubborn with a sense of power.

Changing his mood, he began to pour out in burning words all the mighty strength of his passion, pleading, raving, imploring her kindness in return.

He might as well have prayed to a statue, so changeless was the scorn of her silent lips.

He asked her, almost frantically:

"Do you understand that unless you marry me there is no appeal from the sentence of death?"

"Yes, I understand; but I consider death preferable to a union with you."

Angered by the scorn of her words, he retorted:

"It will be a cruel death, I warn you, at the hands of old Jane Crabtree and your body will not even have Christian burial. It will be flung into an old disused well on the premises, and the secret of your fate will never be known."

"Be it so. At least, you cannot murder my soul. It will return to the God who gave it," she replied, dauntlessly bravely, determined that he should not have the satisfaction of seeing her wince before his threats.

He rose, with a baffled air, exclaiming:

"I shall not consider this answer final. I shall give you one more week in which to decide your fate."

Geraldine's heart leaped with joy. Another week's respite! And who could tell what might happen in that time? She had been praying, praying, praying all the while. Perhaps God would save her from her enemy's wiles.

Smiling grimly, Clifford Standish continued:

"I shall leave old Jane to plead my cause with you, and I believe that she will prove a powerful advocate. So sure am I of her ultimate success, that in a week I shall return, bringing with me a justice of the peace, empowered with authority to join us in matrimonial bonds. If you refuse, I shall go away, leaving you in the hands of old Jane, to be tortured to death and buried in the old well!"

Not a word came from the white lips of the girl, but the scorn of her eyes was fiery enough to make him hurry from her presence with a stifled oath.

She saw him leave with a great strangling sob of relief, and murmured:

"Thank Heaven, he will not come again for a week. Something will surely happen in all that time."

But she did not know yet all the horrors that week held in store for her, or why Clifford Standish had smiled so grimly, when he spoke of old Jane's advocacy of his suit.

They had planned a desperate expedient.

Each day the cruel woman presented herself with the harsh question:

"Will you marry Clifford Standish?"

Geraldine always answered "Never!" and each time theold woman flew at her in a fury, and administered a severe beating.

"He told me to do it," she would exclaim, angrily.

The prints of her cruel hands would be left on Geraldine's tender face in crimson streaks; her arms and shoulders bore purple bruises on their whiteness, but though each day brought a more severe chastisement than the last, Geraldine's answer was still the same:

"Never! Never!"

Her daily portions of food grew less in quantity, and more inferior in quality, so that only the severest pangs of hunger forced her to swallow the coarse mess. But for the hope of rescue, she would have left it untouched, and starved herself.

The old fiend began also to neglect the fire, so that the freezing winter winds, as they swept across the snow-covered prairie land, penetrated the cracks of the old frame house and chilled poor Geraldine until her fair face looked blue and pinched from the cold.

"I shall beat, and starve, and freeze you into consent!" snarled wicked old Jane, in a rage at the girl's stubbornness.

"You may kill my body, but you cannot bend my will!" answered the resolute victim.

But from weakness of the body her hopefulness began to fail. She cried out that God had forgotten her; she ceased to pray for rescue; she asked only that death would come quickly.

But the slow days and nights dragged on till the week was at an end, and still the strength of youth kept life in her sore and aching frame.

Late that afternoon old Jane came up stairs.

"He is coming. I see the sleigh off in the distance now. He will bring the justice to marry you to him!" she snarled.

Geraldine did not answer; she had already been beaten and kicked that day so that she was barely able to rise from the chair where she was crouching.

The woman continued, threateningly:

"If you do not marry him, he will leave you here for me to kill. Do you know how I shall do it?"

"No."

"I shall turn the dog on you. He has been kept without food two days, to make him savage. He would tear a stranger to pieces. He has never seen you, so when I 'sic' him on you, he will spring at your throat and make mincemeatof you. While you are still warm and bleeding, I shall throw your body into the old well!"

It was horrible to listen to her, but Geraldine only trembled and hid her face. Two weeks of misery had inured her to such brutality.

"I must go now and chain up Towser, so they can get in," added the old wretch, going down, after locking the door as usual, to receive her guests.

They came in, Standish and the justice of the peace he had bribed to accompany him—a villain, if ever a man's face spoke truly, who would stop at nothing if tempted by gold.

The actor whispered to Jane Crabtree, nervously:

"Has she consented?"

"No—although I've half-killed her tryin' to break her will."

Curses, low and deep, breathed over his lips; then he said:

"Well, we won't go up stairs to see her yet. We're half-frozen with this beastly cold, anyway, so we'll thaw out over the fire and a bottle of wine."

WEDDED TO HER CHOICE.

"'Oh, darling', she said, and the whispered wordsIn a dreamy cadence fall,'Can I help but choose thee who art the bestAnd the noblest among them all * * *And since in thine eyes I shyly readThat thy thoughts hold a place for me—I bring thee a love, and a heart, and a life,And consecrate all to thee!'"

They drew up their chairs to the glowing kitchen fire, smoked, drank, and even played a game of cards, for now that the final moment had arrived, the villain's nerve began to fail him, and he began to realize his crime in all its enormity.

And while he lingered there, dreading the consummation of the crowning act of his villainy, along the road he had traveled another sleigh was speeding toward the farm—a double sleigh—and in it were seated Harry Hawthorne,Detective Norris, and two stalwart policemen detailed on special duty for this occasion.

Fast flew the gallant horses under the gently urging hand of the driver, until they were in sight, then Norris exclaimed:

"There's the old house now. And, see!—a sleigh at the gate! Perhaps Standish is there now, the villain! We will be extremely lucky if we catch him on the spot!"

At the same moment, Standish tossed off a bumper of wine, exclaiming:

"Here's to the bride, the beautiful heiress! Come, let's get the ceremony over!"

The three conspirators filed up stairs and into the room where Geraldine, more dead than alive, crouched in her chair in terror of their coming.

Standish, whose spirits were much elated by generous potations of wine, crossed over to her, crying, gayly:

"Give us a kiss, pretty one! I've come to marry you at last! Here's the preacher—justice, I mean. He can tie the knot just as well. Hello, Jane! if you're the bridesmaid, get her up on her feet by my side, will you?"

The justice planted himself in readiness to perform the ceremony, but Geraldine would not permit any one to drag her up from her seat.

She fought off their hands with a wonderful strength, born of desperation, and shriek after shriek, loud, agonized, ear-piercing, burst from her pale lips.

Perhaps it was the sound of those defiant shrieks that drowned the sound of bells as the second sleigh dashed up to the gate, and the men tumbled out pell-mell into the lane.

But the winter wind bore to their ears the sound of Geraldine's awful cries, and their feet seemed winged, as, headed by Hawthorne, they rushed up the lane and threw themselves altogether against the locked door.

It yielded and fell in with their united weight, tumbling all together upon the kitchen floor.

But each sprang to his feet and followed the sound of those frantic shrieks up a rickety stair-way to another locked door.

"Now all together again, lads—push!" shouted Hawthorne, and under the strong onslaught the second door yielded, the lock fell off, and they were on the scene of action.

And, oh, what a scene!

Clifford Standish and the old woman had dragged Geraldinefrom her chair, despite her desperate shrieks and struggles, and were holding her up between them, while the half-drunken justice mumbled over the words of the marriage service.

The conspirators, thus taken by surprise, dropped their victim and turned to fly, but the clubs of the agile policemen quickly strewed the floor with three groaning wretches.

As for Hawthorne, he thought only of Geraldine. She flew to him, and he clasped her in his arms, crying:

"Oh, my love, my love! I have come to save you!"

It was a tender meeting, but its pathos was quite lost on Norris and the policemen, who were busy putting handcuffs on the three prisoners, whose dose of clubs had reduced them to a dazed condition that made them easy to conquer.

The surprise had been a complete one, and extremely successful—so much so that all three of the conspirators were taken away as prisoners by the jubilant Norris and the two policemen.

And, to dispose of the subject at once, we may add that all three were committed to jail, had a speedy trial, and were convicted of kidnaping and conspiracy. An indignant judge and jury awarded them the severest sentence under the law, and they were sent to prison for a long term of years during which their energies were expended in labor for the State of Illinois.

It would be too great a task to describe the joy of the Fitzgerald household that evening when Harry Hawthorne restored Geraldine to her home, or their grief and indignation when they learned the terrible persecutions she had suffered.

Mrs. Fitzgerald's gratitude to Harry Hawthorne was boundless.

She scarcely remembered the existence of the English nobleman, whose title she had so ardently desired for Geraldine.

She realized how true was Hawthorne's affection when she saw him weep the bitterest tears over the cruel bruises that for several days empurpled the poor girl's face and hands—marks of the brutal blows she had been given by Jane Crabtree while trying to force her consent to marry Clifford Standish.

"He loves her with the devotion of a noble heart, and I will not stand between them, even though he is only apoor fireman. Besides, he really saved her life from those murderous wretches, and it belongs to him," she thought, generously.

So, when he came to her a few days later, asking her for the second time for her approval of his suit for Geraldine's hand, she accepted him with pleasure for her son-in-law.

And then she said, with a smile:

"But I hope you will not carry my dear girl away from me when you are married. This house is large enough for us all."

Thinking that he was poor, she wished to make the future as easy for him as possible.

But Hawthorne answered:

"I thank you for your generosity, but I have a home in England, and a widowed mother awaiting me."

"I do not understand," she said, wonderingly.

Just then Geraldine and Cissy came in, with the two children, who were enjoying the freedom of having no governess at present.

Mrs. Fitzgerald called Geraldine to her side, kissed her beautiful brow, and said:

"I have just given you away, my darling, to your worthy lover."

Geraldine blushed deeply, as Hawthorne drew her to his side and said:

"Dearest, I have just been telling your dear mother that our home must be in England when we are married. Indeed, I have a letter of introduction from my own mother to yours, which I must now deliver."

He bowed gracefully to Mrs. Fitzgerald, who opened the letter with a mystified air.

Directly she looked up, exclaiming:

"But this is very puzzling. The letter is from my English cousin, Lady Putnam, to introduce her son, Lord Leland Harry Putnam."

"I am he, Mrs. Fitzgerald," the young man said, with another low bow, but it took many minutes of explanation to convince her of the truth, and then she said, beamingly:

"But why did you deceive us?"

"Can you not guess? I wished to test Geraldine's love, and to win your regard as simple Harry Hawthorne, the poor fireman. I have succeeded, and now I am perfectly happy."

So were they all, if their radiant faces were an index oftheir feelings, and Lord Putnam made Geraldine blush very brightly when he added:

"My mother and sister told me to tell you that they will come to America to our wedding, and they hope it will be soon, as Amy especially is anxious to see this country."

When he brought Ralph Washburn and Leroy Hill to call the next day, they sounded the praises of beautiful Lady Amy so persistently that Geraldine was in love with her new sister before she ever saw her, and she wondered which one of the handsome young lovers would win the charming beauty.

She persuaded Cissy to be married on the same day as herself and Cameron Clemens, although very impatient for the marriage, consented to the postponement to please the two fair brides.

"Won't it be just too lovely to be married on the same day, Cissy, and cross the ocean together on our bridal tour and spend our honeymoons at Castle Raneleigh? We must write and tell the Stansburys and Odells, and send them invitations," cried pretty Geraldine, who was so happy in her love that she wanted all her old friends to rejoice with her when she was wedded to her heart's dear choice.

The happy day is set for June, dear reader, and I am invited to the double wedding.

(THE END.)

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A DAUGHTER OF MARYLANDis No. 68 of "Clover Series," for sale by all Booksellers and Newsdealers, or sent, post-paid, to any address, on receipt of price, 25 cents, by the publishers,

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By FREDERICK R. BURTON.

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"Frederick R. Burton has supplied us with a cleverly constructed and interesting story in 'The Mission of Poubalov.' ... In regard to Mr. Burton's Russian police agent, we hasten to say that he has commended himself to us as both reasonable and interesting. As we remember, he does not once put himself to the conventional trouble of assuming a disguise, and yet he gets on remarkably well. Just as curiously, his business in New York is not to administer the vengeance of the Czar, but to do a kindly and charitable deed. The ordinary reader will be at no pains to discover and appreciate certain plain points about this story. It is a story with a plot, and the narrative is conscientiously and cleverly accomplished. Mr. Burton understands perfectly that very valuable principle of the storyteller's art whereby the curiosity of the reader is quickly aroused, duly maintained, and finally gratified. His police agent is a vigorous figure, and his heroine enjoys the distinction of being able to face some other aspect than that of lachrymose despair. She is an excellent heroine, a good talker and a sensible, clever person, and we cordially congratulate Mr. Burton upon her presence in his book. So we do congratulate him upon a generally capable and interesting story."

From THE BOSTON HERALD.

"The style of the story is not unlike that of the 'Mr. Barnes of New York' series, and the handling of mystery very nearly approaches Anna Katharine Green's dexterity.

Ingenious in plot, exciting in incident, and sensational enough even for warm summer afternoons, the volume teems with interest. The characters stand boldly forward in a drama that moves breathlessly along without a break to mar its smoothness, or to interrupt the clews relating to the sudden disappearance of a lover upon his wedding day, within an hour of the ceremony. Aside from this, the story is a singular instance of the constancy and faith of a woman who is worth loving. She spends her energy in trying to discover her lover, not in tears over his apparent desertion. Real power in a detective story is shown in keeping the mystery veiled until the end, and this Mr. Burton has done."

From THE CHICAGO DAILY NEWS.

"His story is of the sensational style—sensational in a clean and wholesome way—and proves the author has surmounted the first difficulties which usually attack the man who attempts to write a 'detective story.' There are no hitches or flagging of interest in spots, the plot is coherent and sufficiently intricate to cause a reader to sit up late to finish the tale, and the finale—that bunker at which ignominiously tumble most sensational writers—is logical and not to be quarreled with. Nothing puts a reader in such bad humor with his author as to be let down flat after an exciting chase. Mr. Burton sends one off on a sky rocket, perfectly satisfied.

Poubalov, who in the title arouses recollections of Gilbert Parker's or Mary Hartwell Catherwood's field of work, is that melodramatic character, a polished, impregnable, invincible, all-powerful, diabolical, Russian secret-service official.... Mr. Burton, if he improves, will rank with the best writers of exciting tales."

From THE YONKERS STATESMAN.

"One of the most readable and entertaining novels that we have read in some time is 'The Mission of Poubalov,' by Frederick R. Burton.... Mr. Burton seems rapidly to be making a name for himself in the literary world as a story-writer of much more than the average ability, and in this book he has constructed a plot which so fascinates the reader that one is loath to drop the volume until he has reached the page that bears 'The End;' then comes the feeling of satisfaction that he has read a good story, well told, abounding in interest, full of life and action, and having not a few startling surprises."

From THE ST. LOUIS STAR.

"This is a story of intricate plot and incessant action. It is safe to say that one who reads the first chapter will read the second, and from that to the third, and so to the end of the book will be a progression on the part of the reader that cannot well be avoided. The interest never flags. Poubalov himself is a powerful and fascinating character study; Miss Hillman is hardly less so, though necessarily the American girl is not so picturesque as the Russian spy; and the tragic force with which the weakness of the unhappy little tailor, Litizki, is set forth, adds immensely to the grip this story takes upon the reader's sympathies."

From THE SOMERVILLE CITIZEN, Somerville, Mass.

"Sensational reading is not always smooth reading and graceful writing is seldom sensational; but when a story is not only sensational, but strong in treatment and at the same time graceful in style, the reader derives rare pleasure from it and the author scores an unusual success. 'The Mission of Poubalov' is by Frederick R. Burton. It appeals particularly to the Bostonian, as the account is laid in that city. It is the superior of any popular novel treating of Boston society we have yet seen. It is a detective story without a detective, a love story without sentiment, yet teeming with subtlety and romance. The great majority of readers will try to finish the book at a sitting."

From THE BOSTON DAILY GLOBE.

"Next to an east wind when the mercury is dallying with the main truck, the most refreshing thing is a well-written, cunningly constructed fiction, a tale that makes friends with whoever picks it up. Such stories, to be sure, are rare, but once in a while, as with incoming waves, one will appear that looms high above its flat-chested mates, and, like the high roller, there is generally something to it. In 'The Mission of Poubalov,' Mr. Frederick R. Burton, who, while engaged in newspaper work, had an opportunity to study in real life characters necessary for the building up of an engaging fiction, has written a capital story of love, intrigue and adventure that grips the attention like a vise. It is an American story with a Russian flavor. The scene is Boston, and Mr. Burton plays his characters around the West and South ends of the city with the skill of a master at chess. The central figure, a Russian political exile, is introduced in his West end lodgings in preparation for his wedding, and very early in the book all the characters are moving briskly. An agent of the czar, who is by no means as bad as his countrymen have sketched him, plays a most intricate and interesting role. His real motive is deftly concealed from the reader until the lost bridegroom, who disappears in the first chapter, is found. Mr. Burton's heroine is a brave, determined, never-say-die young woman whose faith in her lover could not be shaken. She plays the part of detective in her own way which, coupled with the efforts of the apparent villain who was really trying to help her, heightens the interest of this very excellent story."

For sale by all booksellers and newsdealers, or sent, postage paid, on receipt of price, by the publishers,

STREET & SMITH, New York.

By the celebrated author of "As In a Looking Glass,"F. C. PHILIPS.

No male author of the present day has shown such a keen and sympathetic appreciation of that wonderful mystery, a woman's heart, as F. C. Philips. Indeed, the question has often been asked whether this name is not merely a veil concealing the identity of a clever woman.

Printed on fine paper and bound in illuminated cover.

Price, - - 25 Cents.

The heroine of this tale is undoubtedly one of the strongest creations in fiction. Her adventures in the gaming-halls of Monte Carlo, her subsequent connection with the mystery of a murder committed in a railway carriage and the solution of the same, combine to make a narrative of startling intensity.

Bound uniform with the above, with handsome pictured cover.

Price, - - 25 Cents.

An admirable portrait of certain phases of English high life. The book reads from cover to cover with crispness and sincerity. It is one of those stories whose close we regret ever to have reached.

Bound uniform with the above, adorned with a handsome pictured cover.

Price, - - 25 Cents.

The charming autobiographical form of this story has much in common with the author's first success, "As In a Looking Glass." But one follows the career of Little Mrs. Murray with much greater avidity because she is an eminently attractive character. Her brief term on the stage might serve as a lesson for those who think life on the boards is as bright as the glow of footlights; and later, her remarkable experience as matron in a mad house brings about a sudden and quite unlooked fordenouement.

Any or all of the above volumes can be procured from the booksellers and newsdealers, or will be sent, postage paid, on receipt of price, by the publishers,

STREET & SMITH,New York.

BY NEIL BURGESS.

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