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i

A Transferred Identity.

By EDITH SESSIONS TUPPEB.

Copyright, IMS, by American Press

NORTH PLATTE, NEBRASKA WEDNESDAY, NOVEMBER 29, 1893.

CHAPTER X.MAURICE.

. The morning dawned cheerless andgloomy. A storm was setting in. Thedull gray clouds weighed upon the hori-

zon even as my dreadful discovery op-

pressed my heart.Lifo seemed intolerable. As I sat at

breakfast and studied Portia's face thefaco of a murderer it was at timeswith difficulty that I kept from scream-ing aloud. I did not allow Daphne tago out of my sight, but kept her withme, amusing her iu every possible waywith toys and story books.

I was conscious, too, that Portia waswatching "me. She evidently possessedhalf defined suspicions;f or once she askedmo in a careless manner, which was pal-

pably assumed, whotfier I had heardany unusual sounds about the house thenight before. I said "no" and in returnasked the reason of her inquiry. Shoreplied she had slept lightly and wouldhave said that once sho. heard the halldoor shut.

"She is sounding me," I reflected andforthwith grew as cunning as my inter-locutor.

"No," I said indifferently. "I heardnothing."

It was nearly noon when a carnagedashed up to the piazza, and a tall, fash-

ionably dressed man alighted, lookedabout "with some curiosity, paid thedriver and then ran lightly up the frontsteps. Presently the great knocker re-

sounded through tho hall."A visitor," I said, with some interest,

for visitors were not numerous atSwamplands.

Tom, the butler, came into the librarycarrying a card on a silver salver. Por-

tia was lying on a broad couch drawnup before the open fire, sleeping or feign-

ing sleep. Sho had not seen the car-

riage drive up and opened her big eyeslazily as Tom approached her.

'What is it?"' she murmured languidly."A gem'man, missis."Portia took the card and read it. She

stared at tho name before her in a dazedmanner. At last she turned her blood-

less face toward me."Prudence," she said, wearily passing

her hand over her head.' "Yes, Portia," I answered, leavingDaphne in the window with her dollsand going over to her mother.

"Read that name aloud," she com-

manded, thrusting the card in my hand.I read, "Maurice Raymond.""I could not see then he lias come,"

Portia muttered in incoherent, wander-ing fashion. Then sharply to Tom, "Iwill not see him."

Tom bowed gravely and was about togo, when I said: "Portia, is not this theguest you have been expecting? "Whatwould Colonel Marchmont say if youwere to send such a message as that?Had yon not better reconsider?"

"You see him. Prudence," she beggedhi an almost childish fashion. "I cannot

go in now. I must go Tip stairs, dressand compose m3self."

"Very well, Portia. I will do my bestto entertain him until yon are ready torelieve me. But do not tax me too long."

Portia did not reply, but rose and leftthe room. Sho appeared confused andhelpless. Suddenly I recalled the proph-ecy of theoldnegress "Dangeh is cominfrom do souf." Ah, perhaps the perilwhich had menaced Portia was at hand.

As I entered thedrawing room the vis-

itor rose quickly and came forward togreet mo. What most impressed mo inthis first meeting with Maurice Ray-mond was the atmosphere of latentpower which seemed to emanate from hispersonality. He was not a handsomeman, though hi3 face was good, his deepset eyes keen, his nose straight. Hi3lips were not hidden by beard or mus-tache, and in their firm lines I read thepositive character of the man. He car-ried himself like a prince, with graceand hauteur. His general appearancewas impressive and commanding.

"You are not Mrs. Marchmont?" hesaid half in inquiry as he took my hand.

"No, indeed," I replied "Mrs. March-mont'- s

friend, Prudence Mason. Mrs.Marchmont i3 not feeling well andhopes you will excuse her for a littlewhile."

"And the colonel?" asked the visitor., "Ho is somewhere about the planta-tion, but will soon be in for luncheon."

"I have arrived a few days ahead oftime," said Mr. Raymond, "but I finishedmy business iu Atlanta sooner than Ihad anticipated and so hurried on. Iwas so anxious to seo the country inwhich I passed my boyhood, and aboveall to see my dear cousin again, whomI remember as the idol of my youth abeautiful and lovely girl."

"Mrs. Marchmont is a very beautifulwoman," I said gravely.

"There is a child, I believe," said Mr.Raymond. I called Daphne from the li-

brary, glad of an excuse to have her oncemore in my sight. She came running in,delighted to see a stranger, and was soonon very good terms with the visitor.

Presently Colonel Marchmont entered,'profuse with apologies and extending agenuine southern welcome to his guest.

"Why, where is Portia?" he demanded,looking about after tho first greetingswere exchanged.

As diplomatically as possible I ex-

plained her absence. But a dark lookcrossed her husband's face, and ringingfor a maid he ordered her to tell her mis-tress that Colonel Marchmont desiredher presence at once in the drawing room.

In a few minutes the soft swish ofPortia's silken skirts was heard. Shecame in with bowed head and toyingnervously with a dainty fan she held.She did not look her cousin iu the eyesas she extended her limp hand andturned coldly away as quickly as possi-ble after her little speech of welcomeuttered in perfunctory fashion.

I could see that Mr. Raymond wasboth pnzzled and disappointed with hisreception. He watched his cousin curi-ously, though he did not address muchof his conversation to her, but chatted. I

'with the colonel on various topics, occa--sionally turning to me with a swift, raresmile which brightened his rather severe .

face. I

Portia preserved her attitude of con-- J

strained defiance. When questions weredirected to her, she answered thembriefly, but kept her eyes fixed upon thefloor. Colonel Marchmont was greatlyannoyed, but did his best to cover hiswife's delinquencies in entertaining. Wewere all relieved when luncheon was

U. - A'-

Siic stand at the name bcforihcr.

At the tablo ine constraint was notquite so marked. Once or twice Portialifted her heavy lids and shot scrutiniz-ing glances at her cousin. But Mr. Ray-

mond's face was inscrutable and sphinx-like. He had lost the pnzzled air he atfirst wore, and no one could possiblyhavo read what was passing in his mind.

He complimented Portia upon thepreservation of her beauty; he pettedDaphne; he charmed tho colonel. Howdid he affect me?

Maurice Raymond fascinated me. Ihad never met a man at once so brilliantand kindly. A beautiful, strong soallooked out of his keen gray eyes. Hisconversation was intellectual and re-

freshing. I studied him constantly, al-

ways recalling the words I had heardat the gato the night before, "Dangehcomin from de souf awful."

If the prophecy of old Jezebel shouldcome to pass if indeed the danger whichthreatened Portia were coming throughher cousin she well had need to trem-ble, for in this keen, observant, brainyman she would meet an adversaryworthy of her skill.

CHAPTER XI.A SLIGHT ENCOUNTER.

After luncheon the colouel took hisguest out to view the plantation, and wedid not s-

- (hem again until dinner.Portia was absolutely dazzling when

she swept in and took her seat at thehead of the table. Sho was dressed inscarlet from head to foot. Her superbshoulders rose from folds of fiery silk,and the little feet that wandered in andout beneath her skirts were shod in thesame lurid hue. She looked a veritabledaughter of Mephisto. Her eyes spar-

kled dangerously, and on her face wasan expression of audacity. Evidently

she had nerved herself for the oncomingcontest which was in the air.

When Maurice saw her, he coolly anddeliberately ran his eyes over her cos-

tume and then said nonchalantly as heshook out his napkin, "Evidently youhave overcome that intense dislike ofscarlet which was one of your markedtraits as a girl, belle cousino."

Portia did not answer, but lookedstraight at him. V

"It was most extraordinary," contin-ued Maurice. "I never knew any one tohate a particular color as 3ou hated red.Do you remember what you used tocall it?"

"No," said Portia."A nigger color," replied Maurice,

"and declared it only fit for the quad-

roon girls."A great pallor .overspread Portia's face,

but she laughed and lifted her glass ofsherry to her lips.

"How absurd!" she said. "Well, othertimes, other manners."

"Yes," said Raymond as he lifted hisglass to her, "I myself adore scarlet. Itis vibrant with life and action."

"Do you remember, cousin," he wenton as ho set down his glass, "do you

the day your pony ran awayand threw you? I can see you now lyingwhite and cold on the moss and andwhy, what the deuce was your pony'sname? tho one your father broughtfrom Atlanta and to whom yon were sodevoted. Astonishing that I can't re-

member I know the name of that par-- ,ticular nag as well as I do my own.Surely, cousin, you can help me."

"No, I do not remember," said Portiain a low voice.

"The chestnut with the white maneand tail. Jacko no ah! was it notJacqueline?"

"Oh, yes!" cried Portia, as if greatlyrelieved.

"No, no, cousin," said Maurice. "Why,no; Jacqueline was the pony fathergot after the runaway a black one. Butthe chestnut how amazing that neitherone of us can recall hsr name!"

"I havo such a wretched memory," be-

gan Portia."There, too, you have changed," rat-

tled on Maurice. "Why, Portia, I usedto boast of your remarkable memory.Tho dates, the names, the numbers, yonwould dash off were astounding. I re-

member it was rather a trial to me thatyour memory should be so superior tomine."

I could seo that Portia was worried,and also that for some reason Mr. Ray-mond was trying to trap her. But towhat purpose? Was this his revengefor the frigid reception she had givenhim? t

All through dinner he was constantlyreminding her of some of their youthfulexperiences. Occasionally, she answeredhim understandingly, but as a rule herreplies were wide of the mark. Onewould have said that so far as that periodof her life was concerned Mrs. March-mont- 's

memory was a blank.When we entered the drawing room,

Maurice opened the grand piano, andturning to Portia said with great ami-ability:

"Dear cousin, I am longing to hearyour sweet voice again. Sing some ofthose dear old songs."

I looked at Portia. Would she singat his bidding? Again and again duringmy stay had I asked her to sing for me,but she had always refused on one pre-text or another.

"You will excuse me, cousin," shesaid coldly. "I gave np singing longsince. I found my voice was growingthin and metallic and could not endureits sound."

"That is absurd," said Colonel March-mont, suddenly rising and coming overto ns. "She sang just as well as sheever did before I went to England. Onmy return she refused to sing and haspersisted in that determination eversince. One of her many caprices."

"How long were you in England,Marchmont?" asked Mr. Ravmond qui-etly.

. "A year," replied the colonel. "I wasdetained on business. I was sent for asthe heir to property near Nottingham,and after I sot there a pretender turned

i

np. weu, you anowtne laws delay,especially in that slow going country.The result,, was, I was away fromSwamplands for over a twelvemonth."

"And during that time you were ladyof the manor," said Mr. Raymond toPortia, "What an terminable absence!"he continued, fumbling the music, "butthen the reunion how delightful!"

Colonel Marchmont looked embar-rassed,

r

while Portia was very pale. Whatmanner of man was this who appearedto play upon their heart strings? It wasnot possible that so observant a studentof human nature conld have failed toremark the cool relations existing-be-twee-

tho husband and wife. No. Mr.Raymond was simply drawing them

!! MiOiili

IPI

L

.f saw him rmiqMy seize her arm.out. The situation was becomingstraiced, when I broke the ico by sittingdown at the piano and playing a few se-

lections in my amateur fashion.. I was conscious that Colonel March-

mont left the room after a few minutesand that Portia and her guest were alone.Just over the piano linng a huge oldfashioned mirror, and glancing in it Isaw an extraordinary scene. I saw ourpolished, courtly visitor suddenly ap-

proach his hostess, who shrank back witha look 0 absolute terror on her face. Isaw him roughly seize her arm and pushback the loosely flowing sleeve and in-

tently scrutinize the lovely bare flesh.In vain she silently struggled to free her-self. He held her firmly and examinedher arm as a scientist, might study an in-

sect under a microscope. Suddenly heraised his eyes from her arm to her faceand smiled so tauntingly, so malevolent-ly, that Portia gave a faint little moanand fell back in her chair.

"Mis3 Mason," said Mr. Raymond, "Ifear Mrs. Marchmont is ill."

io her side and lifted her head.Portia had fainted!

CHAPTER XH.A BATTLE ROYAL. -

In reading over what I have written Ifind I appear more or less in the role ofan accidental eavesdropper. I am nowabout to describe a sceno to which I wasan intentional listener.

Let me excuse invselt. I had becomefiratly-convmc- si that Portia wa3 plot--.tvig harm to uapnne; that sue was visit-ing tho old hag of Dead Man's swampto urge her to hasten tho destruction oftho child, for whom, through some un-

accountable madness, she had conceiveda violent hatred.

I felt myself, then, quite justified infrustrating her wicked schemes. I con-

stituted myself a detective and watchedPortia unceasingly. I determined thatat tho first suspicions movement I wouldreport everything to Colonel Marchmontand leave him to act.

But Maurice Raymond! He was al-

most as great a mystery to mo as hiscousin. And my instinct warned methat he, too, was stndying and watchingPortia. His puzzled air at first sight ofher, his quizzing and leadiug questions,and above all that inexplicable examina-tion of her arm in so rude and masterly afashion were all mystifying and vexing.How I wished to penetrate his thoughts,to read what was passing behind theimpassive face! At times Iwas prompt-ed to seek him and confido all the de-

tails which were so troubling me, butmy natural timidity and reticence for-

bade this step.Portia was like a caged tigress these

days. She fumed and stormed andlashed herself into tempests of rage.She feared and hated this cool, calm,

man, who was for some reasondissecting and analyzing her. She triedto asroid him, but it was useless. Hewas ever at her side. Did she lounge inone of the great bamboo piazza chairs,Mr. Raymond took the one next her. Ifshe snatched a shawl and fled down oneof tho garden paths, Maurice at oncelighted a cigar and followed, keeping ata respectful distance enough, but allow-

ing her to see she was under his constantsurveillance.

His manner, too, when he addressedher was peculiar. It was a combinationof authority and mocking courtesy. Shewinced percoptibly when he spoke toher and Beemed relieved when his utter-ance was not a question concerning thepast.

I marveled greatly that Colonel March-mont did not mark tho comedy or wasit a tragedy? that was being enactedunder his eyes. But he appeared to liveapart, wrapped in sorrowful and glooniythonghts, and rousing only when hischild sprang upon his knee and cuddledclosely to his heart.

But to return to the scene of which Iwas at first an involuntary, then inten-tional listener. One dreary, rainy after-noon I was sitting in the window seat ofthe library, the heavy curtains shuttingme in and completely concealing me fromview. I knew Daphne was asleep inthe nursery with Sophie watching her.The colonel had driven to the neighbor-ing town. Portia had shut herself in herrooms after luncheon and refused to ad-

mit mo when I knocked. I supposed Mr.Raymond to be in the smoking room atthe end of the halL Presently, however,I heard a man's tread, and peering be-

tween the curtains saw him come in thelibrary, throw himself down in a bigeasy chair in the corner by the fire andfall to studying the glowing coals.

I reflected whether I should speak tohim, but decidednot. "He will gosoon,"I thought, "and in any event ho wouldnot care to talk to me.". The door softly opened, and Portiacame in. She wore a long white dress-ing gown, and her heavy braids of hairwere tumbling down. She appearedhalf asleep and did not see her cousin.Crossing to the bookshelves, she selecteda novel, and turning prepared to leavethe room, but with the. quick, stealthyspring of a tiger Maurice was beforeher. He locked the door, and turninggave her a terrible smile.

"How dare you?"' she panted."Thejstereotyped imestionof a woman

V

when she is vanquished," sneered he."Dear cousin, why do you not go in forsomething original?"

"Open that door," sho fumed, "andlet me go."

"I will not," he retorted. "Do youthink after all the skirmishing betweenns sinco my arrival now that it hascome to battle that you are to escapeme? That may be your mode of figh-tingto run away; I think it very likely

but it does not please me."She turned toward the bell rope, .evi-

dently with the intention of summoninghelp. With a cruel laugh, he whippedout his knife and cut the rope andtossed it contemptuously at her feet.

"Ring for your servants, do," ho saidtauntingly.

I began to be frightened. Ought I tomake my presence known? While I hes-

itated Portia spoke:"I am not afraid of yon, you coward.""Oh, yes, you are," he retorted lightly.

"You have been afraid of me ever sinceI came before I came. I do not won-der you yon"

"Maurice, Maurice," she cried wildly."Don't dare to call me Maurice when

we are alone," he said, "you may keepup the farce before others a little long-er"

"Farce!" she cried. "Enough. Iwillnot be insulted any longer. Open thatdoor, Mr. Raymond, and let me go, or Iwill rouse the whole house."

He simply burst out into a fit of themost mocking laughter I have everheard. It maddened Portia, and sheflew at him like a fury. He caught herhands and pushed her way.

"Sit down," he said sternly, "and lis-

ten to me. Yon have not imposed uponme. I have recognized your infamy.You have deluded everybody but me,though I think the little northern girlsuspects you. She is not a fool. Youare clever and cunning, but you havegone too far. Your inhumanity to thatpoor innocent child shall be avenged. I

pTw - 111 il .JTfV I I 1

Idih mm !

"Open that door," she fumed,mr. anJ'

Kt

know more than you suspect. I knowtho key you carry which will only un-

lock one door. I know of your midnightwalks. I know your, friends in DeadMan's ewampJ'

Portia staggered to her feet."Have mercy ! Have pity !' she moaned."The mercy you havo shown to the in-

nocent shall be yours," he said, withflashing eyes. "You arc not a woman,but a vampire. Go now," and he un-locked tho door. "Go, but do not forone moment think ybu can escape me.You are as much my prisoner as thoughchained in a cell. Go to your rooomand stay there until I send for you."

Moaning, shivering and cowed, Portiarushed by this terrible man. I heardher lagging footsteps ascend thestair3and the sound of her moaning die alongthe corridor.

Then I parted the curtains and steppedout.

CHAPTER Xm.NORTH AND SOUTH.

I think for once in his life Mr. MauriceRaymond wa3 nonplused. However,he speedily recovered.

"Ah!" he cried, "you sly little Puri-tan, eavesdropping were you? Do j'outhink that is a nice trick for good littlegirls?"

"Sir!" I said 'stiffly, "lam neither aPuritJin nor a good little girl"

"No?" he askedgood humoredly, "areyou then a pagan and a bad little girl?"

"Please remember I am not on thewitness stand," I retorted, "and do nottry to muddle mo with vain questions."

At this he shouted with laughter."I am glad yon find mo amusing," I

said, with considerable severity."I do," he cried. "You are delicious

with your prim little ways, and yourstiff little speeches, and your dear littleface"

"Sir!" I exploded."Pardon me, my child. I have no

right to speak of you in that way. Butcome," catching my hands in his anddrawing me away from the window,"tell me, how came you to be spyingand eavesdropping?"

"I was not spying," I sputtered indig-nantly. "I was reading there when youcame in. I wish now I had made mypresence known, and that I had not beena witness of your unpardonable severityto that poor, wretched, half mad wo-

man." -"Oh! Sho is half mad, is she?" he

asked, assuming liis puzzled and ques-tioning air.

"Why, cannot you see her conditionfor yourself?" I asked. "And I must saythat while it is just as well she shouldknow that you have remarked her cruel-ty toward Daphne I think you mighthave been less harsh with her. Poor Por-tia is not to blame. She is the victim ofsome dreadful spell cast over her by thosevile creatures, those voodoos in DeadMan's swamp."

Mr. Raymond caught me by the shoul-ders and bent his head to scrutinize myface.

"What do you know, child," he muttered, "of Dead Mans swamp and thepeople there? You couldn't have been inthat ghastly place."

"No," I replied, "I have not been there,but I know enough about it and the baleful influence it ha? exerted on my poorfriend's life. My desire is to save Portia, to see her restored to her right mindand bring her once more to her husbandand child."'

"Why, so is mine," he answered, witha curious expression.

"Well, this is no way to go about it,"I said, "to fly at a crazy woman, call hera vampire, taunt her, alarm her, talkabout chaining her in a cell and all that,To be sure, it's just like a man. You arenot to blame, I suppose, for yourbrusquerie, which amounts almost toto" I hesitated.

"Well, well, out with it! Let's hearthe dreadful word," he cried.

"Brutality!" I said."So I was brutal, was.1?" he asked

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"Indeed vou were. I had no icTea thata courteous gentleman could behave sovillainously to a suffering woman."

"Well, now, tell me," said Mr. Raymond quite solicitously I fancied, "howshould I have approached Portia?"

"It is quite right to be firm and decided with her," I answered. "I thinkmyself she needs a. strong hand. Youcan see for yourself how little attentionher husband pays to her, and I blameColonel Marchmont greatly for this deplorable state of affairs. He neglectshis wife, treats her with contempt andcoldness. What can a man expect?Why, I heard him say a dreadful thingto her one evening. She was dancing inthe hall somewhat boisterously, to besure" the blood rushed to my face as Irecalled that abandoned dance "and he

told her that her dancing was more suitable to the orgies of Dead Man's swampthan to a gentleman's house."

"Quito right, too,"' interposed Mr.Raymond.

"Oh. vou are as bad as he, x said, amiit suddenlv occurring to mo that Maurice was still holding-m- hands I tried tqdraw they away, but he only tightenedhi3 grasp.

"Don't, Prudence," he said very quietly, "don't take your hands away. Poorlittle fragile claws," looking down onthem, "I could easily crush them, butthey are good hands." He suddenly benthis head and kissed them.

It was the first caress I had ever received from any one save Portia andDaphne. I trembled, and with an effortreleased myself and left him, going overto the fire.

Mr. Raymond followed, but did not attempt to touch me. Ho took up hisstation opposite me on tho rug, andleaning his arm on the mantel said:

"Possibly I was too severe with her;but, as you say, she needs a strong hand.She must not be allowed to harm littleDaphne, mnet she?" ,

"On no account," 1 replied quiclciy."Since that night I havo watched andguarded the child constantly."'

"Smco what night?" he asked carelessly.

I hesitated, l was conscious tnac newas trying to draw me out. Should Itell him? He knew of the closed gate;he knew of Portia's visit to the swamp;why should ho not know of this? Istudied his face before speaking. Candorand honesty verb written there. Hemight "be severJj, hut lie was just. Yes, Iwould tell him.

I then as briefly as possible recited thestory of that night. When I spoke ofthe knife she carried, and which she heldso long as if in invocation toward themoon, he gave a perceptible start. Andwhen I repeated the conversation withold Jezebel at tho gate he was again vis-

ibly affected. Once he ground his teethand stamped his foot in rage, and morethan once the strong white fingersclinched as if they ached to throttlesomebody.

Then, growing more confidential, Itold him of my first night in tho houseand of Portia's stealthy survey of mothrough the window; tho experience inthe arbor; her anger when I tried the

"They arc good hands."closed gate, and at last of that awfulcry iu the night which had welled upfrom the interior of Dead Man's swamp.

His face grew tense and white withsuppressed passion, and the veins stoodout on his neck like cords.

"Oh, Portia, Portia!" he cried as I fin-

ished, "my noor tortured girl. It istime for mo to act. Yes, it is time forme to act."

"Can we save her?" I asked tremu-lously.

"Can we?" he said, rousing from thestudy in which he was plunged. "Yes,we will."

Then once more, taking my not toounwilling hands in his, he said gentlyand almost tenderly:

"Little woman, I believo you to be oftho stuff of which fighters are made.There must lo a drop of Bunker Hillblood in your veins. I believe you to be j

loyal, honest and brave. You are cour-ageous? Yes, I know 3'ou are. I wantyon to trust yourself to me, to gothrough a terrible experience. To whatend? you will ask. To this: We willsave Portia. Will vou help me?"'

"With all my heart.""Very well. Say nothing to a soul,

but prepare to go with me at midnightto Dead Man's Bwamp."

CHAPTER XIV.A MIDNIGHT MISSION.

I started. To Dead Man's swamp! Toenter that uncanny, mysterious place atmidnight was a prospect which mightwell daunt the most courageous of wom-en. What could be Maurice's motive invisiting that spot? How was Portia tobe benefited by such an adventure?

As if he read my thoughts, Mr. Ray-mond said:

"Yes, little woman, you hesitate. Iexpected that, but yon need have nofear. You will be amply protected, andI want your assistance and presence. Ineed you. Will you come?"

A thrill shot through me at theeewords. I raised my eyes and saw inhis only the kindest, and tenderestex- -

pression."Come,"

his hand.he said again, holding omt

NO. 4!u,

I wonld have followed him to theends of the earth had he so bidden me.I put my hand in his.

"I will go," I said;At nightfall the rain ceased, but the

sky was black and overcast. I shudder-ed as X drew back the. curtains and look-ed out and thought of the dense tangles ,

and thickets of the gloomy swamp. Howblack, how awful, liow impenetrable,seemed those dusky recesses I remem-bered! What was I to see to hear onthis wild midnight quest? I scarcelydared ask myself.

But I resolved there should be no mis-givings, no faint heartedness. I had putmy hand to the plow, and I would notturn back. To save Portia, Mauricehad said. Ah, yes! if by any sacrificeof creature comfort I could exorcise theevil influences surrounding my poorfriend, how gladly would I make thatdenial!

But what did it mean? Had Mauricein anj way discovered that Portia in-

tended to pay one of her nocturnal visitsto the swamp? Was it his plan to followhr and plead, threaten or command herto give over forever her association withthe half human devotees of that hellishcult?

But of what avail were questionings?I found no answers to the many riddlespuzzling my mind. I trusted Mauricewith the blind, unreasoning trust whichevery woman gives to the man she loves.

For I had acknowledged tho fact tomy lonely heart that I loved this bril-

liant, intellectual, masterful man.Thongh my superior in every way, I yetliftetl my eyes to him as a weed clingsto the base of a mighty tree. Did helove me? It seemed absolute folly tothink so, and yet I could not banish thelook in his eyes, the ring in his voice northe magnetic pressure of his lips uponmy hands. "Good, little hands," he hadsaid, looking down on them. And nowas I looked down on them, too, and re-

membered his words I was thankful thehad never been stained with evil, andthat though small they wero strong andcould help him on his mission, whateverit might be.

Portia did not appear at dinner, send-ing down a messago that sho was notwell. I knocked at the door, but shewould not admit ine.

Colonel Marchmont appeared to beplunged in deeper gloom than ever. Hescarcely noticed Mr. Raymond or my--

"Oh, God:"self. Daphne only could rouse him fromthe lethargy which surrounded and en-

veloped him. It was painful to see himso depressed, so unhappy. When spokento, his gaie waudered. and his answerswere incoherent."

"You are not well, dear fellow," saidManrice as wo left the dining room.

"I cannot sleep. I havo not slept fortwo nights," returned the colonel."When I close my eyes, I see her as shoused to be, not as she i3 now oh, God!"wildly breaking off.

"Listen, Jerinyn," said Maurice in alow voice. "Your troubles are nearlyat an end. No, do not ask one questionnow. Before another day dawns yourdoubts, your sorrows, will be dispelled.All I ask of you is to go to the libraryand remain there until I come. Do notleave the room or house. Wait thereforme if you wait until daybreak. Do youpromise?"

Colonel Marchmont stared at Ray-mond in a dazed fashion.

"Trust me, Jerinyn," said Maurice,"and promise me."

"I promise," said the colonel in astrange voice.

Overhearing this, I marveled morethan ever. Was it possible that Mau-

rice intended, after bringing Portia fromher rendezvous with the voodoos, to leadher into her husband's presence andoblige her to beg his forgiveness? Igrewmore and more mystified.

The evening dragged away. Daphnewas sent to bed, Sophie receiving or-

ders from Maurice, who seemed to haveassumed command of everything, not toleave tho child for ono moment duringthe night.

Eleven o'clock. I sat in the drawingroom waiting for Maurice, as we liadagreed to meet there. Tho great housewas still. There wero lights in the li-

brary, whero the unhappy husband kspthis vigil. But everywhere else darknessbrooded over the mansion. The silence,the hour, the nervous expectancy pos-

sessing me grew almost unbearable."Where is he? Why does he not come?"I cried to myself.

Suddenly I heard stealthy footsteps inthe hall above, on the stairs, then therustle of a woman's dress.

Stepping softly to the drawing roomdoor, I looked out. A figure wrapped inblack was descending the stairs. It wasPortia. Clinging to the stair rail withone hand, with the other she was draw-ing a long black lace scarf over her face,which in the dim light was ghastly andterrible to see.

Just as she reached the lower stairs aman stepped quickly out from the cor-ner.- of

the liall. Maurice!

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