An Oregon Girl: A Tale of American Life in the New West

Seeing him alone, she had noiselessly and unperceived, stolen to his side, convinced by what she had just discovered, that he was meditating some sort of revenge on Corway, and she determined to ascertain its nature.

Her fertile brain had already conceived Rutley her ally, and it was with no uncertain or wavering purpose that she approached him with a question pregnant with sinister import.

Rutley looked at her steadily, as though trying to penetrate her motive, then, without moving his eyes from hers, said deliberately: “Well, if he doesn’t apologize, my friend will call on him.”

“You mean a shooting affair?”

“I do not say, but I understand that is a popular way in this country to avenge an outrage.”

“Yes, that is true,” she said, “particularly in our West, but it is fast going out of fashion. In fact, on the Coast, it is seldom practiced now. Besides, my lord, I advise you not to try it. I’ve heard he’s a dead shot,” and she abruptly stopped and looked furtively about, and then, in a more discreet tone of voice, said: “Will you walk?”

He instantly comprehended her desire to confide something of interest to him, and as they slowly proceeded over the soft, velvety grass, and without betraying haste to know what she was evidently anxious to disclose, he replied, sneeringly:

“Ah, he is! Well, these affairs are settled in an honorable way in a gentleman’s country.”

“I again warn you not to try it,” she said. “If you do, you will likely find yourself a subject for some hospital surgeon.”

“Indeed!” laughed Rutley, with a sarcastic ring in his voice.

She halted, turned to him, and continued in a low tone. “Yes, there is a better plan – that insult can be wiped out in a more effectual manner.”

“How?”

For one moment Virginia looked far off across the placid waters of the Willamette, over and beyond the rugged hills shrouded in gloomy repose. Was it the “still small voice within her crying in anguish ‘beware, beware’,” if so, it was unheeded, drowned in the impetuous desire for revenge.

Shocked and enraged by the discovery of what she considered Corway’s perfidy, a strain of virulent passion possessed her, and subdued her softer and otherwise most charming personality.

“Corway has done me a wrong I never will forget, and I shall not pause at any opportunity to avenge it. My cousin, Hazel, is betrothed to him. My brother has a rash, impetuous temper, and is exceedingly jealous of our family honor. By insinuating Corway’s insincere attachment to Hazel, his money-mad impecuniosity, and so forth, you will produce a coolness between John and Corway that may end in their complete estrangement. We are watched,” she whispered. “Let us move on.” Her alert eyes had discovered Sam standing alone on the piazza steps, shading his eyes with his hand as he looked at them.

She guessed his purpose, but was too far away to hear him say angrily: “If that lord attempts any fooling with that fair party, I’ll give him some eye-shutters, I guess so!”

Without heeding the episode, Rutley replied: “But you must know that your brother has not insulted me, and you must also be aware that the attempt to influence him may fail.”

“If you will follow my directions John will consider you his friend. If properly managed you need have no fear of its ultimate success. For several months last year John was in China. During that time Corway paid frequent visits to his home.”

“But” – interposed Rutley, quickly.

“Do not misunderstand my meaning,” responded Virginia, with an involuntary flash of indignation. “Corway is a man of great moral probity. But John may be brought to think him something the reverse. Do you understand?”

“I will have satisfaction!” exclaimed Rutley.

“Somebody is following us,” whispered Virginia.

“Where?” queried Rutley. “I fail to see anyone.”

“It may have been the shadow of the swinging light,” at length she remarked, reassured, and, dismissing the thought from her mind, continued: “I have already warned you of a duel. To prove how insincere Corway’s affection is for Hazel, you may call my brother’s attention to a ring that he wears on the little finger of his left hand. I let Hazel have it for a short time because she admired it, and begged it from me, and Corway took it from her.”

“Has the ring any peculiar feature by which it may be distinguished from others?”

“Yes, a single diamond set in a double heart of pearls.”

“Is it yours?” he asked, softly.

“No,” Virginia promptly answered, but she added in a hesitating manner, as though weighing the propriety of further explanation – “that is – well – it is mine for the purpose. I let Hazel have it unknown to Constance.”

And so it happened, a slip of the tongue, one inadvertent, indiscreet admission, gave him his cue. A vision opened to his mind and he immediately speculated on its possibilities.

“Then the ring belongs to Mrs. Thorpe?” he questioned, insidiously.

“Yes,” Virginia affirmed, in a halting way. “John gave it to Constance before they were married.”

“Oh, indeed!” Rutley exclaimed, and he muttered low and meaningly, while the whites of his eyes gleamed with sinister import. “Corway wears a ring given by John Thorpe to his wife.”

Soon as he had spoken Virginia heard and instinctively felt that she had been indiscreet in admitting the ring belonged to Constance, and said by way of caution: “Of course, I trust in the honor of your lordship to refrain from connecting Mrs. Thorpe’s name with the ring, or to, in any manner, let it be known that you know it is not mine.”

Evidently Rutley did not hear her, for he was absorbed in thought – thought that produced an evil gleam in his eyes.

A slight pause followed, and taking it for granted my lord would not betray the trust she reposed in him, she said, as looking in his eyes with significant daring: “Draw John’s notice to it as confirming Corway’s bold and deceitful attention to Hazel.”

Virginia was aware that John would recognize the ring as his wife’s, but she under-rated the violence of the storm it would precipitate, and she trusted too much in her own ability to control it in the direction she desired. She likewise rated Beauchamp as a weak, egotistical, effeminate sort of man. She was now to experience her great mistake.

Rutley in his turn fixed his gaze steadfastly upon her, and which became so intense, so mysteriously searching, as to cause her, strong-minded woman as she was, to feel she was but a weak thing beside him.

He spoke quietly and without the faintest tremor in his voice. “Do you know to whom you suggested this?”

“Lord Beauchamp,” she timidly responded. And then there suddenly sprang into her eyes a new light, accompanied by a slight start.

“Why do you start?” asked Rutley, not for a moment removing his eyes from hers.

“No, ’tis impossible. You cannot be Philip Rutley?” she gasped, as she drew back amazed. “For you have already denied him once to me.”

“Yes, I am he!” he exclaimed.

There followed a moment of profound silence. Rutley watching the effect of his disclosure upon her.

And she, at first astounded by his audacious nerve, at length grasped his position, and finally smiled, as though in admiration of his arch achievement. “You are a master imposter,” she broke in. “Be as clever with the material I have given you, and Corway will not long stand in your way.”

“Did Hazel tell you of my proposal to her three years ago?”

“Yes,” she answered promptly.

“I believe she rejected me at that time because of Corway,” he musingly added.

“Your opportunity is at hand,” she affirmed.

“I accept it;” and then he cautioned in a low tone: “Be careful never to breathe my real name.”

“And you – you will continue to be?” – and she smiled quizically as she put the question.

“My Lord Beauchamp.”

“A most consummate scoundrel!” she added pleasantly.

“The scoundrel begs to share the compliment with his colleague, Miss Virginia Thorpe,” he ironically replied, again bowing low.

That accentuated remark by Rutley revealed to her with sudden vividness the detestable character she was developing.

Acutely sensitive, the stigma smote her with a repugnance that stung and smarted as quivering flesh under the sharp cut of a lash; and being naturally of a fiery temper, she passionately retorted, “It’s false!”

The words had scarcely escaped her lips when she realized her indiscretion, and faltered, “I – I – mean – ” and then unable to recover from her sudden flight of passion, or to completely subdue her agitation, she burst out aloud, in utter disregard of her surroundings, “Oh! It is awful, awful!”

Rutley was alarmed, and hastily gripped her wrist, and in low tones cautioned, “For God’s sake, hush! Don’t shout it to the winds! Remember, you urged this damnable business upon me. Do you want me to give it to the world?”

His artifice succeeded, and under his influence she became quieter. “No! No! No!” she whispered. “Don’t, please!” Then again she stared at the ground as though dazed with some vague terror. Suddenly she covered her face with her hands and moaned, “What have I done?”

Then, arising from a place of concealment close by, the old Italian Cripple previously mentioned doffed his hat and said, “Eesa da bet, much-a keep-a do mon! Do poor old-a man, Eesa beg-a da mon, a da charity Signora, Signor.”

Tossing him a coin, Rutley said, “This is an unseasonable place for your calling, old man.” Then, turning to Virginia – “Permit me to escort you to the house.”

“I don’t like that old man,” she replied. “He is prying about everywhere. Do you think he heard me?”

“I have no fear of that,” replied Rutley, as they moved on toward the house. “He appears quite old and no doubt is partially deaf.”

“Very well,” responded Virginia, “and now that we understand each other, I think it time for me to mingle with the guests.”

As they disappeared in the distance, the old cripple followed them, flitting from shadow to shadow, with catlike agility, astonishing in such an apparently old man.

Having arrived at the piazza steps, Rutley and Virginia parted.

Returning some distance into the shadow, he softly laughed. “A little startled, eh? Didn’t think I could impersonate a peer of England’s realm. Well, she knows the secret now and I can safely rely on her assistance because Corway has cast her aside for Hazel. She has given me material with which to strike at him and I will strike home – but not as she suggests. Oh, no!” and again a sinister smile crept over his face. “Dangerous, but Hazel’s wealth is worth the risk.

“Meanwhile, I am getting short of funds, and cannot keep up the pace much longer, unless my other plan succeeds. But should I fail altogether – ” and he became absorbed in deep study, silent and motionless as the statue of Lincoln by which he stood, but only for a moment. “Everybody here lionizes me, believing I am a genuine nobleman.” And then he looked up with a far-off, triumphant expression in his eyes and a cunning smile on his lips, “My lord will borrow a few thousand on his – name – just for a temporary accommodation, and then he will vanish.”

A slight noise behind startled him and caused him to look about; but, discovering no one, he regained his composure. To make sure, however, he called in a low voice, “Jack! Jack!”

Whereupon the old cripple again stood forth from his concealment, this time from behind the trunk of the wide spreading oak and, leaning on his stick, obsequiously doffed his hat. “I uncover to a prince of villainy.”

“Ha, ha, to my arms, you rascally imposter!” joyfully exclaimed Rutley, as he embraced him.

Halting and drawing away in pretended surprise, Jack exclaimed with dreamy reflection, “Naw, Eesa, not-a bees-a da imposeator. Eesa be Ital-e-own!”

“Splendid, Jack!” exclaimed Rutley with admiration. “Your disguise is perfect, but” – and Rutley laughed – “a little pale about the gills, eh?”

“Eesa look-a like-a ma fadder,” and Jack proudly expanded himself. “Make-a da great-a soldier. Note-a da pale here – Naw,” touching his ears. “Garibaldi geev-a ma fadder dees-s da Palestrino,” and Jack threw open his coat and proudly displayed a medal.

“Palestrino!” exclaimed Rutley gleefully. “Jack, things are coming our way with a rush. Did you hear her – the maiden fair, with the blue black hair, how she plays into our hands?”

Jack grinned and chuckled, “Ah, ah – a Portland rose, Phil!”

“Incomparably beautiful, Jack! But, oh, such devilish thorns!”

“Good for twenty thousand simoleons at any rate? Eh, Phil?”

“Twenty thousand or bust, Jack,” grinned Rutley. “You watch me do the trick. I’ll make Thorpe wish he were dead. I shall connect his wife’s name instead of Hazel’s with Corway.”

“What!” gasped Jack, dismayed by Rutley’s daring.

“By a little juggling of facts, as it were, I’ll make Thorpe believe Corway wears the ring given him as a love token by Constance. It was Thorpe’s gift to his wife. Do you comprehend? Now, do you understand how simple a thing it will be to make Thorpe wish he were dead? Remember how he and old Harris broke up our investment company?

“Maybe I don’t,” replied Jack dolefully, rubbing his stomach in a significant manner.

“And, Jack!” and Rutley glinted at him meaningly and said very seriously, “That fellow Corway suspects me.”

“The devil he does! We must get him out of our way.”

“Tomorrow!” – and for the space of perhaps five seconds they looked meaningly at each other. Then Rutley broke the silence.

“The child is in the house,” continued Rutley seriously and in a low voice.

“Good!” responded Jack. “I was afraid your tableau scheme had failed and Dorothy remained at home.”

“Not at all. They jumped at the idea,” laughed Rutley, “and on my suggestion Mrs. Harris begged for Dorothy’s presence at the ‘Fete’.”

“Fate!” corrected Jack.

“Too pointed,” calmly remarked Rutley.

“Well, the tableau was a great success, ‘Hebe’ attended by ‘Circe’ and ‘Cupid’.”

“Dorothy as ‘Circe’ posed splendidly; she is the pet of the guests” – and, lowering his voice, Rutley continued gravely:

“I have persuaded her indulgent mother to let the child remain up and enjoy her honors a little longer; she may be out and around now at any moment.”

“She wears a white dress and with a light brown sash about her waist. Long golden hair – oh, you know her.”

“I shall keep a sharp lookout and take her the first opportunity.”

“Skip!” suddenly cautioned Rutley. “Somebody’s coming. Keep in the deep shadow.”

“Trust me.” And as Jack turned to move away he said to himself, “Tonight there’ll be things doing, for the devil is at work and hell’s a-brewing.”

Rutley watched Jack vanish in the gloom, then muttered to himself, “Why this fear? Out with it and to my purpose.”

Some readers would call it fate, others would probably have construed it as accidental, while yet again others of a more scientific turn of mind would have reasoned it a result of that strange magnetic attraction whereby two minds, simultaneously engaged in deep absorbing thought on the same subject, are mysteriously drawn toward each other.

That John Thorpe was alone at that moment descending the steps of the piazza, was proof of the phenomenon, there could be no question, and that he was deeply thinking of a subject very near and dear to him was also evident, for he paused on one of the steps and clapped his hand to his forehead as though to draw out some evil thing that lay leaden within.

Once he shivered as if shaken with a cold of the shadow of some indefinable disaster about to overwhelm him, and then he passed on down the steps muttering to himself in an abstracted manner, “Doubt; terrible, torturing doubt; I cannot endure it!”

“Welcome, Mr. Thorpe,” came from Rutley in the mild regularly moderated voice of a man content with his surroundings. “It only needs the quiet tones of a gifted conversationalist to make this beautiful spot supremely pleasant. All honor to Mrs. Harris and her companion.”

Mrs. Harris, accompanied by Virginia, had just then appeared from around the east side of the house – “Ah, my lord, your absence from the ballroom occasions much inquiry,” said Mrs. Harris.

“Mrs. Harris will confer a favor by satisfying the inquirers with the excuse that his lordship is enjoying a smoke with a friend. Does my lord approve the answer?” replied John Thorpe, eyeing Rutley furtively.

“Most decidedly!” he affirmed.

“Then Virginia and myself will be spectators of the next waltz. Your lordship will favor us with your company soon? Mr. Thorpe, you will not forget your promise to Constance for the Newport?”

“Just in time, eh, auntie, I guess so!” cut in the cheerful voice of strenuous Sam, who had bounded down the steps and stood in front of them before they could turn around.

“Oh, horrors!” gasped Virginia under her breath.

“Why, Sam!” laughed Mrs. Harris, “you want me to dance with you again and Virginia here?”

“Oh, no, not you! I mean her, auntie. If you please,” and he bowed to Virginia as he offered her his arm.

Without an instant’s hesitation she accepted his arm and at the same time so artfully masked her real feelings that the hot blood raced with joyous glee to the very roots of his hair and caused him to say proudly, “Ha, ha! at last, eh, auntie!”

“I shall be a witness, Sam,” replied his aunt in a tone which conveyed a warning.

On ascending the steps Virginia paused to gather up her skirt, turned half around and looked very significantly at Rutley.

He met her glance and bowed. The action brought Mrs. Harris also to a stop.

Observing the halt, Mr. Thorpe exclaimed, “His Grace and myself will be along presently. Au revoir.”

And as the party moved on, Sam rejoined under his breath, “I guess so, but not with his fair party, not if Sam knows it.”

In the silence that followed for both men, now being alone, were alert, instinctively apprehending danger, John Thorpe drew from the inside pocket of his coat a small cigar case and tendered it to Rutley.

Silently and with studied poise, Rutley took therefrom a cigar and returned the case.

Thorpe then took from the case a match, lighted and offered it to Rutley, who, having meanwhile clipped the end of the cigar with a penknife, accepted the light and then broke the silence with, “Are you not going to smoke, Thorpe?”

“Not at present. A stroll through the grounds is more to my fancy.”

“Agreed!” promptly responded Rutley, who added, “and may the exercise lighten your spirits, which appear heavy tonight.”

“Yes, unfortunately I have never been able to conceal my emotions, hence the correctness of your conjecture. My spirits are heavy tonight,” replied Thorpe in a low voice and with a deep, long drawn sigh.

It was plain to Rutley that Thorpe was evading an abrupt approach to some potent question in his mind, feverishly eager, yet dreading the kind of information it might elicit.

“Bad digestion, Thorpe. Headaches, troubled dreams and the like fellow,” suggested Rutley in his jerky manner.

“Deeper!” added Thorpe in a low voice.

“Ha!” exclaimed Rutley significantly, as he eyed his companion askance. “Family!”

“Oh, God! what shall I do?” suddenly broke from Thorpe in a stifled cry of anguish. “I cannot carry the load!” And then he did that which some readers might term a cowardly thing. No doubt he was actuated by motives irresistibly impelling in a man of his peculiarly sensitive nature.

With head bent low, much as a culprit condoning his infamy, humbled as was his pride, to thus confide his misgivings to a stranger, he began in a low voice:

“My Lord, a few moments since I casually heard you drop a remark suggesting a knowledge of my domestic affairs. I speak to you in confidence, and I am sure Your Grace will spare me the humiliation of feeling that confidence is misplaced. Your position gives you at times the advantage of hearing – a – things said of others that is of no moment or concern to you.”

Rutley’s first thought was, “My opportunity to strike at Corway has come,” and if Thorpe at that moment could have seen the cunning leer play about the corners of Rutley’s mouth and the flash of exultation that sprang into his eyes, he might have hesitated, nay, ceased to have conversed with him further on such a grave subject.

But the fleeting smile went unseen, the exultant flash as quickly disappeared, and in its place a very serious look came over Rutley’s face, as in a low voice he replied, slowly but very distinctly. “Really, Thorpe, I am at a loss to understand your motives in questioning me on matters relative to your domestic affairs, and though I may possess information in which I am not particularly interested, still to asperse the character of any person on mere rumor is not compatible with the dignity or honor of my house; however, if you will be explicit on the subject of your singular request, I shall, through sympathy, communicate all I have heard to relieve or confirm your mind of a – I fancy – a terrible suspicion.”

For a few moments Thorpe could not control his agitation. Overpowered by a sense of shame, his imagination at once conjured up dreadful thoughts.

“Sympathy! a – a – to relieve or confirm a terrible suspicion! My God! what does he mean?” And he placed his left hand tightly over his breast as if something hurt him there, while a cold sweat stood out on his brow. Then with a forced calmness, said:

“A – a – have you heard any disparaging remarks about – a – Mr. Corway?”

“Well, Thorpe, you know ’tis not honorable to repeat the ‘chic’ scandals one hears, though to satisfy you I will say that if you will look at the little finger of Corway’s left hand, you will see a gold ring with a single diamond set in a double heart, which he at times – a – carelessly displays.”

“A ring with a single diamond! What of it?” impatiently questioned Thorpe.

“Oh!” replied Rutley, with an imperturbable stare, “it was a love token from Mrs. John Thorpe.”

“You lie!” exclaimed Thorpe, the nails of his fingers imprinting deeply in the flesh of his tightly clenched fists, with the fierceness of the passion that had flamed within him.

“I do not lie!” Rutley calmly and slowly replied, as he looked steadily into Thorpe’s eyes.

“You confound my wife with Hazel,” hoarsely accused Thorpe.

“I reiterate,” responded Rutley, in the same even tone of voice, “the particular ring in question was a gift from Constance, John Thorpe’s wife, and not from Hazel.”

Gasping for breath, Thorpe turned his head aside and groaned as he remembered it was his gift to Constance before they were married.

Suddenly he gripped Rutley by the sleeve. They halted and confronted each other. And the dark formless shadow that had followed them also halted.

“From whom have you your information?” queried Thorpe, looking into Rutley’s eyes.

“I do not feel at liberty to mention, but it can be substantiated.”

“By whom?” demanded Thorpe.

“Well, I don’t know of any person more capable than a – a – Mr. Thorpe’s wife!” replied Rutley in a most nonchalant and matter-of-fact manner.

And even through the depth of the gloom that surrounded them he saw the scarlet flush of rage and shame flame across Thorpe’s white brow as he bowed his head, humbled to the dust.

For a moment not a word was spoken by either of the men. Suddenly Thorpe looked up and hoarsely said:

“My wife! Give me two or three, one which she can substantiate.”

“My dear Thorpe,” deprecatingly pleaded Rutley. “You have called upon me to undertake a very unpleasant task.”

“Your Lordship has gone too far to recede. I must know all” – and there was imminent danger in Thorpe’s quivering voice, which Rutley felt was not to be trifled with.

“Well – one thing – Corway’s close and steady attention to her during your absence in China.”

“You mean to Hazel?” said Thorpe, with a look so deeply concentrated that the movement of a single hair of Rutley’s eyelash would have meant an instant blow on the mouth.

“No, I mean – to your wife,” accentuated Rutley. “Their secret and protracted wanderings offended your sister. Reproofs, reproaches and warnings were unavailing and ended in Corway being refused admittance to your house, which resulted in frequent quarrels between your wife and your sister.”

Thorpe here recalled Virginia’s warning, “Corway will bear watching,” and he moaned, “Oh, God!”

“He tried many pretenses to regain communication with your wife,” resumed Rutley, “one being to visit Hazel Brooke, for whom, except for her money, he has no regard whatever. At length on the discovery of secret correspondence, Virginia became aghast at his boldness and contemplated seeking legal aid when you returned. Of course, she retired and left the matter in your hands and she was unwilling at that time to shock your home-coming with a knowledge of the truth.”

“Enough! Enough! Oh, God, what a vile thing has nestled here!” And John Thorpe pressed both hands tightly over his heart in a vain endeavor to suppress the emotion that filled his throat and choked his utterances, and tears of shame gathered in his eyes as he continued slowly:

“When – I – wedded Constance – I took to myself the purest angel out of heaven. But now – ! Farewell happiness – farewell peace – forever! Oh, Corway, I want to clutch you by the throat!”

Turning to Rutley, he added tensely, “Follow me.”

“Now for satisfaction,” muttered Rutley exultantly, and with a sinister smile on his lips he followed John Thorpe up the broad steps and into the blaze of the brilliantly lighted ballroom.

A shadow straightened itself up behind a bed of massed asters, deepened, grew thicker and resolved itself into the solid form of a man. It was Jack Shore. He had dodged them unseen and overheard their conversation.

Perhaps it was through hearing the conspiracy and its masterly execution that shocked him into moralizing on man’s inhumanity to man.

At any rate, he exclaimed half aloud, “As cold-blooded a bit of villainy as possible to conceive. I didn’t think Phil had it in him.” Suddenly he shrugged his shoulders.

“I say, old man,” cut in Sam, appearing from the east side of the piazza, “you want to look alive there. You are getting too near the front. First thing you know uncle will have you sent up as a vag.”

Though taken by surprise, Jack, having just turned to move off into the deeper shadow, halted and, removing his hat, faced Sam in an assumed most humble and abject terror, “Signor, I don-a mean to come-a da close. Jess-a tried to get-a da peep ov-a da grand-a fete of-a much-a da rich people. Eesa da all, Signor.”

“It’s all right, old man, but take my advice and keep off the grounds. ’Twill be better for your health.”

In the meantime Dorothy had fluttered down the great steps and ran toward Sam.

“Hello, little one! Having lots of fun, eh!”

And with the same, he caught Dorothy’s hands and he commenced to dance her about as he sang the words, “Little Bo-peep had lost her sheep and couldn’t tell where to find them.”

“Oh, don’t Sam; I want to find papa!” replied the child, impatiently.

“You do, eh? Now, don’t you want me to be your escort?”

“Come, I’ll tell you how to find him. You shall sit on my shoulder and be the tallest queen of the party, while I be the horse to ’lope about in search of your papa.”

“Thank you, Sam, but I can’t stay for a ride now. I’m in such a hurry; some other time,” and the child turned from him and ran toward the slowly retreating form of Jack.

“You are, eh? All right, and while you are looking for papa, I’m going to look for the fair party you call auntie. I guess so!” Whereupon Sam quickly sprang up the steps. Arriving on the piazza he halted, turned around and looked toward the child as though the premonition of something wrong – something associated with the child’s insecurity, being alone – had suddenly darted into his brain; but seeing others of the guests at that moment emerging from the east front of the house on the well lighted grounds, he dismissed the “still small voice” of warning from his mind and passed in among the dancers.

“Papa, papa! Where is my papa?” called Dorothy.

Jack, while pretending to leave the grounds, had kept a sly eye on Sam, and upon that individual’s disappearance, at once turned and answered the child in a voice soft and gentle, and soothing as that of dreamy Italy.

“Yous-a tink-a your-a papa was-a da here-a. What eesa da name?”

“Thorpe!” replied Dorothy, without the faintest fear or hesitation. “That is my name, too. I want to find him right away. Can you tell me where he is? Mama sent me to ask him to come and dance.”

“Yes-a da child-a. Eesa da know where eesa papa be. Eef-a youse-a be note-a fraid and will-a come wid-a me, Eesa take-a youse-a da papa,” and the sly old man looked into her eyes with such beaming kindness that at once won her confidence.

“I’m not afraid of you. I like old men. Mama says we should respect old men. But I’m in such a hurry, you know. Mama is waiting for me.”

“Well, geeve-a me youse-a da hand and Eesa take-a you straight-a da heem.”

Without the least suspicion or timidity, she instantly placed her little hand in his and the two proceeded toward the river, much faster than his supposed crippled condition would lead an older person to expect.

“Youse-a love-a da papa and da mama much-a, donn-a youse?” he continued.

“Oh, yes! Ever so much.”

“Eesa good-a girl. We’ll soon-a da fine eem,” and he added to himself, “when the horn of plenty pours its golden stream into Jack’s pocket.”

While they were crossing a depression, or rather a long hollow formation in the contour of the grassy slope, and close to some locust trees, the thick foliage of which threw a deep shadow on the spot, Jack thrust his free hand into his pocket and removed the stopper from a bottle of chloroform which he had provided for this occasion, and saturated a colored handkerchief with it. Some of it passed through the lining of his pocket and immediately impregnated the air with its odor.

Dorothy got a whiff of it and drew away with the remark, “Dear me, what a funny smell!”

“Naw, eesa – nicey da smell, jes like-a da poppy, so beautiful-a da flower,” replied Jack, reassuringly.

“Well, I don’t like it, anyway,” she said.

At that moment she was standing a couple of yards from him, they had come to a halt, and it was necessary for him to act adroitly and with promptness, to reassure her and avoid arousing her suspicion, so he pretended to stumble and then fell to the ground.