Chapter I.

Hoisting The Flag.

A dreary, murky November day brooded over Southampton, and an impenetrable fog hung over sea and shore alike, penetrating the clothing, chilling the blood and depressing the spirits of every unlucky person who was so unfortunate as to come within the range of its influence.The passengers on the steamship America, from Bremen for New York via Southampton, found the brief period of their stay at the latter port almost unendurable; and while some paced the wet decks impatiently, others grumbled both loudly and deeply in the cabins, or shut themselves up in their state-rooms in sulky discomfort.Those who remained on deck had at least the amusement of watching for the steamboat which was to bring the Southampton passengers a pastime which, however, being indefinitely prolonged, began to grow wearisome.  It came at last a wretched little vessel, rather smaller than the smallest of the noisy tugs that puff and paddle on our American rivers and the wet, sick, unsheltered passengers were gradually transferred to the deck of the ship.

Among those who appeared to have suffered most severely from the rocking of the miserable little steamboat was a young, fair-haired girl, apparently about seventeen years of age, who seemed almost insensible.  She would have fallen had not one of her fellow-travelers, a lady evidently not much her senior, thrown her arm around her; thus aided, she managed to reach the steamer’s deck and to totter down the staircase leading to the ladies’ cabin.The active, busy steward at once bustled up to the two young girls: 

“Your names, ladies, if you please.I will point out your state-rooms in a moment.Miss Marion Nugent Miss Rhoda Steele?Miss Nugent, berth N, state-room G ”

“Cannot I occupy the same state-room with this young lady?” interrupted the taller girl, who was still lending the support of her arm to sustain her half-fainting companion.

“Do not leave me, please,” murmured the sufferer.

The steward threw a compassionate glance upon the pair, went away, and after a short consultation with the unseen powers, returned and said that the arrangement had been effected, and that they could take possession at once of their state-room, into which he proceeded to usher them.It was more spacious than such apartments usually are, and abounded with all those little contrivances for comfort and convenience for which the steamers of the North German Lloyds are justly famed.The invalid sank down on the soft-cushioned little sofa and gasped painfully for breath.

“For Heaven’s sake, get me some wine or some brandy!” exclaimed her companion.“This poor thing seems very ill; and do tell the doctor to come here at once.”

With a quick, energetic movement, as she spoke she unclasped the heavy waterproof cloak of the sufferer and threw it back, thus revealing a fair, pallid face, framed in loosened curls of silky golden hair.It was a face that must have looked singularly lovely when tinted with the rosy hues of health, so delicate were the features and so large and blue the half-closed eyes, but it was ghastly pale, and a livid, bluish tinge had settled around the small mouth, whose ruby hues had fled to give place to a sickly purple.The steward speedily returned with some brandy, the bull’s-eye was thrown open, and the cold sea air and potent spirit soon asserted their restorative powers.She sat up, a more natural color over-spreading her countenance, and she murmured inarticulately a few words of thanks, while the kind-hearted steward hastened away again in search of the doctor.

“I am subject to these attacks,” she said, faintly; to her companion when they were again left alone.“Only feel how my heart is beating.”

The ship’s surgeon soon made his appearance.He was a young, light-haired, solemn-looking German, who shook his head and looked very grave as he listened to the labored breathing and felt the bounding, irregular pulse of the sufferer.

“It is a pity that the ship has started,” he said in very good English, “for I hardly think you are fitted to bear the fatigues of a sea-voyage at this season of the year; and had we been still at anchor, I should have counseled you to return to shore.But it is too late now, and you must try to keep as quiet as possible.  I would advise you to retire to your berth at once:  it will probably be a stormy night, and you had better settle yourself comfortably before the motion begins to be unpleasant.I will see you again in the morning, and if you feel worse meanwhile, let me know at once.”

The doctor and the steward then quitted the state-room, and its two occupants, being left alone, surveyed each other curiously.

The active and energetic girl who had acted as spokeswoman and directress throughout the brief scene we have just described had let fall her waterproof cloak and stood arrayed in a black velvet jacket and dark silk skirt, both much the worse for wear, and contrasting sadly with the neat but simple traveling costume of her companion.But about her slender, finely-proportioned figure there was an air of style and grace which lent an elegance even to her shabby and faded finery, and which was wanting in the owner of the fresher and more appropriate attire.Her face was beautiful, with a singular and weird beauty which owed nothing of its fascinations to the ordinary charms of delicate outlines and dainty coloring.Her features were small and attenuated, and her complexion was of a sallow paleness, whose lack of freshness seemed caused by dissipation and late hours or by the ravages of illness.Heavy masses of soft silken hair, black as midnight, with bluish reflections on its lustrous waves (bleu a force d’etre noir, as Alexandre Dumas describes such tresses), untortured by crimping-pins or curling-tongs, were rolled back in plain folds above her low, broad brow.Her eyes would have lent beauty to a plainer face.Large almost to a fault, of that dark, clear blue which is too perfect and too transparent ever to look black even under the shadow of such long, thick eyelashes as shaded them in the present instance, they were perfectly magnificent; and their lustrous azure and ever-varying expression lent to the mobile countenance of their possessor its most potent and peculiar charm.

She was the first to speak.“Do you not think you had better retire to your berth?” she asked.“The rocking of the ship is increasing, and we had better, early as it is, settle ourselves for the night, before it becomes so violent as to prevent us from moving.”

At this moment two porters made their appearance laden with packages.Two small new trunks one marked R.S., the other M.N. were deposited on the floor and identified by their possessors.  The sick girl then attempted, with trembling hands, to disembarrass herself of her apparel, but it was not without much assistance from her companion that she was enabled to remove her traveling costume and make her preparations for retiring.At last, however, she was ready, and was about to make an attempt to reach the upper berth, which was the one allotted to her by number, when a quick, imperative gesture from her companion stopped her.

“No, no,” she said:  “you must take the lower berth.I can reach the upper one without any trouble, and you are not strong enough for so much exertion.”

“You are very, very kind,” said the invalid, gratefully.She sank back on the pillow and watched the other for some minutes in silence, as she quietly and quickly gathered up and put in order the scattered articles with which the state-room was strewn.

“Will you not give me that little black bag?” she said at last.“Thanks! that is it.I wished to be certain that I had put my letter of introduction in it.Ah! here it is, quite safe.It would never do for me to lose that letter, for the lady with whom I am going to live as governess has never seen me, and she might take me for an impostor were I to come without it.  An English lady who was her most intimate friend engaged me for her.I wonder what New York is like? very rough, and wild, no doubt, and I am afraid I shall be much annoyed by the rattlesnakes.You are going to New York too, are you not?”

“I am.”

“Have you friends there?”

“None.”

“I wish I had some acquaintances among our fellow-passengers, but I do not know a single one.Do you?”

“No.”

“You have not told me your name yet.Mine is Marion Nugent; and yours ”

“Is not so pretty a one Rhoda Steele.”

There was something in the tone of these replies that quelled the invalid’s disposition to talk, and she remained silent while her companion finished her arrangements and prepared to take possession of her berth.It was time that she did so.  The threatened gale was by this time blowing in earnest, and the ship was commencing to roll fearfully; so, after securing all the boxes and bags as well as possible, and hanging up all the scattered garments, she made a hasty retreat to her couch, and lay there only half undressed, but utterly prostrate, and as unable to touch the tea and biscuits brought by the attentive stewardess as was her more delicate and suffering room-mate.

Time passed on:the daylight faded from the sky, a feeble glimmering lamp shed its faint rays into the state-room, and the great steamship went steadily on, though rocked and tossed like a plaything by the whistling winds and angry sea.  Then midnight came:the lights in the state-rooms were extinguished and a profound silence reigned throughout the cabins, broken only by the ceaseless throb of the mighty engines and the noisy clanking of the screw.

The state-room was wrapped in profound darkness when Rhoda Steele awoke with a start as from some troubled dream.Was she still dreaming, or did she indeed hear a strange choking sound proceeding from the lower berth?She sprang to the floor at once, heeding neither the darkness nor the violent motion, and clinging to the side of the berth she called aloud.There was no answer:even the gurgling, choking sound she had at first heard had ceased.  She put out her hand, and it encountered her companion’s face.It was deathly cold, and the features quivered as if convulsed under her touch.Again she called aloud still no answer; and then, thoroughly frightened, she caught up a cloak from the sofa, threw it around her, and opening the state-room door, she rushed into the cabin.It was almost deserted.  The lamps swung heavily overhead, swayed by the unceasing rolling of the ship; a drowsy waiter slumbered at one of the tables, his head resting on his folded arms; and one or two sleepy passengers tried to maintain a recumbent posture on the broad sofas that lined the sides.The cries of the terrified girl soon brought several of the waiters to her assistance, and Captain Wessels himself, who had not retired to rest, owing to the stormy weather, came to ascertain the cause of the unusual disturbance.Her story was quickly told:lights were brought, and the captain accompanied her back to the state-room.

It was a pitiful sight that met their eyes.The young girl lay motionless in her berth, her face tinged with a livid bluish hue, her eyes closed, and her small hands clenched as if in agony.

“The doctor! run for the doctor!” was the instant and universal exclamation.The doctor came.One look at the pallid face, one touch on the slender wrist, and he turned with a grave face to the bystanders.

“There is nothing to be done,” he said.“She is dead.I feared some such catastrophe when I saw her last evening.  She was in the last stages of heart disease.”

“And who was she? what was her name?” asked kind-hearted Captain Wessels, looking down with pitying eyes at the fair pale face.

The steward brought his lists.

“Berth N,” he read “Miss Rhoda Steele.”

“And this young lady?” continued the captain, turning to the other occupant of the state-room, who had sunk back as if exhausted on the sofa, still enveloped in the shrouding folds of her large waterproof cloak.

She raised her head.The answer came after a moment’s hesitation came with a strange, defiant ring in its tone: 

“My name is Marion Nugent.”

Chapter II.

Under Full Sail.

More than a year has passed away since the events narrated in our first chapter took place, and the curtain now rises on a far different scene a dinner-party in one of the most splendid of the gorgeous mansions on Madison avenue, New York.

Mrs. Walton Rutherford, the giver of the entertainment in question, was a member of a class unhappily now fast dying out of New York society one of those ladies of high social position and ancient lineage who adorn the station which they occupy as much by their virtues as by their social talents.  A high-minded, pure-souled matron, a devoted wife and mother, as well as a queen of society, inheriting the noble qualities of her Revolutionary forefathers as well as their great estates such was the lady who presided over the brilliant festivity we are about to describe.She had been left for many years a widow, and her surviving children two sons, Clement and Horace were both of mature age; Horace, the younger, being just thirty years old, and Clement, the elder, some seven years his senior.Mrs. Rutherford herself was a few years over sixty.A year or two before the period at which our story opens a terrible misfortune had befallen her.Amaurosis that most insidious and unmanageable of diseases of the eye had attacked her vision, and in a few months after it declared itself she was totally, hopelessly blind.But, although debarred by her infirmity from going into society, she still received her friends in her own home; and her evening receptions and elegant dinners were always cited as being among the most agreeable and successful entertainments of the season.

Another sorrow had recently come to trouble the calm of her honored and tranquil existence the marriage of her eldest son.Clement Rutherford, unlike any other member of the family, was a cold, reserved man, unpleasant in temper and disagreeable in manner.When he was still quite a boy, his mother’s only sister, Miss Myra Van Vleyden, had died, and had bequeathed to him the large fortune which she had inherited conjointly with Mrs. Rutherford from her father, the two sisters being the only children of Schuyler Van Vleyden.She was a soured, morose old maid, and probably saw some congeniality of disposition in her eldest nephew which caused her to single him out as her heir.After he attained to years of manhood, he always manifested a decided antipathy to ladies’ society, and was generally looked upon as a confirmed old bachelor; so that when he announced to his mother the fact of his engagement to Mrs. Archer’s pretty governess, Miss Nugent, her distress of mind was fully equaled by her astonishment.The match met with her strongest disapproval, as was to have been expected; for it was hardly probable that she, the oldest surviving representative of the old Knickerbocker family the Van Vleydens, an acknowledged leader of society by the triple right of wealth, birth and intellect, should be inclined to welcome very warmly as a daughter-in-law the penniless beauty who had been occupied for some months past in teaching Mrs. Archer’s little daughters the rudiments of French and music.  Moreover, the investigations and inquiries respecting the young lady’s origin which she had at once caused to be instituted on hearing of her son’s engagement, had revealed a state of affairs which had placed Miss Nugent in a very unenviable light.  Her parents were well born, though poor.She was the daughter of a curate in the North of England, who had lost his young wife by heart disease when Marion was but a few months old, and two years later Mr. Nugent died of consumption, leaving his little daughter to the care of his unmarried and elderly brother, the Reverend Walter Nugent, who, though the living he held was but a small one, contrived to rear and educate his niece as his own child.He had only allowed her to leave him and become a governess on the assurance of the village physician that her health was seriously impaired, and that a sea voyage and complete change of scene would prove the best and surest of restoratives.But the pained though manly tone of the letter in which he replied to Mrs. Rutherford’s inquiries had prepossessed that warm-hearted, high-minded lady most strongly against her future daughter-in-law.  “I loved Marion always as though she were my own child,” wrote Mr. Nugent, “and I cannot but look upon her total neglect of me since her arrival in America as being wholly inexcusable.She has never even written me one line since her departure, and I learned of her safe arrival only by the newspapers.  I can but infer from her obstinate and persistent silence that she wishes to sever all ties between herself and me, and I have resigned myself to the prospect of a lonely and cheerless old age.I trust that she may be happy in the brilliant marriage which, you say, she is about to make, and I can assure her that her old uncle will never disturb her in her new prosperity.”

Mrs. Rutherford had one long, stormy interview with her eldest son, and learning therein that his determination to marry Miss Nugent was fixed and unalterable, she had with commendable wisdom accepted the situation, and resolved to so order the conduct of herself and her relatives as to give the scandalous world no room for that contemptuous pity and abundant gossip which an open rupture between herself and her son would doubtless have occasioned.

The manner of the wooing had been in this wise:John Archer, a sober, staid gentleman of great wealth, was Clement Rutherford’s most intimate friend, and naturally, when the Archers moved into their new and splendid villa at Newport, Clement was invited to spend a few weeks with them an invitation which he readily accepted.A few days after his arrival, Mrs. Archer, who was a pretty, lively little coquette, not in the least sobered by some thirteen years of married life, offered to drive him out in her little phaeton.“John has just given me a new pair of ponies,” she said “such perfect beauties and so gentle that I long to drive them.”So the pretty, stylish equipage, with its fair driver and faultless appointments, made its first appearance on the avenue that afternoon, and also, I am sorry to say, its last; for the “gentle beauties” afore-said, excited to emulation by the number of spirited steeds around them, became ambitious of distinction, and sought for and decidedly obtained it by running away, thereby overturning the phaeton, breaking the harness, bruising Mrs. Archer severely and dislocating Mr. Rutherford’s ankle.

Mrs. Archer was as well as ever in a few days, but the injuries received by her guest proved sufficiently serious to compel him to maintain a recumbent position for a long time, and prevented him from walking for several weeks.She made every arrangement possible for his comfort, and she had a charming little reception-room on the ground floor, adjoining the library, fitted up as a bed-chamber, and installed him there; so that as soon as he was able to quit his bed for a sofa, he could be wheeled into the latter apartment, and there enjoy the distractions of literature and society.For a few days after he made his first appearance there his lovely hostess was all attention and devotion; but, finding that he was anything but an agreeable or impressionable companion, she soon wearied of his society.Mr. Archer, shortly after the accident had taken place, had been summoned from home by important business connected with some mining property which he possessed, and which necessitated his presence in the interior of Pennsylvania; so Mrs. Archer, thus left with the entertainment of her most uncongenial guest exclusively confided to her care, came speedily to the conclusion that he was a nuisance, and began to look about for a substitute to relieve her from her unwelcome duties.She decided that her pretty governess, who spoke French so well, and sang little French chansonettes so sweetly, and got herself up in such a charming manner, giving so much “chic” and style even to the simplest of toilettes, was just the person to take upon herself the task of amusing the uninteresting invalid.

“Do look after Mr. Rutherford a little, there’s a dear, good creature,” whispered Mrs. Archer confidentially to Miss Nugent.  “He is dreadfully tiresome, to be sure, but John thinks the world of him, you know, and it would not exactly do to leave him alone all the time.  I wish him to receive every attention while he is in the house, of course; but as for sitting for hours at a time with him in that stuffy little library just in the height of the season, too why, I cannot think of doing it.If you will just go and sit with him sometimes, and read to him a little, it will be an absolute charity to me.I’ll see that Alice and Emily do not get into any mischief.”

Which, considering that the young ladies in question were, one twelve, the other ten years of age, and both much addicted to flirtation and dancing the “German,” was rather a rash promise and inconsiderately made.

So Miss Nugent was definitely installed as reader and garde malade in general, and Clement Rutherford soon learned to await her coming with impatience and to welcome her with delight.  All his life long will he remember those summer days, when her voice and the low plash of the far-off ocean waves wove themselves together into music as she read, and when the blue splendors of her lustrous eyes lent a new meaning to the poet’s story as it flowed in melodious verses from her lips.Then came a day when the book was laid aside, and the impassioned utterances of poetry gave place to the more prosaic but not less fervent accents of a newly-awakened passion.  Cold, silent and morose as Clement Rutherford had always been, it had so happened that but few women had ever attempted to attract him, notwithstanding his wealth and social position; and the interested motives of those few had been so apparent that he had been repelled and disgusted, instead of being fascinated, by their wiles; so that Miss Nugent’s grace and beauty and syren charms proved all too potent for his unoccupied though icy heart to resist; and thus it chanced that the day before Mr. Rutherford left Newport he astonished his hostess by requesting a private interview with her, and therein announcing his engagement to her governess.

“You could have knocked me down with a feather,” Mrs. Archer said afterward to an intimate friend.“I never should have suspected that such a quiet, stupid man as he was would fall in love in that ridiculous kind of a way.  Good gracious! how indignant old Mrs. Rutherford will be! and I shall be blamed for the whole affair, no doubt.I wish John had never brought the man here I never did like him; and then, too, it is so provoking to lose Miss Nugent just now, while we are at Newport.Of course I can find no one to replace her till we return to New York.  Well, I always was an unlucky little woman.”

The marriage took place in the latter part of September, only a few weeks after the engagement had been first announced.Mrs. Rutherford, true to her resolution of making the best of the affair, was careful that none of the usual courtesies and observances should be neglected.The bridal gifts from the Rutherford family, if less splendid, were as numerous as they would have been had Mr. Rutherford married a member of his mother’s decorous, high-bred “set,” and all his immediate relatives called most punctiliously on the bride when the newly-wedded pair arrived in New York after their six weeks’ trip to Philadelphia and Washington.

Mr. Rutherford decided to take rooms at the Brevoort House till he could purchase a suitable residence.His mother’s splendid home was not thrown open to receive him and his unwelcome bride, as it would have been had he made a choice more consonant with her wishes.

But we have wandered far from the dinner given by Mrs. Rutherford in honor of her new daughter-in-law, and with which our chapter commences.

It was a superb entertainment, as the Rutherford dinners usually were.The service of gold plate purchased by Schuyler Van Vleyden when he was minister to Austria adorned the table, which was also decorated with three splendid pyramids of choicest flowers.An exquisite bouquet bloomed in front of each lady’s plate, and the painted blossoms on the peerless dinner-service of rare old Sevres vied in every respect save fragrance with their living counterparts.An unseen orchestra, stationed in the conservatory, sent forth strains of music, now grave, now gay, as Gounod or Offenbach ruled the tuneful spirit of the hour.Twelve guests only were present, including Mrs. John Archer, to whom Mrs. Rutherford had in this fashion testified her forgiveness, and who had accepted the proffered olive-branch with delight, wearing, in order to do honor to the occasion, an exquisite dress, fresh from one of the most renowned ateliers of Parisian fashion.  Mrs. Rutherford, as usual, notwithstanding her infirmity, presided with unfailing grace and dignity; and in her splendid dress of black satin, brocaded with bouquets of flowers in their natural hues, her cap and collar of priceless old point lace, and her antiquely set but magnificent ornaments of sapphires and diamonds, she still looked a queen of society.A well-trained servant was stationed behind her chair, who from time to time placed before her suitably-prepared portions of the various delicacies of the entertainment, of which she slightly partook, in order to obviate the restraint which her presence at the festivity without participating in it would have occasioned.On her left hand sat her younger son, Horace, whose watchful eyes followed her every movement, and whose loving care anticipated her every wish.He was a tall, stalwart-looking young man, fair-haired and blue-eyed, like his elder brother, but his frank, joyous expression and winning manners bore no resemblance to the sullen countenance and surly demeanor of Clement.

The bride was, of course, the, cynosure of all eyes.Attired in rich, creamy-white satin, the corsage shaded with folds of delicate lace, with coral ornaments on her neck and arms, and with the heavy masses of her dark hair interwoven with coral beads, she looked extremely beautiful, and was pronounced by the ladies present to be “handsome and stylish-looking, but decidedly dull.”This latter accusation was more truthful than such charges usually are.  Mrs. Clement Rutherford did feel unusually stupid.  She was ennuye by the long, formal, stately dinner; she knew but few of the persons present; and her point-lace fan was frequently called into requisition to conceal her yawns.The game had been served before her next neighbor, a sprightly young New Yorker, who had been rather fascinated by her beauty, contrived to arouse her into something like animation.He succeeded at last, however, and it was not long before an unusually brilliant sally drew a merry laugh from her lips.Her laugh was peculiar a low, musical, trilling sound, mirthful and melodious as the chime of a silver bell.

As its joyous music rang on the air, Mrs. Rutherford turned ghastly pale.She gasped convulsively, half rose from her seat and fell back in a deathlike swoon.

Of course all was instantly confusion and dismay.The guests sprang up, the waiters hurried forward Horace was instantly at his mother’s side.

“She has only fainted,” he said in his clear, decided tones.“She will be better in a few moments.Let me beg of you, my friends, to resume your seats.Clement, will you oblige me by taking our mother’s post?”

With the help of Mrs. Rutherford’s special attendant, Horace supported the already reviving sufferer from the room.They conveyed her to her sleeping apartment, where restoratives and cold water were freely used, and she soon regained perfect consciousness.  But returning animation seemed to bring with it a strange and overwhelming sorrow.When the servant had retired, leaving her alone with her son, she refused to answer any of his queries, and burying her face in her pillow, she wept with convulsive and irrepressible violence.At length the very vehemence of her grief seemed, by exhausting itself, to restore her to comparative calm:her tears ceased to flow, her heavy sobs no longer shook her frame, and she remained for some time perfectly quiet and silent.At length she spoke: 

“Horace!”

“What is it, mother?”

“Describe to me the personal appearance of your brother’s wife minutely, as though a picture were to be painted from your words.”

It was no unusual request.Horace was in the habit of thus minutely describing persons and places for his mother’s benefit.

“She is rather below the middle height, and her form, though slender, is finely moulded and of perfect proportions.Her hands and feet are faultless, and her walk is extremely graceful, resembling more the gait of a French-woman than that of an English girl.Her complexion is pale and rather sallow, and her countenance is full of expression, which varies constantly when she talks.The lower part of her face is somewhat too thin for perfect beauty, and the chin is inclined to be pointed, and the cheeks are rather hollow, but the upper part is superb.Her brow is low and broad, and she folds back from it the heavy waves of her black hair in the plainest possible style.Her eyes are her chief beauty, and would transfigure any face into loveliness.  They are very large, and of a dark, transparent blue, of so lustrous and so perfect an azure that not even in shadow do they look black.Stay I can give you a better idea of her appearance than by multiplying words.Did you, when you were in Munich, visit the Gallery of Beauties in the Royal Palace?”

“I did.”

“Do you remember the portrait of Lola Montez?”

“Certainly as though I had seen it yesterday.”

“Marion resembles that portrait very strikingly, particularly in the shape and carriage of her head.”

“I am not mistaken it is she.Would that I had never lived to see this day!” And Mrs. Rutherford wrung her hands in an agony of helpless, hopeless distress.

“It is she?” repeated Horace, in perplexity.“Whom do you mean, mother?Who was Marion Nugent?”

“She is not Marion Nugent this impostor who has thrust herself into our midst, bringing scandal and dishonor as her dower.”

“And who, then, is she?”

Mrs. Rutherford turned toward him and fixed on his face her tear-bathed eyes, as though sight were restored to her, and she were trying to read his thoughts in his countenance.

“Why should I tell you?” she said, after a pause:“why reveal to you the shameful secret, and tell of a misfortune which is without a remedy?Clement is married:  what words of mine can divorce him?And who will believe the evidence of a blind woman?If I were not blind, I might openly denounce her, but now ” And again she wrung her hands in unspeakable anguish.

Horace knelt beside his mother’s couch and folded her hands in his own.

“I will believe you, mother,” he said, earnestly.“Trust me tell me all.If this woman whom my brother has married be an impostor, he may yet be freed from the matrimonial chain.”

“Could that be possible?”

“It may be.Let me try, at least.I will devote myself to your service if you will but confide in me.”

“Close the door, and then come near me, Horace nearer still.I will tell you all.”

Two days later the steamship Pereire sailed from New York for Brest, numbering among her passengers Horace Rutherford.

Chapter III.

Striking the Flag.

The events narrated in our last chapter took place early in November, and it was not till the following March that the astonished friends of Horace Rutherford saw him reappear amongst them as suddenly and as unexpectedly as he had departed.  “Business of importance” was the sole explanation he vouchsafed to those who questioned him respecting the motive of his brief European tour; and with that answer public curiosity was perforce obliged to content itself.Society had, in fact, grown weary of discussing the affairs of the Rutherford family.Clement Rutherford’s mésalliance, his mother’s sudden illness at that memorable dinner-party, her subsequent seclusion from the world, and Horace’s inexplicable absence, had all afforded food for the insatiable appetite of the scandal-mongers.Then Gossip grew eloquent respecting the flirtations and “fast” manners of Clement Rutherford’s wife, and whispered that the old lady’s seizure had been either apoplexy or paralysis, brought on by her distress of mind at her son’s marriage, and that she had never been herself since.Next, the elegant establishment of the newly-wedded pair on Twenty-sixth street, with its gorgeous furniture and costly appointments, furnished a theme for much conversation, and doubts were expressed as to whether the “Upper Ten” would honor with its august presence the ball which Mrs. Clement Rutherford proposed giving on Shrove Tuesday, which in that year came about the middle of March.But as to that, it was generally conceded that they would.Youth, beauty, wealth and the shadow of an old family name could cover a multitude of such sins as rapid manners, desperate flirtations and a questionable origin; and notwithstanding her fastness, and, worse still, her ci-devant governess-ship, Mrs. Clement Rutherford was a decided social success.

On the day succeeding that oh which he had arrived, Horace made his appearance at his brother’s house.Clement had not heard of his return, and received him with a cordiality strikingly at variance with his usual manner.

“Come into the library,” he said, after the first greetings had been exchanged.  “I have some fine cigars for you to try, and you can tell me something about your travels.”

“Thank you, Clement:I believe I must decline your offer.I have a message for your wife:can I see her?”

A cloud swept over the brow of the elder brother.

“I suppose you can,” he said, coldly, looking at his watch as he spoke.  “Two o’clock.She took breakfast about half an hour ago, so she is probably at home.  You had better go up stairs to her boudoir, as she calls it, and Christine, her maid, will tell her that you wish to see her.”

He turned away, and was about to leave the room when Horace caught his hand.

“Clement! brother!Answer me one question:Are you happy in your married life?”

“Go ask the scandal-mongers of New York,” was the bitter reply:“they are eloquent respecting the perfection of my connubial bliss.”

“If she had been a kind and affectionate wife, if she had made him happy,” muttered Horace as he ascended the stairs, “my task would have been a harder one.Now my duty is clear, and my course lies smooth and straight before, me.”

The room into which he was ushered by Christine, the pretty French maid, was a perfect marvel of elegance and extravagance.It was very small, and on every part of it had been lavished all that the combined efforts of taste and expenditure could achieve.The walls had been painted in fresco by an eminent Italian artist, and bevies of rosy Cupids, trailing after them garlands of many-hued flowers, disported on a background of a delicate green tint.  The same tints and design were repeated in the Aubusson carpet, and on the fine Gobelin tapestry which covered the few chairs and the one luxurious couch that formed the useful furniture of the tiny apartment.Étagères of carved and gilded wood occupied each corner, and, together with the low mantelshelf (which was upheld by two dancing nymphs in Carrara marble), were crowded with costly trifles in Bohemian glass, Dresden and Sevres porcelain, gilded bronze, carved ivory and Parian ware.An easel, drawn toward the centre of the room, supported the one painting that it contained, the designs on the walls being unsuited for the proper display of pictures.This one picture had evidently been selected on account of the contrast which it afforded to the gay coloring and riante style of the decorations.It was a superb marine view by Hamilton a cloudy sunset above a stormy sea, the lurid sinking sun flinging streaks of blood-red light upon the leaden waters that, in the foreground, foamed and dashed themselves wildly against the rocks of a barren and precipitous shore.

Horace stood lost in contemplation before the easel, when the door opened and his sister-in-law entered.He turned to greet her, and her beauty, enhanced as it was by the elegance of her attire, drew from him an involuntary glance of admiration.  Her dress was an exemplification of how much splendor may be lavished on a morning-costume without rendering it absolutely and ridiculously inappropriate.  She wore a robe of turquoise-blue Indian cashmere, edged around the long train and flowing sleeves with a broad border of that marvelous gold embroidery which only Eastern fingers can execute or Eastern imaginations devise.A band of the same embroidery confined the robe around her slender, supple waist, and showed to advantage the perfection of her figure.A brooch and long ear-pendants of lustreless yellow gold, and a fan of azure silk with gilded sticks, were the adjuncts to this costume, whose rich hues and gorgeous effects would have crushed a less brilliant and stylish-looking woman, but which were wonderfully becoming to its graceful wearer.

“Welcome home, Horace!” she said in that low sweet voice which was one of her most potent charms.“How kind it is of you to pay me a visit so soon after your return!”

She placed herself on the couch and motioned to him to take a seat near her.He drew up his chair, and a short, embarrassed pause succeeded.

Mrs. Rutherford toyed with her fan and stole glances from under her long black lashes at her visitor, who sat twisting one of his gloves and wishing most ardently that Providence had entrusted the painful task before him to some one of a more obdurate and less chivalrous nature.

Wearied of silence, the lady spoke at last.

“Have you nothing of interest respecting your travels to tell me?” she asked.

Her voice seemed to break the spell which paralyzed him.He turned toward her with the look of one who nerves himself up to take a desperate resolution: 

“Yes:I have a story to relate to you, and one of more than common interest.”

“Really!” She yawned behind her fan.“Excuse me, but I was at Mrs. Houdon’s ball last evening, and the ‘German’ was kept up till five o’clock this morning.  I am wretchedly tired.Now do go on with your story:I have no doubt but that I shall find it amusing, but do not be much surprised if I fall asleep.”

“I think you will find it interesting, and I have no fear of its putting you to sleep.  But you must make me one promise.I am but a poor narrator, and you must engage not to interrupt me.”

“I have no hesitation in promising to remain perfectly quiet, no matter how startling your incidents or how vivid your descriptions may be.”

She leaned back among the cushions with another stifled yawn and shaded her eyes with her fan.Without heeding the veiled impertinence of her manner, Horace commenced his narrative: 

“Some twenty-five years ago a friendless, penniless Englishwoman died at one of the cheap boarding-schools in Dieppe, where she had officiated for some time as English teacher and general drudge.She left behind her a little girl about five years of age a pretty, engaging child, whose beauty and infantile fascinations so won the heart of Madame Tellier, the proprietress of the establishment, that she decided to take charge of the little creature and educate her, her project being to fit her for the post of English teacher in her school.But the pretty child grew up to be a beautiful but unprincipled girl, with an inborn passion for indolence and luxury.  At the age of seventeen she eloped from the school with a young Parisian gentleman, who had been spending the summer months at one of the seaside hotels in Dieppe, and her benefactress saw her and heard of her no more.

“We will pass over the events of the next few years.It would hardly interest you to follow, as I did, each step by which the heroine of my history progressed ever downward on the path of vice.We find her at last traveling in Italy under the protection of the Count von Erlenstein, an Austrian noble of great wealth and dissolute character.  She has cast aside the name she once bore, and, anticipating the jewel-borrowed cognomens of Cora Pearl and La Reine Topaze, she adopts a title from the profusion of pink coral jewelry which she habitually wears, and Rose Sherbrooke is known as Rose Coral.”

Horace paused.A short, sharp sound broke the momentary silence:it was caused by the snapping of one of the gilded fan-sticks under the pressure of the white, rigid fingers that clasped it.But the listener kept her face hidden, and but for that convulsive motion the speaker might have fancied that she slept, so silent and motionless did she remain.After a short pause Horace continued: 

“The attachment of Count von Erlenstein proved to be a lasting one, and we find Rose Coral at a later period installed in a luxurious establishment in Vienna, and one of the reigning queens of that realm of many sovereigns, the demi-monde of the gay capital of Austria.But the count falls ill; his sickness speedily assumes a dangerous form; his death deprives Rose Coral of her splendor; and the sunny streets of Vienna know her fair face no more.I will not retrace for you, as I could do, each step in her rapid descent from luxury to poverty, from splendor to vice, from celebrity to ruin.But one day she makes her appearance, under the name of Rhoda Steele, on board the steamship America, bound for New York.The state-room which she occupies is shared by a young girl named Marion Nugent, whose future career is to be that of a governess in the United States.On the first night out one of the occupants of the state-room is taken suddenly ill and dies, the corpse is committed to the deep, and it is reported throughout the ship that the name of the deceased is Rhoda Steele.The tale was false:it was Marion Nugent who died it was Rose Sherbrooke, alias Rose Coral, alias Rhoda Steele, who lived to rob the dead girl of her effects and to assume her name!”

The broken fan was flung violently to the floor, and Mrs. Rutherford sprang to her feet, her face livid with passion and her blue eyes blazing with a steel-like light.

“How dare you come here to assert such falsehoods?” she cried.“You have always hated me you and all the rest of your haughty family because it pleased Clement Rutherford to marry me me, a penniless governess.But I am your sister-in-law, and I demand that you treat me with proper respect.  You came here to-day simply to insult me.Well, sir, I will summon my husband, and he shall protect me from your insolence.”

She turned toward the door as she spoke, but he motioned her back with an imperative and scornful gesture.

“Softly, Rose Coral,” he said, with a sneer:“the manners of the Quartier Breda are not much to my taste, nor do they suit the character you have been pleased to assume.Do you think me so void of common sense as to return home without full proof of your identity?  I have in my possession a large colored photograph of you, taken some years ago by Hildebrandt of Vienna, and endorsed by him on the back with a certificate stating that it is an accurate likeness of the celebrated Rose Coral.Secondly, I have brought home with me two witnesses one is Jane Sheldon, late housekeeper for the Rev. Walter Nugent, and formerly nurse to the deceased Marion Nugent; and the other is a French hairdresser who lived many years in Vienna, and who, for several months, daily arranged the profuse tresses of Rose Coral.One will prove who you are not, and the other will as certainly prove who you are.”

“Who I was” she said, defiantly.“I will deny it no longer:  I am Rose Sherbrooke, once known as Rose Coral, and, what is more to the purpose, I am the wife of Clement Rutherford.Have a care, my brother Horace, lest you reveal to the world that your immaculate relatives have been touching pitch of the blackest hue and greatest tenacity.Prove me to be the vilest of my sex, I remain none the less a wedded wife your brother’s wife and I defy you.  The game is played out, and I have won it.”

She threw herself back in her chair and cast on him a glance of insolent disdain.  Horace Rutherford looked at her with a scornful smile.

“The game is not played out,” he said, calmly.“One card remains in my hand, and I produce it.It is the Ace of Diamonds, and its title is The Rose of the Morning.”

A livid paleness overspread Mrs. Rutherford’s features, and a stifled cry escaped from her lips.  She half rose from her seat, but, seeming to recollect herself, she sank back and covered her face with her hands.Horace continued, after a momentary pause: 

“My investigations into the history of the Count Wilhelm von Erlenstein during the last years of his life revealed the fact that he had lost the most valuable of the jewels of his family.  It had been stolen.It was a pink diamond of great size and beauty, known to gem-connoisseurs by the name of The Rose of the Morning one of those remarkable stones which have a history and a pedigree, and which are as well known by reputation to diamond-fanciers as are Raphael’s Transfiguration and the Apollo Belvidere to the lovers of art.  This gem was worn by Count Wilhelm as a clasp to the plume in his toque at a fancy ball given by one of the Metternich family, at which he appeared in the costume of Henri III. of France.He afterward, with culpable carelessness, placed it, amongst his studs, pins, watch-chains and other similar bijouterie, in a small steel cabinet which stood in his bed-chamber.  His illness and the dismissal of Rose Coral occurred soon after the fancy ball in question, and it was not till his heir, the present count, had been for some time in possession of the estates that it was discovered that the great diamond was missing.It was not to be found, and suspicion immediately fell upon the late count’s valet, a Frenchman named Antoine Lasalle; who was found to have been mysteriously possessed of a large sum of money after the count’s death.  He was arrested, and it was conclusively proved that he had stolen a number of valuable trinkets from his dying master, but still no trace of The Rose of the Morning could be discovered, and Lasalle strenuously denied all knowledge respecting it.The family offered large rewards for its recovery, and the detectives of all the large cities of Europe have been for some time on the alert to discover it, but in vain.  As soon as I heard this story, I thought that I could make a tolerably shrewd guess as to the whereabouts of the missing jewel; and I caused investigations to be set on foot in New York by a trusty agent, which resulted in the discovery that The Rose of the Morning had been sold some six months before to a jeweler in Maiden lane for about one-twenty-fifth of its value, the peculiar tint of the stone, and the purchaser’s ignorance of the estimation in which it is held by the gem-fanciers of Europe, having militated against the magnitude of the valuation set upon it.It was secured for me at a comparatively trifling price.  The person who sold it to the jeweler some six months ago, in spite of a partial disguise and an assumed name, was easy to recognize, from the description given, as that lady of many names, Mrs. John Archer’s governess.Now, Rose Coral, what say you?  You may be Mrs. Clement Rutherford, my brother’s lawful wife, but you are not the less a thief and a criminal, for whom the laws have terrible punishment and bitter degradation.”

“This is but a poor invention:  where are your proofs?” she cried, looking up as she spoke, but her faltering voice and quivering lips contradicted her words.

“Here is my chief witness.”  He drew off his left-hand glove as he spoke, and extended his hand toward her.On the third finger blazed the beautiful gem of which he had spoken, its great size and purity fully displayed in the pale afternoon sunlight that flashed back in rosy radiance from its bright-tinted depths.

“It is almost too large to wear as a ring,” he said with great coolness, looking at the jewel, “but I wish it to run no further risks till I can transfer it to its lawful owner, which will be as soon as it has played its talismanic part by freeing my brother from his impostor-wife.”

The lady rose from her seat, pale, calm and resolved.

“Further insults are useless, sir,” she said.“The game is ended now, and you have won it.What is it that you wish me to do?”

“You must sail for Europe in one of next week’s steamers, leaving behind you such a confession of guilt as will enable my brother to procure a divorce without revealing the shameful fact that he was the innocent means of introducing an impostor a ci-devant lorette to his family and friends as his wife.Better this scandal of an elopement than the horror of having such a story made public.An income amply sufficient for your wants will be settled upon you, on condition that you never return to the United States, and never, in any way, proclaim the fact that Mrs. Clement Rutherford and Rose Coral were one and the same person.”

“I accept your conditions,” she said, wearily.“I will go, never to return.Now leave me.But stay:will you not answer me one question?”

“I will, certainly.”

“Who was it that discovered my secret?”

“My mother my blind mother.Some years ago, before she lost her sight, I accompanied her on a short European tour, in which we visited England, France, Switzerland, and finally Italy.While we were at Rome I fell ill with the fever of the country, and my physicians gave orders that as soon as I was well enough to travel I should leave Italy for a more bracing climate.We had not visited Naples, and I was anxious that my mother should not return home without seeing the wonders of that city; so as soon as I became convalescent I prevailed upon her to leave me in the care of some friends and to join a party who were going thither.During her stay she went frequently to the opera.One evening she was greatly disturbed by the loud talking and laughing of some persons in the box next to the one she occupied, and she was much struck with the beauty, the brilliant toilette and the boisterous conduct of one of the female members of the party.  She inquired the name of the person she had thus remarked.  It was yourself, and she learned not only your name, but your whole history.When at her own dinner-table she heard the sweet and singular laugh that had so struck her on that occasion, the sensitiveness of hearing peculiar to the blind caused her to recognize the sound at once; and the description which I afterward gave her of your personal appearance only changed torturing doubt into agonizing certainty.”

“Thanks for your courtesy:I will detain you no longer.”

Horace bowed and approached the door.  Suddenly, as if moved by a sudden impulse, he turned back.

“Believe me, this task has been a hard one,” he said, earnestly.“And remember, if hereafter you may need pecuniary aid, do not hesitate to apply to me.For Heaven’s sake, do not return to the life you once led.  There was one redeeming feature in the imposture which you practiced:it showed that some yearning for a pure name and an innocent life was yet possible to you.”

“I want no sermons,” she answered, abruptly.“Only leave me at peace.  Go:I am sick of the sight of you.”

As he closed the door he cast one parting glance on the room and its occupant.  She stood leaning against the back of a large arm-chair, her clasped hands resting on the top, and her white, rigid face set in the fixed calmness of total despair.

Thus left alone, she remained standing for some time as motionless as though she were a marble statue and not a living woman.Suddenly she seemed to take some desperate resolve:she threw back her head with a bitter, mirthless laugh, and going to the bell she rang it.Her maid quickly appeared.

“I have a wretched headache, Christine,” she said.“I shall not come down to dinner, and do not disturb me till nine o’clock:that will give me time enough to dress for Mrs. Winchester’s ball.I will wear the pale-blue satin and my point-lace tunic.  Be sure you change the white roses that loop it for pink ones, and lay out my parure of pearls and diamonds, and my point-lace fan and handkerchief.Now bring me the two phials that stand on the third shelf of the closet in my bed-chamber.”

Christine departed on her errand and soon returned, bringing with her two bottles, the smallest of which was labeled “Solution of Morphia POISON.  Dose for an adult, ten drops;” while the largest Was simply inscribed “Sulphuric Ether.”  These she placed on the chimney-piece, and then proceeded to arrange the cushions of the lounge and to draw the curtains.“I will now leave madame to her repose,” she said.“Does madame need anything more?”

“No, I shall want nothing more,” was the reply.The door closed upon the maid’s retreating form, and Mrs. Rutherford instantly shot the bolt.

She cast a sad and wistful glance around the dainty room and on its glittering contents. “J’etais si bien ici,” she said regretfully.“I had found here the existence which suited me, and now the end has come.  It is not in my nature to remain satisfied with a life of poverty and respectability, and I will not return to one of degradation and vice.But, after all, what does it matter?My fate would have found me sooner or later, and this soft couch is better than a hospital bed or the slabs of La Morgue:  this draught is more soothing than the cold waters of the Thames or the Seine.Life is no longer a game that is worth the candle:let us extinguish the lights and put the cards away.”

She took up the phial of morphia, drew the little sofa nearer to the fireplace and extended herself upon it.The daylight faded from the sky and night came, and with the night came sleep a sleep whose dream was of Eternity, and whose wakening light would be the dawn of the resurrection morning.

“Accidental death” was the verdict of the coroner and the newspapers, and, in fact, of the world in general a conclusion much assisted by the evidence of Christine, who testified that her mistress was in the habit of using narcotics and anaesthetics in large quantities to relieve the pain of the neuralgic headaches from which she was a constant sufferer.Society said, “How sad!Dreadful, is it not?” and went on its way not exactly rejoicing, for the death of Mrs. Rutherford deprived its members of her long-promised, long-talked-of Shrove-Tuesday ball, and consequently the gay world mourned her loss very sincerely for a short time; in fact, till a well-known leader of fashion announced her intention of giving a fancy-dress party on the night thus left vacant, whereupon Society was consoled, and Mrs. Rutherford’s sad fate was forgotten.

Only two persons Horace Rutherford and his mother suspected that her death was not an accidental one; but they guarded their secret carefully, and Clement Rutherford will never learn that his dead wife was other than the innocent English girl she represented herself to be.  Walter Nugent wrote a pathetic letter to Mrs. Rutherford, begging that a lock of his lost and now forgiven darling’s hair might be sent to him; and it cost Horace a sharp pang of regret when he substituted for the black, wavy tress furnished by Clement a golden ringlet purchased from one of the leading hairdressers of New York.

“Heaven forgive me!” he said to himself, remorsefully, as he sealed the little packet; “but I really think that this is one of the cases wherein one cannot be blamed for not revealing the truth.”

A few months later, Horace Rutherford stood in Greenwood Cemetery contemplating with curiosity and interest the inscription on a recently-erected monument of pure white marble.

“Sacred to the memory of Marion Nugent, beloved wife of Clement Rutherford,” he read.“Well, this is consistent at least.  She wears the disguise of a virtuous woman in her very tomb.Marion Nugent rests beneath the waves of the Atlantic ocean, and here Rose Sherbrooke sleeps in an honored grave beneath the shelter of the dead girl’s stainless name.But the deception has power to harm no longer, so let us leave her in peace.It is well for our family that, even as a sunken wreck, we still find this pirate bark Under False Colors,”

LUCY HAMILTON HOOPER.