which, glistening with rings, lay over the arm of the chair; cold snow-flakas drifted in, for a winter storm raged outside. "God will reward you for your charity." Mrs. Hawley turned away from the bed with wet eyes. "Where is the child," she asked. "We will take it away with us."

"I have one more favor to ask of you, sir," she said, ad Iress-out one of her hands with a shy smile to Mr. Hawley as her ing Mr. Hawley, while she feebly pressed his wife's hand.

Mrs. Hawley looked at her husband-she had no objections the criminal husband, for whom her tears had flown so bitterly, to offer.

she was even unaware of the fact that he had had no money of broken wife; but friends asked, with murmers of pity, what his own to bring into the newly-settled firm, but had been❘ would become of her little orphan child? A bard struggle folreceived by his partner solely on account of his acknowledged business capacities.

She had brought him a dower which Hawley, in his understanding of women, well knew that it looked larger in her eyes than its nominal value; and he shrank from the mortifying explanations, which might be received in a passion of tears, and lead in the end to recriminations and dislikes.

He weakly chose rather to take advantage of his partner's confidence by a series of false entries in his ledger, trusting to Mr. Danforth's general carelessness in business matters to escape detection, and was favored in this scheme by a prolonged and unavoidable absence of his head clerk. Perhaps he overrated his partner's carelessness or his trust in himself, one or the two; for Mr. Danforth, one day at the close of their labors, desirea him to give him a few moments privately in their countingHis heart failed him at the sudden request, but his quick, upward glance could detect no unusual emotion on his partner's smooth face.

room.

No one had heard the appointment, for they were alone. He went out, moodily, unable in his excitement to trace his steps towards his home, where his wife was waiting his apprarance.

It was a lonely walk, down by the wharves, that Hawley took; and as he looked off on the smooth sheet of water, he thought what a chill shroud it would make. It was long past the hour fixed for their meeting when he came back, and touching the door, which yielded freely to his hand, he, guided by the light which glimmered across the floor, stepped over to the little room which he had never crossed before with such a beating heart.

His partner and friend-in whom his first glance now detected an enemy-sat at the desk, the ledger lying open before him; his eyes turned expectantly to the door.

lowed in Mr. Hawley's mind: but it was over at length-he would accept this opportunity of restitution which a benignant providence seemed to have placed in his way-he would adopt the child, win over his wife to his purpose, and she should hold the same place in his home and kindness as if she had been his own. This last plan, the first sight of her innocent face showed him it would be out of his power to fulfill; the living likeness of her dead father to his eyes, sight, and contact thrilled him with a vague repulsion. "Heaven would not accept me in this kind of atonement," he thought, "but at least she shall find in me a kind friend."

What peace does that man ever know who bears in secret the red brand of Cain, though outward honors, the hollow homage of the world, and troops of friends, surround him?

From the day of his partner's disappearance, a great change came over Mr. Hawley. The frank smile quitted his lips, his clear blue eyes shunned those of his fellow-men, and carried in their depths doubt and suspicion; even in his own home he forgot to lay aside his cold exterior, and his wife felt that a barrier, against which all her patience and tenderness were powerless, had suddenly come between them.

"I had no idea Marion had married so well," said an intimate friend of the young wife's family in conversation with her adopted mother. "I had supposed Mr. Hawley was a struggling young man of small means."

"Oh, no!" said the gratified parent, "Marion was always our own child by affection, and we should never have allowed her to marry beneath her station. Mr. Hawley is a man of fine business talents, as well as some property, and promises already to become one of our merchant princes."

The prophecy proved true; everything which the young merchant's hand touched seemed to prosper. Fortune show.

from the date of his marriage-day, he occupied a palatial mansion, and Mrs. Hawley filled with grace and ease her place in the highest circles of fashionable life.

Both were men of high passions, and a stormy interviewered her rich gifts upon him with a liberal hand. Ten years naturally came about. Hawley was reckless with the certainty of his ruin, and in an uncontrolled moment, stung by some bitter taunt of ingratitude, whose point lay in its truth, aimed a blow at the excited man before him, which fell with stunning weight upon his temples.

He fell forward upon the desk before which he still stood, extinguishing the light, which on going out left all the room

in darkness.

Not one child of the first three born to them in the first years of their union lived to bless their marriage; but the mother's heart, at least, gave to the adopted daughter, who knew them only as her real parents, a wealth of affection little short of what she would have bestowed her own. True, she had nothing besides to love; her husband, in the first short year of their marriage, had grown strangely cold and indifferent, and she was one of those whose affections are too warm to be absorbed wholly in fashion and admiration. She had a vague idea, deep hidden in her own heart, that this little child whom she had so solemnly taken at her mother's deathbed, and had more than He thought of his young wife, of his own blighted character, once saved her, like some interposing angel, from that dark of all that must follow if his crime should come to light; by-path into which so many thoughtless and unguarded women and bye it nerved him to concealment, and he set himself with turn. many a shudder to the execution of his bitter task.

Hawley never remembered how e came out of the stupor which followed that awful moment; his first insane thought was to rush out and call a policeman; his second, that it was possible his victim was only stunned. His last thought led him to rekindle the light, and then after an examination of the lifeless body, he sat down to consider.

There was more to follow; a plausible story must be framed of his victim's disappearance, and by-and-bye a false account given of his stock in the partnership. In all this, as we have seen, he had succeeded-succeeded beyond his hopes. Not a suspicion of the truth crossed the mind of the murdered man's widow; she accepted the story, and even received in silence the announcement, which of course must follow the circumstances, that nothing was due her from her husband's part of the funds invested in the firm.

Hawley bad managed this with his usual adroitness; he had discovered first that she knew actually nothing of her late busband's business matters, and if he had made assertions to others as to the amount of property in the partnership, of what worth was the word of a felon, where no one felt interested to search out the case?

"I cannot do otherwise," he said to his own conscience, "to escape suspicion. But I will be a kind friend to the poor woman; she and her orphan child shall want for nothing; I will give them freely out of their own."

How did he know that his own strong life might not be cut off in the very first hour of this public restitution?

CHAPTER III.

"MAMMA, Mr. Herkimer wishes to see papa this evening." They were in Mrs. Hawley's dressing-room, where Constance, with many blushes, had whispered her first girlish secret, and now clung with fond arms around the neck of the kind friend who bent upon her such loving and thoughtful glances.

"I hoped to have kept you with me longer, my dear," said Mrs. Hawley, speaking in a voice of some emotion. "This is new to me, too. Are you sure, my child, that this fancy is not a little sudden on your part?"

Constance hung her head. "I only know, mamma, that I prefer him to all the rest of the world."

Mrs. Hawley sighed. Perhaps she thought of her own lovematch, which had turned out to be very little of a love-match, after all.

"I suppose Mr. Herkimer to be a gentleman of good prospects," she said, gravely, after a pause. "He is well received in society. No doubt he has opened to you his circumstances?'' "No," said Constance, softly, "he will talk with papa." Mrs. Hawley sighed again, this time with a fresh recollec

Mrs. Danforth was dying; it was well for the poor heart- tion. The story of Constance's birth must be told on the eve

of her marriage-would it diminish anything of her love for herself?

It was a selfish question, but it came up naturally enough. "She is only eighteen," she mused; "I might have hoped to have kept her with me a year or two longer; but if the young man is deserving, I must not wish to cross her happiness."

The bell rang for visitors; Constance broke away from her mother's embrace, and the servant came up presently to summon the lady to the drawing room. The visitors proved to be family connections, whose stay was prolonged through the day, and she had no opportunity to obtain a few moment's conversation with her husband.

It might prove twice as well, she thought-the lover might introduce his subject more skilfully than herself, and she much doubted if his errand would prove as unwelcome to Mr. Hawley as its announcement had to her.

As Mr. Hawley had never evinced much fondness for his adopted daughter, even in her pretty childhood, it was not to be expected that he would feel any very strong regrets at this mutual parting.

The bell rang; Mr. Hawley was told that a gentleman begged a few moments' conference with him; the gentleman's card was handed to him, and he got up to go into his library.

Constance was at the piano in the midst of a difficult piece of music. She played on resolutely, but the chords ceased to send out any harmony. Her mother bent over her, and turned to a lively Scotch song; both recalled the incident afterward, trifling as it seemed.

"Try this, my love," she said, in a voice designed to cover the young girl's agitation, "you have struck a false note, and that deep Italian melody sounds like a dirge."

A tall, handsome young man rose up from his chair opposite the glowing fire as Mr. Hawley stepped into the library. The first look made him pause upon the threshold with a painful start. Recovering from that, he came forward, and greeted his visitor with a formal bow. What a fool he was to catch in every new face a likeness to poor Danforth?

"William Dauford, sir."

It was well that Mr. Herkimer's eyes were cast down, or he might have been startled by the sudden paleness which mantled his host's face, leaving him for a moment ghastly white.

"I cannot consent to your marriage with Constance," he said rising, and speaking in a changed voice; "I am sensible of the honor you seek to do us in this connection, but I must desire all further steps to be cut short. If you please, we will consider the matter ended."

But the young lady?" said Mr. Herkimer, aghast at the unexpected conclusion.

"Pooh! she will soon get over her fancy, and you, young gentle man, will do the same. I have company waiting in the drawing-room, will you join us?”’

Herkimer declined the invitation, which seemed put in mockery, and rose to go.

He heard Constance's clear voice at the piano as he stepped out into the hall. A bitter sigh rose up with a choking sensation in his throat. Poor Constance, how little she dreamed of

the blow about to fall on her.

He stepped out into the fast falling snow of a winter night. His heart was heavy, oppressed with a numbing pain; an hour Jago he had exulted in his new happiness as he breasted the storm-now!

He found his father at his hotel; he had arrived in town the day before, and had been trusted with his son's confidence. The latter's depressed appearance revealed at first sight the secret of his refusal. Mr. Danforth listened with sympathetic attention to the particulars; if his pride was wounded at the cavalier treatment his son had received, he had the prudence to keep down the feeling.

"We will not give the matter up at once, my boy," he said, cheerfully. "I will see Mr. Hawley myself to-morrow; you │did not state your position plainly enough, you should have come out with the facts, when he invited the relation of your circumstances; an income of a thousand a year with a profession promising to be lucrative by-and-bye, are no trifles; and I

"Your name, sir, I think, is Mr. Herkimer?" he said, should not mind settling the heirship of the mines upon you to politely consulting his card.

Mr. Herkimer bowed. "I am a stranger to you, sir," he said, stammering, "but I can furnish you with the best possible references of character. I have begged this interview on an important errand. I come to lay before you my proposal for the hand of your daughter, Miss Constance."

Now that he had come to the purpose of his mission, his voice lost its confusion and sounded clear and musically distinct.

Hawley shook with a quick, nervous shudder; where had he heard those tones before? Certainly the man seated before him bore a terrible likeness in face, voice, and bearing, to Edward Danforth. He controlled the nervous emotion, and leaned his head upon his hand. "Constance is young," he said, "too young for such thoughts at present.'

"Time flies," said the young man with a scarcely perceptible smile, "to you, sir, immersed in your business cares, more unconsciously than to us."

"You have her approval of your suit?" asked her father, absently; "perhaps you are already engaged?"

help to bring about the marriage. Cheer up, Edward; I see no reason for desponding. The old gentleman at first sight has taken you for an adventurer.”

The young man smiled, a little sorrowfully.

"You do not know, sir, you did not hear him speak. Constance will never marry against her father's wishes, neither ought I to ask her

CHAPTER IV.

MR. DANFORTH did call upon Mr. Hawley on the morrow, a most painful and unlooked for meeting to one at least.

Mr. Hawley was in his counting-room immersed in business when the gentleman walked into his office. The pen he held had slipped from his fingers, leaving a long dark stain on the paper before him, and his change of color was too sudden to escape observation.

"We have certainly met before," said Mr. Danforth, grasping his unwilling hand. "Why, bless me! Mr. Hawley, my

"I spoke with her yesterday, sir," said the young man, poor brother Edward's partner! I never thought of greeting flushing; "I came here with her permission."

"Had the matter gone so far?" Mr. Hawley felt as if he had little to add.

in you an old friend, though I remembered the name."
He stopped; the associations suddenly called up were not of
the most agreeable character.

"Take a chair, Danforth," said Hawley, recovering himself. "May I ask your errand this morning? You see I am sur

"You have not spoken of your prospects, Mr. Herkimer," he said, for the first time directly facing his visitor. "Constance, as you are supposed to know, will not be portionless, and I can-rounded with business." not consent to her marrying short of a fortune."

His manner was cold; Danforth took the designated seat in silence. He had thought to find his talk an easy one; but this recognition sent a singular chill over his spirits. The aged and changed appearance of the man before him struck him disagree"Ed

The young man's eyes fell. "I am not rich, sir; I fear not sufficiently to meet your expectations; I have some property which was left to me by my mother on condition of my assuming her maiden name, and besides my father has a good pro-ably. perty invested in some mines, to which I may expect to be heir, but nothing to equal the wealth of a millionaire."

"You have a profession, I suppose?"

"Yes, sir, that of the law."

"What is your father's name, permit to ask?”

"I called on my son's business," he began abruptly. ward saw you last night. From what I gathered from him, he seems to have bludered in his explanation."

"I gave him his answer," said Mr. Hawley, rustling the papers beneath his hand uneasily; "it is not my wish that

Constance should think of marriage at present; she is still young."

"Edward," observed his father, "misunderstood you; he supposed the objection to arise on the score of property."

"That was also considered," observed Mr. Hawley, coldly; "Constance has too large a fortune in perspective, not to lay her suitors open to the suspicion of being adventurers-unless their own income were too ample to admit of such a doubt." "Edward will have a good estate at my decease," said Mr. Danforth: "at present he has a thousand a year and a profession."

"Next to nothing, sir," suggested his companion, "when needed to support a wife brought up with Constance's expensive habits. A thousand a year would not fill her jewel case. "We were both young once," said Mr. Danforth, smiling; "you yourself married into a wealthy family while yet a comparitively poor man. I venture to believe that Mrs. Hawley never regretted her choice. Edward has entered upon a lucrative profession; why should he not be as fortunate ?"

The same waxen paleness that had shot over Hawley's face at the entrance of his visitor, mantled it again. "I do not know," he said, sharply, “but I am little accustomed to leave anything to chance."

"In a word, then, you have really set your heart against the match!"'

"I am sorry to say so, sir; sorry to decline the honor."

"And prospered-I suppose? come back a rich man ?”’ "A tolerable competence," returned Danforth, modestly; "money never kept very long in my hands, as you know. I was quite unlike poor Edward; but that brings me to the object of my coming here, to make some inquiries for his wife and family, if he has any."

"His wife-bless me! Don't you know she has been dead these dozen years? She didn't live six months after he ran off -excuse me-his little daughter found a good home with his partner, Mr. Hawley. A strange freak that!"

"You don't tell me so!" exclaimed Mr. Danforth, in his turn astonished. "Can Constance, then, be my brother's child? I remember that was our mother's name, and Edward wrote that he had given it to his baby!"

"They have no other child, I believe," said the landlord, rather curiously. "I heard from them a year ago through one of our town's people. He went into Mr. Hawley's office, but the gentleman could not remember him. They are at the top of fortune- the Hawleys and vain of their good luck, too." "this

"It is very singular," said Mr. Danforth, aloud, adoption. "What were the circumstances in which Mary was left at the time of her husband's disappearance?''

"Utter poverty, I believe. There was nothing coming to her from the firm, of course."

"What could have led poor Edward into such a step? a

Mr. Danforth rose; the reply was too pointed to admit of gambling affair? anything of that sort ?'' further negotiation.

"I am sorry for both the young people," he said, "I confess, Mr. Hawley, I cannot see the reasonableness of this resolution."

"You look only on your own side of the matter," said the gentleman, blandly. "If I had other daughters to dispose of in marriage, I might be more lenient."

"How Hawley has changed!" thought Mr. Danforth, as he went out; "I did not seem to breathe freely in his presence. Well, my erraud was indeed hopeless; poor Edward! I must take him away from here. I wonder if my brother's wife is still living; strange that none of my letters to her have received an answer; I may as well go to C- at once, the change will be a slight difference to Edward. How the sight of Hawley brought up those old, old, days-my poor brother! Who would have thought such wrong of him!-he was always so honest, so true in the smallest things. I wonder if he is living still, travelling in the hard path of crime; it must have been a frightful temptation to throw him from his course. Poor, poor Edward! it all seems like a dream. How can a man be so blind as to dash out all his prospects in life by one throw?"

Mr. Danforth's kind plan on his son's part, was defeated by that young gentleman's engagement in a lawsuit just coming on, and he found himself obliged to take up his projected journey alone,

It was but a short journey to C- —, some forty miles, the whole distance being traversed by railway, a very great change from the days of his youth, when the slow stage-coach had rattled on day after day over the turnpike roads.

Everything wore a changed aspect as he got out at the station; new buildings met his eyes; the new walls of a towering steam factory, with its long smoke-chimney; crowds of strange faces; but the last he was prepared for.

It seemed like a dream, that this far-off boyhood and the first eventful years of his manhood had been passed in this then quiet spot.

The short winter day was near its close, and he proceeded at once to the nearest hotel, which proved to be only a few yards distant from the station. Somewhat to his surprise, and much to his satisfaction, he recalled an old friend in the landlord's ruddy face, and saw at once that the objects of his visit might be speedily fulfilled.

Mr. Scranton failed to recognize him until he had made his self-introduction, and then his greeting was cordial and hearty. "Where have you been all these years, sir?" he queried, "I thought you were dead long ago!"

"Seeking my fortune for the last ten years."

"I never heard anything of the kind. Something was said about his getting involved, but nobody knew where the story came from."

"A bad affair," said Danforth, sighing. "Edward was the last man I should have picked out of the world to fall into ruin; there never was a better brother or friend."

A call came for the landlord; Scranton went out, and Danforth drew bis chair up to the fire, and fell into a fit of meditation. Slowly out of the glowing coals before him a singular picture began to shape itself—a long procession, at the end of which stood a gallows, on the scaffold the outline of a man kneeling with his face covered in his hands. The profile was distinct; it bore a singular likeness to some one he had seen but the day before.

"What a fool I am!" he exclaimed, starting up. "I may as well go to my chamber and try to sleep off this hallucination. I feel as though just escaping from the grasp of a nightmare.' But sleep was not to be wooed for his pillow that night; his thoughts rested intently on the discovery of the evening, Constance's adoption, coupled with the singular agitation of his brother's former partner. He rose in the morning unrefreshed, and thought he would take a short walk before breakfast, after which he decided to leave in the noon train.

New streets had been built-a broad piece of waste land turned into a green square fenced by a neat iron railing, and bordered with fast growing elms; the house where his own short unquiet days of married life had passed still stood, the old evergreens shading the entrance, the snow lying thick over what had been the garden; it struck him as the only place left unchanged by the wear of twenty years.

Several workmen were busy with their spades in enlarging a cellar for some new building, as he retraced his steps by an opposite way to that from which he had come. Just as he neared them, one of the number dropped his pickaxe, with a loud exclamation, and the others stood as if transfixed. "A skeleton, Marks, and no mistake! There's been some foul work here!"

Danforth stepped up and looked over. It was the head of a skeleton, which the removal of the brown mould had uncovered.

"What building stood here?" he asked, breathlessly.
"An office, sir. It has just been torn down."

CHAPTER V.

MR. HERKIMER sat in his office reading over his brief for the morrow. The old cheerful look of a mind at peace with its surroundings and happy in itself had quite gone out of the young