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away in that sacred repository of small treasures, where Mrs. Bellows kept Matthew's five-dollar gold-piece and her marriage certificate.

He did not meet Dassel that day; it was not his correspondence-day, and he did not come to the store. Abel felt relieved; but he shrank from the evening, for he had made up his mind to refuse to give up the button. When he reached home, tea was ready, and Abbey was looking unusually good-natured. A pair of handsome gilt china vases stood on the mantel-piece, and a new delaine dress-pattern lay on a chair.

"There was an old-clo'es man come along to-day," she said, in explanation. "I don't usually deal with them rascals; but this one give real good bargains. I got the dress and the vases, and what d'ye s'pose I give for them? nothin' but your old coat and that vest you threw by this mornin'."

"I wish you'd stop sellin' my garments till I give you leave," burst forth Abel, adding the next moment, "no harm done, though, Abbey,-you did make a real good bargain."

He laughed nervously, pretending to admire the dress-pattern, while the sweat stood on his forehead as he con gratulated himself upon having removed "the silent witness" in time. He would have thought it a mere chance, that the old-clo'es man should have got that vest, had not the articles given been of more value than those received, quite the reverse of the usual way of doing that business;-guilt, again, overreaching itself. Why not have driven a hard bargain, and prevented suspicion ?

While they were drinking their tea he asked particularly about the appearance of the pedlar,-was he tall, or short, what was the color of his eyes? Really, Mrs. Bellows did not mind;he was rather tall, and had plenty of black whiskers. Abel did not decide, to his own satisfaction, whether to accuse Mr. Dassel, or whether to believe that the real guilty party,-the person who had taken the buttons from Dassel's desk, and afterwards lost one of

them,-had got upon its track. Neither conjecture was pleasant. He began to feel haunted, and to look about him, as he went his ways.

That evening Mr. Dassel did not come. Abel retired to-bed with a feeling of relief, and began to think that he had exaggerated the importance of late words and actions. This belief was strengthened when, the following day, he encountered Dassel on the pavement, not far from the store, and received the usual pleasant smile and word.

"Why, Abbey, your clock's half-anhour too slow," he exclaimed, that evening, coming home at dusk, and finding the supper not ready. "I never knew the old clock to play us such a trick before ;-she's growin' lazy."

"Is it slow?" asked the wife, beginning to fly around the table. "Mr. Dassel he was in to-day, and said it was too fast. He stopped her a few minutes, and set her right by his watch."

Abel's heart was in his mouth.

"I never see such a handy person, for a brought-up gentleman, as he is," continued Mrs. Bellows; "he might pass for a right-down Connecticut Yankeehe can do any thing. Sech a tinker! He noticed the lock of the bureau-draw was broke, and offered to fix it. He's done it first-rate."

He scarcely heard what she said; he was at the clock, feeling in its dusty

recesses.

"Hand me the lamp, Abbey."

"Here 'tis. But never mind the clock till you've had yer supper. It's ready, after all."

After a moment's investigation Abel set the lamp down suddenly, himself dropping into a chair.

The sleeve-button was gone! "Are you sick, Abel Bellows ? " His wife's voice was not tender, even when she asked him a question like this; it started him out of his reverie.

"Not sick, Abbey, but tired."

In the pleasant mood in which her visitor had left her, she had made hot biscuits for tea, but they might have been sawdust as far as her husband's appreciation went.

The next day was Saturday. Mr. Dassel would be in, through the forenoon, writing up his foreign letters. He came, as usual; Abel, restless and miserable, made an excuse to approach him, replacing some light boxes near his desk.

Dassel sat at his work, calm, humming to himself a German drinkingsong, as his white, slender hand flashed over the paper, writing with ease and rapidity. A ray of sunlight came through the skylight, flashing upon something brilliant at his wrist, as he moved it. Abel saw the flash, and recognized the emerald-set sleeve-buttons. Dassel looked up at the same instant, meeting the troubled glance raised from the jewels to his face, with just the glimmer of a smile-triumph shining beneath indifference. Neither of them spoke; nor for several days thereafter were they brought in contact.

Abel Bellows grew thin and haggard under the perplexities of the position in which he was placed. Then, too, he had private troubles of a financial character, a note of a hundred dollars to be met, and nothing to meet it with; his wife soured and fretting over coming trouble, Mr. Dassel passing him with a haughty carelessness.

At last he resolved to do what he should have done at the first,-seek some member of the firm, and tell him, simply and fully, the whole story of the sleeve-button, leaving it to the firm to decide upon the facts and to act as they saw proper. Having come to this resolution, it was with a lighter step than usual that he trod the familiar way, and entered upon his duties in the store, about ten days after the affair of the clock. Alas for good resolutions, which came too late! Alas for Abel, and his wife, and his little ones! All the previous troubles of their lives were as nothing to the disaster which befel them that day.

When the gentlemen of the firm came to business that day, they came accompanied by police-officers, who took Abel, bewildered and stupefied by the shock, into custody, on the charge of

being the person who had robbed the store and murdered the watchman.

"Who accuses me? where are the proofs?" he cried, in his anguish.

"That you will know, at the examination. I assure you they are strong, or they would not have brought us to accuse you, Bellows."

This was said by Mr. Borden, and the reproach in his voice was a hard thing for the porter to bear. It caused a lump to rise in his throat which prevented farther attempts at self-defence, and he was led away to disgrace and imprisonment.

CHAPTER XII.

WILL SHE DO IT?

"GIRLS is so sweet," said Mrs. Grizzle, who, never having had a daughter, always had sighed for one. "I wish Sam would hurry up his cakes; I expected we'd have the fun of a weddin' before this. We'll do it up Brown when he does git married; we'll only have it to do once. I never seen Miss Bulbous look so pretty as she did just now. How'd you like her, Grizzle?"

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"Oh, middlin'. She's good weight and fine grain; she's been well fed. But, I can't say but I fancy our neighbor more, or even Miss Bayles. Fact is, I like that latter. I feel to home with her. She allers puts me in mind of the grocery-store, and she a-coming in so modest with her little purse, hesitating over this and that, which was what she wanted, but so dear! It's pleasant to me to know that I allers gave her good measure and under price."

"Let you alone for that, Grizzle; the only wonder is, how you ever contrived to git rich, with your easy ways."

"Government contracts to blame for that, my dear; I couldn't help it. Miss Bayles is a gen'us though, isn't she? Did you notice how exact she got the smile in my eye, and them books on the table, with my hand on 'em? I told her to give me a literary turn, as the portrait was for my descendants, and I didn't care about handin' down the

pork business unto the third and fourth generation."

"I think she's done us all splendidly, Grizzle,-quite per-Raffelite, I tell her, which is so fashionable at present."

"And what style's that, pray, Mrs. Grizzle? You're gettin' quite a judge of such things, I s'pose, since you've visited so many galleries lately, and made friends with them Academy fellows."

"Well, I am allowed to have some taste, the artists have complimented me, often, on my discernment. The perRaffelite style, as nigh as I can make it out, is to paint things just as they be. I heard one artist to the Academy say he'd spent three days paintin' a brickbat, and wasn't satisfied with it yet. There was a beautiful hod, half full of mortar, by the same gentleman. I declare, if I'd been an Irishman I should a picked it up."

"Accordin' to that, Miss Bayles ought to have drawn me sittin' on a hogshead with a stye on my eye."

"Nonsense, Grizzle! how you do go on. I'm talkin' about purchasing the hod-picture. Its ruther high-eight hundred dollars,—but they all say it's wuth it."

"I'm afraid it'll be considered his torical, my dear. I wouldn't like to have our friends see it on our walls and ask if it was our grandfather's."

"I never thought of that," said the lady, evidently declining in her enthusiasm for that particular work of art.

"Let's have something nice, when we do spend our money on such things, my love. I like pictures with lambs in 'em, and green trees, or a bit of water that looks as if there was trout in it."

"I don't care much what the pictures are, for my part; but I think the frames help furnish a room, and people think you're mean if you don't patronize art. But, about Miss Bayles, husband: don't put that idea into Sam's head again. He looks higher now. Didn't you notice how Miss Bulbous kissed me before she went down the steps? La! I understood it all; that kiss was for Sam."

"She'd better get me, then, to act as her deputy."

"You go 'long! How becomin' blue is to Miss Bulbous. She's stopping over to lawyer Cameron's, now, to invite their young ladies. There'll be quite a party. She and her pa are going down to the Fifth Avenue Hotel next week to board through the winter, and she's asking all the neighbors to a farewell party. Sho! If Sam ain't over there, too! He's gone to assist Camilla out of the carriage, and he's done it in good style, too. I never did see a boy improve as he has since we had Mr. Dassel in the family. It's an excellent thing to have a Baron handy to settle little matters of etiquette, when one's in doubt. I never should a got through that dinner, last week, as I did, if I hadn't got his advice as to seatin' the company and what orders to give the head-waiter. I do admire to see Sam around the girls."

The beaming face of the good-natured mother shone between the gorgeous amber of the satin curtains of the parlor side-window, like the sun between golden clouds, as she leaned forward to watch Sammy escort Miss Bulbous through the Cameron piazza into the hall. It was a cool, bright November morning, in the midst of the Indian summer,—a fine day for morning visits; and Miss Bulbous was improving it, by inviting her friends to an evening gathering before their villa should be closed for the winter.

Mr. Bulbous had no residence in town. As his family consisted of himself and daughter, and a maiden-sister, it was as well for them to board during their three or four months of city-life. His daughter was not averse to rooms at the Fifth Avenue, while it was very convenient for Bulbous, père, who could there carry on, through the evening, the same business which engaged him during the day.

The only time that Camilla's face showed animation was when there were young gentlemen about her; and then it was not sufficient to light her eyes or color her cheeks. Her father was large,

white, and fat; she, as we have said, was large, white, and waxy. Many people thought both very handsome. She did look well as she entered the parlor, escorted by Sam, and met Miss Elizabeth with that little kiss current among young ladies, bowed to Mr. Dassel, Miss Milla, and sank upon the sofa, which seat she chose as leaving a possibility open to Sam to sit beside her.

There was a bow of blue velvet at the throat of her white Marseilles morningdress; ribbons of the same rich blue mixed with the frizzes of her light hair, on top of which was perched a suggestion of a hat with a blue plume. Her carriage-cloak was lined with blue, and there were blue rosettes on her gaiters. "How pleasant it is to-day," said Elizabeth.

"Oh, its splendid!"

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music and dancing. Mrs. Grizzle has promised for herself and this young gentleman here. Give my compliments to your father and mother, Miss Cameron, and beg them, especially, to come; -she hesitated, and looked at Milla. "I saw you at Mrs. Grizzle's party," she said, "so you cannot refuse to attend mine on the score that you're not in society. I shall expect you, too. Above all things, come early, for we are to have the German,-and that takes time. Mr. Dassel, with your permission, I shall expect you to lead the German. I saw you dance, a few evenings ago, and I set my heart on electing you to the leadership."

Mr. Dassel bowed. He had flashed a look at Milla, answered by one from her.

"Do you consent?" cried Miss Bul

"Did you go down to the matinée, bous, rising to go. yesterday?"

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Oh, yes, it was splendid!"

"I meant to have heard it, but was kept at home. Have you secured your rooms at the Fifth Avenue?"

"Pa engaged them some time ago. They're perfectly splendid! I want to get into the city dreadfully; the country's stupid at this season. I wish you'd come and board at our Hotel, a few weeks, Mr. Grizzle: I should think you'd die, out here all winter. your father to allow you, won't you?it will be splendid!"

Ask

"It will, indeed, Miss Bulbous. I'll be sure to ask him."

"We're going abroad next summer, Mr. Dassel. Shall we have the pleasure of meeting you there, or is America your permanent home?"

"I can hardly answer, mademoiselle. I shall not trust myself in those distempered countries so soon, I think."

"Ah! Mrs. Grizzle told me you were expatriated. But, I suppose they'll not trouble us Americans? You ought to go across in your yacht, Mr. Grizzle, it would be splendid! But, I must make a very short call, as I have sixteen more on my list this morning. I only came to invite you all to our house next Monday evening, at 8 o'clock, to a little

"If you think me qualified, Miss Bulbous, I shall feel honored by such commands as you see fit to lay on me."

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Thank you, Mr. Dassel; the success of the dancing is assured. It will be moonlight,-splendid, for a party in the country. Oh, dear! I wish gas-lamps grew on trees, like apples. I don't fancy these country-roads. Now, all of you, be sure not to disappoint me," and Miss Bulbous said good-morning, and swept out, carrying off Sam, to accompany her to a far-away neighbor's with whom he was better acquainted than she.

"Will you go, Milla?" asked her sister, in the silence which followed. "If mamma will go."

"It is a lovely day," said Elizabeth, presently, as she stood by the window. "I feel the inclination for a solitary drive upon me, so I shall not ask either of you to accompany me," playfully, as she moved towards the door.

"We shall do very well at home: Mr. Dassel is going to play 'Faust' with me. He has brought Sam Grizzle's flute."

A sharp pain clutched so suddenly at the elder sister's heart as almost to make her cry out. Blind, hard-hearted little Milla! It was strange that

one, herself so like a sensitive-plant, should be so dull where the feelings of this devoted sister were concerned. Milla looked upon Lissa's regard for Mr. Dassel as a light and feeble tie which it had caused her hardly a pang to break, because she, in her own wayward impulsiveness, could not understand the proud reticence of the other. Already self-reproach had died out, and she enjoyed her strange, delicious abandon of happiness as openly before the eyes of Elizabeth as if she had been no usurper of her rights. Many of the sweetest hours of Lissa's life had been passed at the piano with Louis, he accompanying her playing with voice or flute.

"How cruel she is! how innocent! like the infant that bites its mother's breast," thought the poor girl, as she quickened her footsteps from the room. "Oh! that I could go away from here! I cannot endure it-indeed I would not, if I had not promised Robbie to remain. We ought to have a letter from him in a very few days now. Foolish boy! I imagine with what shame-facedness he will own to his unaccountable illusion. Yes! yes! yes! I will go out to drive -I will go alone," she murmured hastily, as already the first notes of the opera struck upon her ear, and a feverish light came into the dark eyes-the

"Sweetest eyes 'twere ever seen," as Louis had often, and truly, told her. Martin, their only man-servant, was in the flower-garden taking up bulbs, when she went to ask him to get up their little one-horse carriage.

"Hadn't I better drive?—I'm not very busy to-day, Miss,-and r'ally, you don't look strong enough to manage Prince; he's quite spirited with being shut up so much lately."

"I wish he would run away with me!" burst forth the young lady with a laugh which quite startled Martin, it was so different from her usual pleasant seriousness. He looked at her doubtfully.

""Twouldn't be no joke to be tumbled down the bank on to the railroadtrack or inter the river."

VOL. II.-3

"That's true, Martin. But, I think you may trust me. Prince and I are good friends; and if he only feels as much like going as I do, to-day, we both shall be well suited. Bring him around as quickly as possible, for I want to get up an appetite for lunch."

"Where are you going?" asked Mrs. Cameron, as she met her daughter in the hall, driving-gloves in hand. She herself had just come in from the greenhouse, where she had been looking after her flowers. "See what an exquisite moss-rose this is. Put it in your hair, Lissa."

"Give it to Milla, mother. It looks just like her, now that she has more color. She is in the parlor, with Louis. I am going out for a long, lonesome drive; I sha'n't even ask you, mamma, to go with me."

"And I shouldn't if you did," said Mrs. Cameron, kissing her; "the fresh air will do you good. I'm going to take my sewing and sit with Milla. Too much music is not good for her."

A few moments later Elizabeth was flying along the beautiful road at the highest speed of which Prince was capable. She was in one of those moods which require some safety-valve of outward excitement to be opened in order to render them safe. She had longed, ever since that strange conversation with Milla which preceded the breaking of her engagement, to go away from home. Under the circumstances, it was cruel that she should remain there. Indeed, her mother had encouraged her to go, and had written to a relative at Newburgh, who had been asking for one of the girls to spend a season with her, that Lissa would like, now, to make the promised visit.

At first, she had remained to help Robbie off; then she had delayed in asking her mother to write, until they should hear from him; for the boy had exacted a promise of her. The memory of that interview with him, in the summer-house, was like the memory of a nightmare. It had, really, no deeper influence than some fearful dream often leaves; we are oppressed by it, haunted

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