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' ing the long afternoon ' cussed the question, ‘‘ What | to keep the patient quict when the doctor

CIR R IRR EO RK

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SpE RRO ER PR RERRE ROE PRR IR SERRE EER:

The Diamond Coterie *

By LAWRENCE M. LYNCH (E. M. Van Deventer)

Author of “A Woman's Crime,” “John Arthur’s Ward,” “The Lost Witness,” “A Slender Clue,” “Dangerous Ground,”

THE

KKK

° ” “? “ Against Odds,” Etc., Ete. . if ~ x crix TS eMC Me ME Ne Me Me We VE Me MEE ME Mee ee ee KR KK IORI He NAN: + IN IN AIR IR IN ROR MEMS nT IN x We Me Ve Me Me Me Me KK Me Ke ie Me Me Ma Ve Ve Me Me Ae ie 3 MK i 7X SOK OX AN \ EK “t >N vex “at TON wat Te eV wm NON ‘ (Continned) gs S¥DU—Is Mrs. Burrill worse?’’ and } st nér for &® Momecs Succi onewe SUNKEN

then she hears the startling truth.

“John Burrill is dead. John Burrill has been murdered.’’ In bewilderment. in amazement, she hears all there is to tell, all that the servants know. A mes- senger came, telling only the bare facts. John Burrill’s body has been found in an old cellar; Frank has just gone, rid- ing like 4 madman, to see that the body js cared for, and to bring it home. Mrs. Lamotte has been told the horrible news; has received it like an icicle; has ordered them to prepare the drawing room for the reception of the body, and has gone back to her daughter.

All this Constance hears, and then, strangely startled, and vaguely thankful that Frank is not in the house, she goes up to the sick room. Mrs. Lamotte rises to greet her, with a look upon her face that startles Constance, even more than

did the news she had just heard below tairs.

Intense feeling has been for so long frozen out of that high-bred, hanghty |

face, that the Icok of the eyes, the com- pression of the lips, the fear and horror of the entire countenance, amount almost to a transfiguration.

She draws Constance away from the bed, and into the dressing room beyond. Then, in a voice husky with suppressed emotion, she addresses her as follows:—

“Constance Wardour, I am about to place my honor, my daughter's life, the honor of all my family, in your hands. There is not another living being in whom to trust, and I must trust some one. I must, for my child’s sake, have relief, or my reason, too, will desert me. Constance, that sick room holds a ter- rible secret—Sybil’s secret. If you can share it with me, for Sybil’s sake, I will try to brave this tempest, as I have braved others; if you refuse’’—she paased @ moment, and then whispered fiercely :—

“Tf you refuse, I will lock that cham- ber door, and Sybil Lamotte shall die in her delirium before I will allow an epr that I cannot trust within those walls, or the hand of a possible enemy to «d- minister one life-saving draught.’’

Over the face of Constance Wardour crept a look of horror indescribable. Iw

an instant her mind is illuminated, and |

all the fearful meaning of Mrs. Lamotte's strange words is grasped and mastered. She reels as if struck by a heavy hand, and a low moan breaks from her lips. So long she stands thus, mute and awe- stricken, that Mrs. Lamotte can bear the strain of suspense no longer.

“For God's sake, speak,’’ she gaspse “there have been those of your race who could not abandon a fallen friend.”

Over the cheek, and neck, and brow, the hot, proud, loyal Wardour blood comes surging. The gray eyes lift them- selves with a proud flash; low and firm comes the answer:—

“The Wardours were never Summer friends. Sybil has been a sister in pros- perity; I shall be no less than a sister now. You may trust me as you would yourself; and—I am very glad you sent for me, and trusted no other."’

“God bless you, Constance! No one else can be trusted. With your help I must do this work alone.’’

Then comes a cry from the sick room; they go back, and Constance enters at ence upon her new, strange task. Her heart heavy; her hand firm; her ears, smitten by the babbling recitation cf that awfal secret; and her lips sealed with the seal of the Wardour honor.

All that day she is at her post. Mrs. Tamotte, who is resolved to retain her strength for Sybil’s sake, lies down in the dressing room and sleeps from sheer exhaustion.

As the day wears on there is move- ment and bustle down stairs, they are

bringing in the body of the murdered |

mah. The undertaker goes about his work with pompous air and solemn vis age; and when darkness falls John Bur- rill’s lifeless form lies in state in the drawing room of Mapleton, that room ever the splendors of which his plebian soul has gloated, his covetous eyes feasted and his ambitious bosom swelled with a sense of proprietorship. He is clothed in finest broadcloth, surrounded with costly trappings; but not one tear falls over him; not one heart grieves for him; not one tongue utters a word of sorrow or regret; he has schemed and sinned, to become a member of the aristocracy, to ally himself to the proud Lamottes; and to-might one and all of the Lamottes breathe the freer because his breathing has forever ceased. Eyen Constance War- dour has no pitying thought for the dead man; she keeps aloof from the drawing room, shuddering when compelled to pass its closed doors; living, John Burrill was odious to her; dead, he is loathsome.

The day passes, and Doctor Heath does not visit his patient. At intervals dur- they have dis- shall we do

comes?’’ It is Constance who solves the problem ‘We must send fer Doctor Benoit, Mr

| Lamotte; Doctor Heath’s tardiness will

i }

sh

tu} sufficient excuse, and Doctor Benoit's partial deafness wil! render him

, Our safest pliysician.’’

! i

'

It isa ls. py thought; Doctor Benoit {f old, and partially deaf, but he isa thoroughly good and reliable physician.

Late that night Jasper Lamotte applies for admittance at the door of his daugh- ter's sick room. Constance opens the door softly, and as his eyes fall upon her she ancies that » look of fierce hatred gleams

> mine—but what are

orps and darkens his haggard counten- ance. Of course itis only a fancy. In another moment he is asking after his daughter, with grave solicitude.

“She is quiet; she must not be dis- turbed;’’ so Constance teils him. And he glides away softly, murmuring his

gratitude to his daughter’s friend as he OCS.

It is midnight at Mapleton; in Sybil Lamotte’s room the light burn dimly, and Mrs. Lamotte and Constance sit near the bed, listening with sad, set faces, to the ravings of the delirious girl.

*‘Ha! ha!’’ she cries, tossing her bare arms aloof. ‘‘How well you planned that, Constance! the Wardour diamonds; ah, they are worth keeping, they are worth plotting to keep—and it’s often done— it’s easy to do. Hush! Mr. Belknap, I need your help—meet me, meet me to- night, at the boat house. If a man were to disappear, never to come back, mind —what would I give? One thousand dol-

lars! two! three! It shall be done! I shall be free! free! free! Ha! ha! Con- stance, your dia:nonds are safer than

diamonds—I shall live a lie—let me adorn myself with lies. Why not? Why care? I will be free. You have been the tool of others, Mr. Bel- knap, why hesitate to serve me—you want money—here it is, half of it—when it is done, when I know it is done, I will come here again—at night—and the rest is yours.”’

With a stifled moan, Mrs. Lamotte leans forward, and leys a hand upon her companion’s arm.

‘*Constance—do you know what she means?”’

Slowly and shudderingly, the girl an- swers :—

‘I fear—that I know too well.”’

**And—that boat-house appointment?’’

‘‘Must be kept, Mrs. Lamotte; for Sybil’s sake, it must be kept, by you or me.”’

It is midnight. In Evan Lamotte's room lamps are burning brightly, and the fumes of strong liquor fill the air. On the bed lies Evan, with flushed face, and mud bespattered clothing; he is in a sleep that is broken and feverish, that borders in fact, upon delirium; beside him, pale as a corpse, with nerves un- strung, and trembling, sits Frank La- motte, fearing to leave him, and loath to stay. At intervals, the sleeper grows more restless, and then starts up with wild ejaculations, or bursts of demonaic laughter. At such times, Frank Lamotte pours, from a bottle at his side, a power- ful draught of burning brardy, and holds it to the frenzied Nps. They drain off the liquor, and presently relaps» into quiet.

It is midnight. In the library of Maple- ton Jasper Lamotte sits at his desk, por- ing over a pile of papers. The curtains are closely drawn, the door securely locked. Now and then he rises, and paces nerroualy up and down the foom, gesticu-

lating fiercely,and wearing sucha Jook as has never been seen upon the countenance of the Jasper Lamotte of society.

It is midnight. In the Mapleton draw- ing room, all that remains of John Bur- rill, lies in solemn solitary state; and, down in his cell, face downward upon his pallet, lies Clifford Heath, broad awake, and bitterly reviewing the wrongs heaped upon him by fate; realizing, to the full, his own helplessness, and the peril before him, and doggedly resolving to die, and make no sign.

CHAPTER XXXII.

Doctor Benoit was old and deaf; he was also very talkative. One of those physicians who invariably leave a titbit of news alongside of their powders and pellets. A constant talker is apt to be an indiscreet talker, and, very often, want- ing in tact. Doctor Benoit was not so much deficient in tact, as in memory. In growing old, he had grown forgetful, and not being a society man, social gossip was less dear to his heart than the news of political outbreaks, business strivings, and about-town sensations. Doubtless he had heard, like all the world of W—, that Doctor Clifford Heath, had at one time, been an aspirant for the favor of the proud heiress of Wardour, and that suddenly he had fallen from grace, and Was ho more seen within the walls of Wardour, or at the side of its mistress on social occasions. If so, he had entirely forgotten these facts. Accordingly, dur- ing his second call, made on the morning after the inquest, he began to drop soft remarks concerning the recent horror.

Mrs. Lamotte was lying down, and Constance had decided not to arouse her when the doctor arrived, inasmuch as the patient was in one of her stupors, and not likely to rouse from if.

The arrest of a brother practitioner on such a charge as was preferred against Clifford Heath, had created no little commotion in the mind of Dr. Benoit, and he found it difficult to Keep the sub- ject off his tongue, so, after he had given Constance full instructions concerning the patient, he said, standing hat in hand near the dressing room door:—-

‘This is a terrible state of a%airs for W—, Miss Wardour. Do you know,” drawing a step nearer, and. lowering his voice, ‘‘Do you know if Mr. Lamotte has been informed that O’Meara, as Heath’s lawyer, demands a surgical examina- tion?”’

‘“‘As Heath’s lawyer!’ The room seemed to swim about her. She turned instinctively toward the

chamber. closed it snftlw. ema came YET

| close to the old doctor, lifting her pale

DAILY EXAMINER, CHARLOTTETOWN, JUNE 4, 1£97 3

lips to his ear.

**I don’t understand you, doctor. What has Mr. O'Meara to do with the murder?”’

‘*Hey? What's that? What is O’Meara going to do? He's going to defend young Heath.’’ Then, seeing the startled, per- plexed look upon her face, ‘‘Is ic possible you have not heard about Heath's arrest?’

She shook her head, and again lifted her mouth to his ear.

‘‘T have heard nothing; tell me all.”’

“It seems that there was an old feud between Heath and Burrill,’’ began the

doctor, beginning to feel that somehow he had made a blunder. ‘They have hunted up some pretty strong evidence

against Heath, and the coroner’s jury brought in a verdict against him. You know the body was found in an old cel- lar, close by Heath's cottage.’’

At this moment there came a soft tap on the outer door, which Constance at once recognized. Mechanically she moved forward and opened the door. Mrs. La- motte stood on the threshold.

Seeing the doctor and Constance, she at once inferred that Sybil was the sub- ject under discussion, and to insure the patient again being disturbed, beckoned the doctor to come outside.

As he stepped out into the hall, Con- stance, hoping to get a little information from him, came forward, and standing in the doorway, partially closed the door behind her.

‘*Doctor,’’ ly, ‘‘do you

said Mrs. Lamotte, anxious- see any change in Sybil?’’ He shook his head gravely.

‘There is no marked change, madam; but I see a possibility that she may re- turn to consciousness within the next forty-eight hours, in which case I must warn you against letting her know or guess at the calamity that has befallen ner,’*’

The two women exchanged glances of relief.

‘If she receives no shock until her mental balance is fully restored, her re- covery may be hoped for; otherwise—”’

‘Otherwise, doctor?’’

‘‘Otherwise, if she retains her life, it will be at the cost of her reason.’’ ‘““Oh!’? moaned the mother,

would be better than that.’’

There was the sound of a door open- ing softly down the hall. They all turned their eyes that way to see Frank Lamotte emerging from Evan’s room. He came hurriedly toward them, and Constance noticed the nervous unsteadiness of his gait, the pinched and pallid look of his face, the feverish fire of his sunken eyes.

‘*Mother,’’ he said, in a constrained voice, and without glancing toward Con- stance, ‘“‘I think you had better have Doctor Benoit see Evan. I have been with him all night, and am thoroughly worn out.’”’

‘ What ails Evan, Frank?’’

* Too much liquor,’’ with a shrug of the shoulders. ‘‘He is on the verge of the ‘brandy madness,’ he sometimes sings of. He must have powerful narcotics, and no cessation of his stimulants, or we will have him raving about the house like a veritable madman; and—I have not told him about Burrill.”

A look of contrition .ceme into the mother’s face. Evan had kept his room for days, but, in her anxiety for her dear- est child, she had quite forgotten him.

‘“‘Come, doctor,’’ she said, quickly; ‘let us go to Evan at once.’’

They passed on to the lower room, leaving Constance and Frank face to face.

Constance moved back a pace as if to re-enter the dressing-room; burning with anxiety as she was, to hear more con- cerning Clifford Heath, her womanly in- stincts were too true to permit her to ask jnformation of her discarded suitor. But Frank’s voice stayed her movements.

‘Constance, only one moment,’’ he said, aprealingly. ‘‘Have a little patience with m¢ new. Have a little pity for my misery.”

His misery! The words sounded hypocritical; he had never loved John Burrill over much, she knew.

**T bestow my pity whenever it is truly needed, Frank,’’ she said, coldly, her face whitening with the anguish of her in- ward thought. ‘‘Do you think you are the only sufferer in this miserable affair?”’

‘*‘T am the only one who can not enlist your sympathies. I must live withouw, your love; I must bear a name disgraced, yet those who have brought about this family disgrace, even Clifford Heath, in

‘‘death

@ felon’s cell, no doabt you will aid and pity: he is a marcyr perhaps, while I—’’

‘*While you—go on, sir;’’ fierce scorn shining from the gray eyes; bitter sar- casm in the voice.

‘“‘While I.’ coming closer and fairly hissing the words, ‘‘am set aside for him, vfelon. Oh! you area proud woman, znd you keep your secrets well, but you cin not hide from me the fact thet ever since the accursed day that brought you and Clitford Heath together, he has been the man preferred by you. If I have lost vou, you have none the less lost him; listen.’’

Before she is aware of his purpose, he has her two wrists in a vice-like grip; and bending down until his lips almost touch the glossy locks on her averted head, he is pouring out, in swift cutting sentences, the story of the inquest; all the damning evidence is swiftly rehearsed ; nothing that can weigh aguinst his rival, is omitted.

Feeling instinctively tiat he utters the

truth; paralyzed by th: weight of his words; she stands with head drooping

more and more, with cheeks growing paler, with hands that tremble and grow cold in his clasp.

He sees her terror, a sudden thought possesses his brain; grasping her hands still tighter, he goes madly on :—

‘‘Constance Wardour, in spite of the coldness between you, you love Clifford Heath. What will you do to save him?”

‘This is too much! This is horrible!" She makes a mad effort to free herself from his grasp.

The question comes like a taunt, a declaration of her helplessness. Coming from him, it is maddening. It restores her courage; it makes her mistress of herself once more.

‘*Don’t repeat that question,’’ she says, flashing upon him a look of defiance.

‘*I do repeat it!'’ he goes on wildiy. ‘Go to O’Meara; to whom you please;

door of the |

satisfv yourself that Clifford Heath has a

a Ee

halter abdut 27s‘neck; theh’ cOme™%» me, and tell me if you will give yourself as his ransom. I ean save him if I will. I will save him, cnly on one condition. You know what t.at is.’’

With a sudden fierce effort she frees herself from his clasp. and stands erect before him, fairly panting with the fierceness of her anger.

““Traitor! monster! Cain! all the lives of my friends; not to save the world from perdition, would 1 be your wife! You would denounce the de- stroyer of that worthless clay before us. You! Before that should happen, to sive the world the knowledge that such a monster exists, I will tell the world where the guilt lies, for I know.”’

3efore he can realize the full meaning of her words, the dressing-room door is closed between them, and Frank Lamotte stands gnashing his teeth, beating the air with his hands in a frenzy of rage and despair.

While he stands thus, a step comes slowly up the stairs; he turns to meet the gaz» of his father.

‘*Frank,’’ says Jasper Lamotte, in low,

Not to save

guarded xsccents, ‘‘Come down ta the library at once. It is time you knew the truth?’’

—~——- ~—

(To be Oontinued,.)

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Address: - Charlottctewn, P. E. I,

Office :—Victoria Row.

eatin att mea > tae

—_—

Mee. wactltes

Telephone Call.

Accommodations Reserved for patients 4 References on application.

’ 94 —d&w yr. RE EE a eae eee

PE. Island Railway.

Saturday Excursions.

During the months of June, July August aad September, 1897, return tickets will be issued at one first class far> from all Booking Stations to all stations on this Railway every Satur- day good for return on following Mon- day. ‘Liese tickets will not be good for return on date of issue.

A. McDONALD, D. FOTTINGER Supt, General Manager Goy'’t Faliways Noneton, N.B. Railway Office, Ch’towa, May 29--126 d& whi

Black Diamond Line.

sg ,*e- * % ay

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For further particulais as .to freight and passage, apply to

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Successor to McKinnon & McLean.

; - Se cues ee ee oe DD —— eee ee ee

NOTICE:

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Farmers and others will please take notice that we are in the seed business, and that we keep the very best quality, fresh, pure and reliable; no old seeds carried over from last year. That we will sell at the very lowest price possible. We buy for spot cash and will give our customers the benefit f the cash discount. Als» note we will not allow anyone to ndzrsell us even if we s2/l a: cos. Before buying call and et our prices, A full sipp'y ut groceries kept coastantly on

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FS TT TT a eo: ate eee

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