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The Apollo was not a music hall of the first class. although the entertainment provided for its patrons was very much like the amuse- ments at establishments in more fashionable thoroughfares. It had its lion comiques ; its Florries. Jennies and Totties, in their viva- cious songs and ballads; its seedy, seedy tenors; its sword-swallowers and aorobats; its man with the wooden dolls : its black singer and his banjo; and its “ duologists"â€" all the same weary, never ending programme, patent to East as West. I believe the listen- ing night after night to these people for whom I had no love, and for whose talents I had not a scrap of admiration. had tended to soften my brain with its terrible monotony. I had had twenty years of it ; tancy twenty years of incessant lion comiques, and all the tagrag of the profession in their rear, and then wonder that I was not a wise man ! Why. the visitors were not wise, much less‘ the man who waited on them. I despised them in my heart; a few of them I hated. I knew them all by sight. They came twice or thrice s weekâ€"God knows for what !â€"and sat with blesred eyes and open mouths ; a. vacuous, beervdrinking, tobacco-smoking gang. who roared with laughter at the weakest jokes, and applauded with all their might the silliest of antics. I was a Timon of Athens in their midst, but they were not aware of it. I had disliked my vocation and the people by whom I was surrounded, for many years, without ut- tering a complaint, until Jessie came to take her art in this existence with me. and then my stred and my horror came rapidly to the front, and it was not an easy task to hide my feelings. I had had a. hope that Jessie would be quickly tired of the Appollo-quickly “ sick of it.” There was an instinctive good taste in her which would revolt â€"I was sure of it gâ€"against the vulgarities and bufiooneries of 319 singers ; she would have satisfied her curiosity quickly. and seen the charms of home again by very contrast with this artificial world. Iwas mistaken : it was one more of the many mistakes of my life. and I did. not un- derstand Jessie so well as I could have wished, and there were more sides to her character than it was in my power to discover. 1 was no judge of character-of women’s I was especially ignorant. Well, I had only one to love and work for and think about besides my little girlâ€"what wonder if women were enigmas to me ? I might have understood Jessie, you may think, at least, but I did not ; I o_nly thought I did. Jessie found some amusement in the sing- ers and dancers at the Apollo ; it was a new existence, and the novelty of it all had a strange efiect upon her. She was an excit- able little woman, with whom excitement seemed to agree. Her despondeut fits passed away; she was singing about the house again only her songs were the hideous ditties of the night before. She worked herd throughâ€" out the day. She did not in any way neglect her child ; she was more affectionate to her. And yet the experiment of change was hardly satisfactory. I was very glad that she was better in health, but I should have liked her less at the Apollo. She was a quiet, demure lady enough there but people looked at her, and wondered at her, and of course the chairman, after awhile, and one or two gentlemen of the orchestraâ€"oh, they were pretty gentlemen. poor fellows !- exehanged a few passing eivilities as she be- came known to them by sight, known to them by hearsay, as old Durnford’s wife. I had nothing to be jealous about. Jessie was amiable and pleasant, and her manners were not the manners of many of the women at these places ; she had , a civil answer to a civil question, and an honest smile for those friends she made by degrees, and who smiled honestly ather. Still, I was secretly unh appy. jealous of any one who spoke to her or looked at her, and she made friends, as I have said. Now and then it happened that a stranger would address herâ€"a man with an extra. de- gree of impudence in him. or an extra. glass of spiritsâ€"but he was generally put in his place and told to mind his own business by Jessie. My young wife was vain, probably. but she did not seek for the attentions or admiration of the stranger, and no one had a word to say against her for a long‘ while. For a long while onlyâ€"the slander came in its time, and the suspicious followed. and there was no peace of mind for me from that day. What could an old dnfler like Dumford expect, who brought his young and pretty wife to the Apollo 2 Oh, the grand chorus of‘ " I told you so," that I had to listen to and endure I One evening I had been extra. busy at the Apollo; it. had been Mr. Wheezy’s benefit. and there was extra attractions, and a host of Wheezy's bibulous friends to support them and Wheezy, and the place was crowded in every hole and corner. I had had some diffi- culty in keeping a. place for Jessie, and pres- ently she was slmosl lost to my sight by- the men and women who hemmed her round with the camp-stools we had been compelled to bring in to accommodate our numerous pat- rons. I had no time to speak to my wife ‘hat evening ; I was content to glance at her now and then when passing by. It was close upon nine o'clock when I met her in the lobby beyond the swing glass door which led into the hall. Her face was very pale, and her eyes were filled with tears. " Jessie, What's the matter ?” “Nothing. I’m going home â€"that’s all.” " Hasâ€"has anybody oflended you ?" I in- quired. “ Has anything been said on the "age thetâ€"" " Don’t be ridiculous, Jacob,” she cried, piteously ; “ nothin‘a thematter. only I don’t 1991 very well, and the place is dreadfully hot, and I thought} should faint.” " You 103k like a gheat,” I said, “ or as if you 113d pepn one." ' “ What do you mean by that 7” she asked, so sharply that I went back a step or two in dismay It her violenoet , “ I Zion’t mean anything but that you are very_pale_.”_1 explained. “fee, I: dare [say I am,” she said. “ 1â€"] thought you were throwing ofl at me. Good. nigh}. I at}: going straight _ho_mei:"_ 7‘ Don’t sit l'Ip fér m5; I shall be late t)- nighf with phiioonfounglqd begefig.” _ ._ “ I am afraid you will. No, I shall not stop up." “ Andâ€"” But she did not want to hear any further instructions ; she hurried away like a woman eager for fresh air, and I went slowly down the lobby, thinking of her. The swing glass door was opened suddenly as I approached it. and it was only by a sidewise movement that I escaped collision with a gentleman whocame striding from the hall. “ Here, you, air, which wayhas she gone?" he asked of me, peremptorily. “ Which way â€"has who gone “” " Jessieâ€"I mean the lady who came out in:t__now,” he said. " You must, have passed I turned faint and ill myself, I think, for I lost sight of this man for a. moment, and the lights in the lobby looked to me like hazy moans struggling to shine through a. thick mist. v "You idiotâ€"don’t you understand 7" the man said, passionately. " Do you know the lady ?” I asked, slowly. “ Whn.‘ the devil’s business is that of young?" '7 “ The devil's business-ah I very likely it is," I answered, thoughtfully; and the man stared at me. and fancied I was mad. Yet I was very cunning in my madness, and an awful liar. “ The lady has gone into the balcony up stairs ; she thinks she can sege better there.” “ Thanks, old man ; why didn’t you any so before ?" and as he hastened away he pitched a shilling into my tray as a. reward for my pigoe of ipformation. I could have almost laughed at this, only my thoughts were many, and were heart- :iokening utters time. I had so much upon my mind. so many doubts crowding in upon the orders for drink, so many customers to THE HEAD WAITER. 13']! F. W. ROBINSON, CHAPTER III. THE APOLLO. attend to, or to neglect, and such strange thoughts of home and Jessie. I tried to think it all a mistakeâ€"that this man had only been attracted by her fresh young face, her strange position there, her isolation ; but the mention of her Chmstian name, his anxious search in the gallery above-stairs, the grave expression that he wore nowvâ€"I watched him more closely than anyone could have thought possible that busy nightâ€"convinced me almost that there wnsamotive for his search not born of a rake’s pagslng fancy tor_ a pretty woman. When he came into the stalls again. as if expecting to find her in her old place, he scowled at me for an instant, and then van- ished into the street. I returned home very tired that night, and very much bewildered. The hall had been open till two by special permission 0! the police, and it was close upon three when I reached home. To my astonishment, Jessie was in the front room, stitching away as for dear life. “ Sitting up I“ I said, in my astonish- ment. “ Yes ; I couldn’t sleep. I thoughtl would get on with my work. It was better than lyinggtrarring gt the cgiligg, wsign’f. it ?"_ “ Well. perhaps so,” I replied. “ Do you feel pretty well now ‘2" “ Oh,I‘m well enough.” I did not ask her any more questions ; I did not allude to the gentlemen who had been in search of her, and had given me a. shilling for false information ; I waited for her to tell her story, if she had one, and she never said a word. Perhaps it was all fancyâ€"probably it was. I tried to thinkâ€"and he was uncon- scious of the admirer who had suddenly sprung up in her path. She did not go to the Apollo for two or three weeks after this ; she did not care about it, she said ; she was tired, or had too much work to do. I was glad to hear her say this, though I was sorry to see how despondent and fretful she grew once more ; and my suspicions seemed to die away until he again came to the Apollo. I recognized him m once; I believe I knew he was there before I had seen him, by a. death- like coldness that came upon me suddenly. as if some specter had glided into the place. At all events,my knees knocked tog ether when I had seen him. and there was a. choking sensation behind my rusty neck. He did not know me ; but I knew him,and what he had come for. He stood at the glass doors, and looked at the stage from time to time, but his quick, eager glance toward every newcomer showed he was waiting for some one, or in search of some one. Waiting for some one as if by appointment, I feared ;- and if Jessie had entered the ball that night, I should have gone dead off, I'm certain. But no one came, and I was very glad. He lingered there till a. late hour. I was keenly watchful of him, though in his pre- occupation he did not observe me. From this night forth I should know him anywhere; under any circumstances of life, under any aspect of death. in his fashionable dress. or in his cofiin,thel man would never be for- gotten or mistaken for another. He was a handsome man, of some eight-and-twenty years of age ; hardly like a gentleman in ap- pearance, though dressed like one, and striv- ing hard to pass for one. He was not one of “ the real sort "; and a waiter knows the real sort more quickly than anybody else. The real sort, after all, is rather scarce; at the Apollo it was very scarce indeed, although sometimes found in an inebriated condition, with its hat on the back of the head, strol- ling in to oblige Florrie and Tottie, and to cry “ Bravo 1” This man I did not like, though I could not make him out. He was not a betting man, for the men who came to bet, who were known on every English race course, and who patronized the Apollo, passed him without recognition ; the " season tickets"â€"â€"male and femaleâ€"did not nod to him, and. he took no notice of them ; to the waiters he was a. stranger ; the professionals who came in after their “ turns" did not shake hands with him and hint that they were thirsty; he was not known to the police. He was there the next nightâ€"then he missed two nights, and came in late on the Saturday, well dressed, carefully gloved, with a. hat intensely shiny, a white flower in the button-hole of his coat, and adiamond breast- pin which one could see was a. diamond at any distance off. He disappeared again for a week, and I thought be bid gone awayâ€"given up his search, perhapsâ€"for good. I was exultnnt, though it did not seem to matter much new that Jessie did not come, andthen I grew ner- vous, and stupid, and completely dazed, when she suddenly startled me by entering the hall one evening. “ I could not stand it any longer. J noob,” she said, half-apologetioally even; “ I should have gone mad all alone in that room if I had kept indoors another night. I couldn't keep at homeâ€"I couldn’t really." “ Very well," I said ; ” 6f course it is better to have a little change when you feel in that unsettled state.” “ Yes. I think so ;" and then she glanced nervously round, and continued at strange in- tervals to look about her in a soared way which I did not. like. I did not ask her any questions; if I had any counsel of my own to keep, I kept it, God knows, very well. I was as sure as I was living that he would. come that night in search of her, but he did not ; I was always wrong. it seemed. I could have believed I had set him asideâ€"almost forgotten himâ€"the next week. The week after thatâ€"one Tuesday evening, when Jessie was in the hall, he passed me whilst I was getting in my orders at the outer bar. They would meet at last, then- and I should not see their meeting. I should only suffer the torment: of the damned in guessing at it. Bad not Harry Plantagenet, general man- ager of the Apollo. been at my side at the very moment, and asking me innumerable questions, and hinting that I was not suf- ficiently energetic in seeing that my waiters went round regularly for orders, I might have thrown down my tray on the floor, and fol- lowed swiftly on the heels of the man who was in search of Jessie Durnford. I don’t know what restrained meâ€"hsbit, the custom of my class, the divinity that hedged Planta- genet, and made a divinity of him ; but I did not return to the hall until the manager had had “ his say ” out, and my tray was heaped with bottles and glasses. I went down the lobby with very shakey legs, and with my checking sensation, of which I have already spoken, getting the better of me rapidly. Why my heart should beat so terribly fast was hard to explain. I was very fond of Jessie, but I could trust her, surely. And she was fond of me, in her way, and if in a dif ferent way. still fond. In all our wedded life even in this hateful place to which I was bound hand and foot, she had never given me real cause for jealousy. had never shown her- self to be one of that hateful class of women over craving for the attentions of the men. I had been jealous once or twice, being an old old fool, as you know, but I had always seen afterward, and very clearly. how completely I had been mistaken. Perhaps I was mistaken nowâ€"God grant I might be l It I should not see them together, I should think it one more of my delusions. I was full of fancies. and this might be another of them. All these thoughts passed through my brain in the lobby. I pushed open the inner door presently, and glanced toward the seat where Ihad left Jessie lest. Then I stood for a. moment. more like a statue then a. man, al- though the glasses jingled on the tray a. lively measure, as if mocking me. They were side by side, as I hoped they might not beâ€"as I fancied that they would not be, and feared they wouldâ€"side by side, and talking very earnestly together, but with grave feces which were out of place in this den of the fi-ivolitiee. v .Ingas Jessie who saw me first, whose eyes had been upon‘ the 'entrance all the while but had failed to perceive me until I had come to a. full stop. She oolbred. and fo’rc’e‘d a THE SAME MAN CHAPTER 1V. smile, even beckoned to me at last; but I resumed my progress slowly across the hall, fulfilled my orders, took my money, gave my usual grateful thanks for every donation to the waimr, and went slowly out of the hall again without looking in their direction. I was too busy to speak to 1101' at present, she would conclude, and I should come toher on the first moment of my leisure. She did not think that I should watch herâ€"I who had never watched her in my life, and to her had only shown implicit trust and love. But I. stole up stairs with my tray under my arm, and entered a. private box near the stage, where a good View of the hell could be ob- tained. Standing in the shadow there. I could see what went on below. They would wonder at the bar what had become of me. Let them wonder to their lives’ ends. for what I cared for any of them now 1 I could see my wife and her companion 3 very plainly. What could they have to talk about with such intentness that even Leopold Filberts, in his screaming ditty. “ I'm a Searcher,” failed to attract a scrap of their attention? They were in a world of their own. far apart from this one ; they were not at the Apollo. The great Leopold might have ‘been a scarecrow set up there, for what they ‘knew of the matter. Good God! what had ‘the man to say to her that she should take her handkerchief from her pocket to stench tears, that she should try to hide them from him, and that he should gesticulate and talk loudly, until she had him speak in a lower key ? What was the secret between those two ?â€"how long had it lasted, and when did it begin ‘1‘” I was standing motionless at the back of the box, when the door opened, and Mr. Plan- tagenet burst in, raving and frothing at the mouth. He had an unpleasant habit of froth“ ing at the mouth when very much put out, whxch he was on this occasion. “ What the foul fiend and all his imps are you hiding here for ?” he exclaimed, adding much more forcible language, also. that I will not repeat in this chroniule. “ Don‘t you know everybody is looking for you,” he went on, “ and nothing is being done? What the devil are you up to, Dum- ford? Are you drunk, or mad ?" “ Not drunk, only gomg mad, sir." “ Well, of all the confoundedâ€" Ain’t you well, old cove 7" he asked, suddenly, and in a friendly tone, as he looked more closely at me. There must have been something very strange in my face to [tighten him. “Oh! oh I I see now. The greemeyed mon- ster, is it, Durnford ‘2" “ Who is the man talking to â€" my wife ?” " Bleat if I know. You should not bring your wife here if you don’t like any one talk- ing to her. Serve you right." “ Noâ€"yes. I‘il come directly don’t trouble about me." “ What are you staring at ? What‘s up down stairs ? What is it ‘2” he inquired, taking his place by my side, and looking down into the hall from my own point of view. There was a pause, then he burst into a loud laugh. 7' Yes, so i: does: But'don’t ygu tell me so again,” Harry Plantagenet was twice my size and twenty years my junior. bum he backed rapidly out of the box as if afraid of me, or of the sharp edge of the tray I still clutched in my hand. “ Stash it. old man. I shall sgud for the police if you go on like thisâ€"I shall indeed.” “ Sand for them if you like.” “Are you coming to your wark. or not ?” That’s all I have got to say at present." “ I’m coming.” “ I aim]! report you on Saturday to Wheezy. mind you." “ You can do as you please, sir,” I said, less disturbed now. and more coolly insolent. I followed him out of thebox and down stairs. I went about my business oddly enough, but in some sort of‘fashion. I found ihe courage to go into the hall again as if nothing had happened. As if nothing had happened I As if my whole life was not changed from that accursed night. As if the blight had not settled on me and her forever. and there was no getting it away. When I was in the hall. she beckoned to me. She was smiling, and like her usual self. I might have fallen asleep in the pri- vate box and dreamed it all, for what evi- dence there was now of any trouble to her. I went toward her this time; I was very cool and self~possesaed on my own account; now, and there was no guessing either what had come to me. “ This is my husband, Mr. Dnmford. He is a wmter hereâ€"the head waiter.” She indicated the man by her side with a. gtaceiul wave of the hand, and said to him : She looked steadily at him, as if she were defying him and his opinion of me ; bgt he answered, graciously, far too graciously to my tgste : “ Jacob, I have met an old friend to-night ; such an old friend !" she added,light1yâ€" “ Mr. Rushton.” . “ I ‘am glad to make your acquaintance. Mr. Durnford. I dare say you remember my name ‘2” " I have not heard it before in all my life. Any orders. sir ‘2" The reader sees how cool I was, I hope. He did not take any notice of my inquiry, but thought, probably, that I was a little too eager for business. It was Jessie who spoke next. “ How forgetful you are, Jacob! Why. I have spoken of Mr. Rushton a hundred times to you. He was our walker at Miller’s. Weren't you ‘2” “I waé Jessie. and no mistake," he replied. ” And a. hateful berth it was.” I suppose I must have lookeda little strange nowaor my wife said: “ He uséd to always call me Jessie in busi- ness. But that won’t do now, Mr. Rushton,” she gddgd, turning to him. A _ “A bottle of champagne for you and the lady? Yes, sir. What brand I" “ Oh, any brand; I’ll leave it to you.” " Very good, air.” I would treat him as a customer, not. as a friend, this Mr. Rushton, of whom Jessie had never said a single word in her liie, whose name had been scrupulously kept back from me, I was quite certain. I went away for the wine. When I returned he was sic- ting alone, and Jessie had disappeared. I did not affect any surprise. I placed the two glasses before him, and uncorked the bottle. He was the center of attraction now ; a man who drank Champagne at the Apollo was something out of the common, except on benefit and race nights. Even Cabdy, from his chair, looked toward him with evident in- terest. “ Mrs. Durnford has gone home," he said. “ She desired me to tell you that â€"â€"that she shouldn’t step any longer.” . “No, I suppose not." was his reply. “I beg pardon. I’m sure.” “ Are there any ordeis?" I inquired. “ What will you take yourself, to begin with 7" he said. “‘ Well. get a. bottle of fizz for me, and for the gopd of thq hguse," he said. ‘ “ There’s your money. Won’t you â€"" And he pointed to the aecond glass I had filled; I went to the front door of the Apollo, and looked up and down the street, but there was no sign of Jessie. I went back to the hall to make sure that he was there drinking his Champagne, from two glasses, in solitary splendor. HM he got up t1; go, I should have followed him harsheaded about the streets I am sum but he remained and my wife was safe without him. When I reached home that night she was asleep, with her child, which‘ she had taken out of her crib, nestling by her side. Though I was not used to praying much, I knelt down and prayed that night. “mum” . DWI, nu, .wi‘m. . " Ten and Slxpence, if you please,” I re- plied. “ Nothing, thank you,” I replied; “I never drink in busmess hours." “ I don’t drink Champagne," I answered, as I walked away from him. I hafdly know now for what I prayed. It seems sucha. long time ago, and my memory is notvwhat it was. “ AN om) STORY." By degrees I heard all about. Mr. Rushton. Jessie was disposed to be communicative now. and I asked a great many questions. With the answers I ought to have been par- ticularij satisfied, but I was not, for 1 did not believe them. I did no: call her that. I distrusted her state- ment.but1 did. I had watched her from the boxâ€"I had been an anisible witness,like an unseen spirit, to much earnestness and grief, and she never spoke of that. Mr. Rushton was alluded _ to as a vain man, a “ big silly,” one that she had never agreed with in business , but I was on my guard, and. her air of indifference did not deâ€" ceive me. I deceived her by feigning to be- lieveâ€"as I used to believe~everything she told Mr. Bushton had left business altogether. He had come into property by the death of his father a Lincolushire farmer, and was “ oh 1‘ very rich, indeed.” I did not doubt that and was sorry for it. He had met her by accident that night, which was true enough, or about half the truth. It was he who had soared Jessie weeks before, and from whom she had fled ; but I did not allude to this suspicion, or seek to confirm it. He and Jessie had been lovers once, I thoughtâ€"â€"hefore my'time of courtship of her; there had been a quarrel, a drifting apart, his obstinacy and her high spirit refusing to make any advance to a reconciliation ; and then a desperate plunge iof dispair, and a secret marriage with me. iThat was the story I had made out of lit all, and it was so near the truth that, save some petty details, not worth the men- tioning, that I need not dwell upon it again. I saw it all so awfully clearly. even at that time, and those two thought that I saw nothing. The ice was broken, and they met at the Apollo pretty frequently. and meant no harm, neither he not she, to begin with, I verily be- lieve now. But I doubted them from the he- ginningâ€"I thought the worst at once, and waited for my proofs. I had lost confidence very desperately. What my life was for the next six months is difficult to guess atâ€"-it wasa watchful, dis- trusting, awful life, that aged me with 11 won- drous rapidity. I kept my misery to myself pretty well ; not even Jessie knew that I was jealous. It would have been as well if I had told herâ€"if I had sobbed forth my suspicions. or flamed out in my wrath; but I was con- tent to let matters stand, and see what it would all come to. I saw that they were friends; I knew they met frequently, but it was at the Apollo, and before my face. There was nothing sly about it. There was some ugly talk M the hall. and some jesting words of warning, but it was only a big joke to the Apollo 1012. They fancied I bore in very philosophically, and was an easier fool than they had even thought. when my heart was a. great black blot that beat with thgughts of ngur_d_er. I suppose, looking at it all in soberer fash- i'on, it was poor Jessie who was the fool. .She was young, vain and willful. and I did not try to check the impulse toward the old loverâ€"- this man with whom she had quarrelled and made it upâ€"until it was too late. When I interfered, the fancy had grown to love again, and I was powerless. I don’t think that she even knew how strong her passion had be- come for him until 1 interim-<11 at lest. and said she must not go to the Apollo any more. This was on a Sunday night, when we had time to talk together a little Then I thought I would speak up. “ Not go l Why not ?" she inquired. " They are talking about you at the hull.” “ Let them.” “ And I don’t like that Rushton forever sneaking after you.” I said ; “ it looks bad, and people make worse out of it than it really is." “ Can’t I speak to an old friend, even with you near me, without being talked about, I should like to know ? " she cried indignant- 1y. have." . “ Ah ! but you don’t know me," I said. “Look here.” I took from my waistcoat pocket 3 small vial. and her eyes diluted with a. new; horror as she gazed at it. “ What isâ€"that ?” she gasped forth. “ Poison, ” I answered: " more than enough to kill him. And I had made up my mind to kill him last night." " Jacob 1” she screamed. “I have been buying this by degrees â€"a lit- tle here and there. at chemists' shops -,â€"snd I should have put it in his first glass of whiskey and waterâ€"he is fond of whiskey â€"only I could not get a. chance last night. There were so many people about. But on Monday,” I added, “ I shall have better luck." “ You would murder him 7" “ I would' kill him like the rat he is. Why not ‘2” “ Greet Heavens!” She went away from me shudderingly to the furthermoet end of the room, with every par- ticle of color bleached out of her face; she put her arms round her child. and looked away from me. Presently she fainted away. and lay like A dead thing in my arms, I was alarmed now; but oh 1 if she had only died that night. it would have been so much the better for her! V She drew a long breath and burned as white as death. 1 had spoken out at. last, and to 501m: purpose. “ I shall speak to any one I choose,” she said, indignantly. “ He is an old friend, sndI will not turn away from him. Not for any- body. Not for you." “ You love him 1’ ” “ I do not.” “ He and you shall not meet again by my permission. That I awear.” “ Swear away,” she answered, defiantly. “ I have a will of my own, as well as you “ You ;you dare to think it ? ” she cried at last. “ What have I said or done mat You should. treat me like this ? ” “ You have gone back in your heart to the man you loved before me.” I said. “ You are not happy out of his sight, or in my own, and I will not bear it any longer." My wife's name had suggested the other. and Rushton had made himself friendly with the manager and chairman and one or two of the “ artistes," being profuse in his treats. " No, I haven‘t seen him." “ I have seen Bushton, Plenty," said our new tenor, coming in at this moment. “ How long ago I” “ 011, about three puertere of an hour ago, outside the hall. The little lady was Waiting for him there. What’s the row '2" When she recovered consciousness she said to me, Mr. Plantagenet coughed, butthe tenor was a. dull man, and did not know that I was the husband of her they called “ the little lady," at the Apollo. He went on in his blundering way. “ I don‘t know what the deuce was up be- tween th'em, but she won“ not fat him cb’me “ Jacob, you never meant to kill hlm ‘2" ‘- Upon my soul I did.” I answered. “ Don’t come near me I get away from me! let me think 1" she whispered; and I went and set before the black and empty fire grate all that night, and broodedin my turn of what would come of it. Perhaps it would and hap- pily for everybody now. I had not wished to frighten her; I had only told the plain truth, and she would lake it as a warning. I went to the Apollo on the Mendey. feeling sure that she would come there no more. I had asserted my rights, and stopped this folly for good and all. She had come so frequently of late that her absenoé was remarked before the evening was over. “ Mrs. Dumford has not honored us to- night," Mr. Plantagenet said. ” She is not ill. I hope ?” “ She is quite Well, thank you.” “ Have you seen Mr. Bushton about 9" he asked. “ I wanted to see him myself very particularly.” I don't think you can." Perhaps you suspect me too 7 ” Yes, by God, I do ! " I answered solemn- CHAPTER V. in here,” he said. “ She hung on to him like a mad thing. Some other woman, Isuppose, Planty 7", _ He stated at me haughtily 101‘ my intru- sion on the conversation : he was a great man in his own opinion. though in mine he could not sing one single note fit to be heard. “ Aflnd what became oithem 2" I asked. sud- den}y and harshly. ' “ This la the little lady’s husband,” said Plantagenet, with a wink. “ 0h ”he devil!" “ And what became of them ? If you don't tell me,” I said, suddenly clutching him by his white oravat, “ I’ll shake the life out of you.” “ Here 1 hold hard " he cried " They went away downthe street; that’s :11 I know. Let go the tie, will you, you drunken old idiot. Plauty. collar him, can’t you. 9 ” Plantagenet put his arms around me, and dragged me from the tenor, whose white tie came 013 in my hands. They were both furious but I was very ugad. “ You’ll get the suck for this, Durnfor .” bawled the manager, " we've stood enough of your lurks these last three months â€"â€"blowed if we ain’t. ‘ I heard no more. I ran out bare-headed into the meet ; it was raining fast, but I did not heed it, or turn back. I went straight home, carrying the tenor’s tie in my hand; I tottered up stairs to find tho front room dark. the back room darkâ€"everything as dark as hell’s mouth. I wen: down stairs to the landlady. and asked if Mrs. Durnford had come home. “ She has been out. and come home. and gone out again. Mlater Durniord," was the answer given. “ Oh, has she? and where's little Jessie ‘9" 2h” She took her with her lam time. She woke her out (if her sleep â€"which I thought very strange. and said so~and made her dress and go out with her." “ Did she say what for f" “ Only that she must take herâ€"that’s all." replied the landlady. “ Has anything hap- pened, sir? Good Lord ! how guy you look l” ‘ I did not hear any more. fie-11 iorward in the passage. 1 did not know any more {or many a long day. I had had a. long illness, and been for a long while at death‘s door, they told me when I came to myself. I had been as “ mad as a batter,” little Bailey saidâ€"he had been the boy 1n livery who sold bad cigars and pro- grammes at the Apollo, and he was the only one of all the lot who had looked for me, and wished to know what had become of me. I had been out of my mind for three months â€" I was an inmate of the mad ward of a Lon- don work-house, where it was thought 1 should soon die, and give no more trouble to any- body. But Irecoveredâ€"thatis, to an e’flent. I did not get very strong, but the little sense that I had ever had come back to me. although there were some who did not think so to the last. Well. it is the last I am coming to now. and they who read this can judge for themselves. What their opinion is don’t matcer muchâ€"I am waiting now the Higher Judge. who will forgive me, or condemn me, according to his will. I plead guiltyâ€"that is all. I was well enough to leave the work house at last, but I was hardly well enough to get my own living. People glanced askanoe at meâ€"Caffins only took me on as an “ extra.”1 when they were very busy. and to the Apollo: I never want again ; I never passed their doors. even ; I have gone halt a mile round rather than pass them ; a poster on the walls concerning the amusements of the place has turned me sick and giddy. Still, I got a living somehow. I was right in my head againâ€"I was quite sure 01 that myselfâ€"and a top hack room in a court in Gray’s Inn Lane was home enough 10: me. When 1 could not obtain a living I had the power to get away from it all in a few moments. The Vial which I had shown Jessie was still with me. I had found it in the pocket of my sunday waistcoat, in the old home, to which I went back for the worldly goods which had been left me after the ex- penses 01 my illness had been paid to the par- ish. I took a pride in paying oi! every penny of that; and then I sold oi! the things I did not wantâ€"a heap of Jessie‘s dresses. and a child's track or twoâ€"rand changed my quar- ters for good. It was a hand-ta-mouth existence for the next five or six yarnâ€"looking back at it, I hardly know how I lived. I had but little to do; I grew very weak and very strange. they said; but that was their exense for not hav- ing me any longer on the regular staff at Cefiins’s; and I was changed so that the Apollo people passed me in the street and did not know me. My hair had got as white as snow, and Ilooked I men between seventy and eighty, I stooped so much, end tottered so feebly when I walked. It would soon be the Union again, they thought, but I said I was not going to the Union any more. I had prepared against it. What my though" were of my wife and child I need not trouble anyone withâ€"they were never out of my mind. you may take for granted. I grieved for little Jessie-tor she might have been left to me; I grieved for my wife. and wondered where she was. I bore only hatred in my heart for the man who had taken her away. There came a day when I learned the news all at once. It was in the busy Christmas-time. when waiters were av. a premium, and even I was sure of work. Jessie had been away from me for a clear six years -an awfully long six years it had been to me. I was engaged at a moment’s notice, at a private fancy ball in the west of London. Caifins had the entire con trol of the refreshment depanment, and had been ordered to stand for no expense. I understood um I should not please Cafiins as an extra. much longer, and I went in a morbid condition to my duties. I even put my vial of laudaunm in my pocket, in case I should not give satislaction to the real head waiterâ€"a stuck-upignornmua who knew nothing of his business. ” Why in the baukground, air 7" I asked, respggifglly. “ Well, you don't look 3 first- rate sort of waiter now.” said Osfiinl, bluntly, “ and I have orders to do things first rate. But you know how things ought to be done, and can instruct the others. " “ As head waiter. sir 7" “ God bless my soul I no." cried Cafline ; “ don‘t 1 say as a general help, and in the background ? For merey' s sake don‘t put yourself forward. See how old and shabby you are." I obeyed my orders. and kept in the b3011- ground, as they wished me. though Jacob Durnford had never pushed himself where he was not wanttd. The ball, which was an expensive affair, and a showy one in many ways, was held in a large private house in Ful- ham. With all its lavish display. its hired orchestra, its fancy dresses, its numerous guests, its light and life and htter,1t was wanting in style and fashion, and at last oven in decorum. The men looked like gentlemen. some of them, but the women were wild creatures, extravagantly dressed. and jeweled and painted. and they laughed and screamed loudly as the night stole on. A few of them I had seen before at the' Apollo, or in the streets. late at night, leading to the Apollo ; more of them might have come here. but the rest were dead I There dawned upon me slowly the thought that at such a semi-respectable or semi-disrespeotable place as this she might appear with him. It was likelyâ€"it was more than likely ; and as the impression deepened on me, I sat down, and with a cold sweet as of death upon me. “ What's the matter, old man I Come over bad 1:" rnsrkegoqe 9! fiber y_oung_ Awgitgts. " You‘ll do pretty well if yoti keep quiet, Durnford," said my employe'tâ€"“ and in the backgroqu n_bit_." _ ' “ Very well, Mr. Gaffins. I think I under- stand.” .. I feel a. little {aims’l refined “ it will soon ””3591. . ‘ . .; Th‘ey'il be having upper in mbth'érh'our. FATHER. MOTHER, AND CHILD. CHAPTER VI. If you pull round by then, that‘ll do. You ain’t much use just now." “ I know that. Here, Tompkins 1” ” What’s the row now ?” “ Have all the company come 7" “ How the blazes would 1 know 2’” “I don't call this a respectable lotâ€"do you 27" “ Oh, lotâ€"here’s old Durnford shocked I“ he cried. “ Shall I get you some brandy, or some smelling-salts for your delikit consti- tooshun ‘2" “ I‘m not shocked, Tomkins,” I said. “I’ve lived too long in the World to be shocked at anything 3’. " That’s lucky. ‘ 8111: they’ re iwfully mixed here, Tomkins, don‘t you think ? Thaw are four or five of the women who usedt-o sing at the Apollo, and half 9. dozen who came the;eâ€"â€"seasons, you knowâ€"and â€"-” “ Ain’ t they a fight to enjoy theirselves as much as anybody else. 9” said Tomkins, vir tuously indignant now , “ or hasn’t the mas- ter or the missis of this crib â€"â€"I don’t know which it is â€"a right to ask whoever they like to their own ’ouse ‘1’ Hasn’tâ€"~" “ It’s a missis, if you wanna to know, Tom kins." said a third waiter coming up_._ ' « Rhshtén 1’ I yelled at them bothâ€"” did you say Rushton? Did either of you two men say Eughtog T: ton’ 9 place, and the missis wasâ€"” u ‘ . L,.1, “ Oh ! is it ‘2 I heard this Wife 9: Mr. Bush- 7 7‘ He s of? his ’ed now,” said Tompkins , “ the master said we should have a job with him if we didn’t‘ seep our eyes open.’ “ There‘s no Ruehton here, Durnford,”said the new comer, “ though why it should mat- ter to you If there was, I don't see. fiushton bolted away two years agoâ€"couldn’t stand his lady‘s tempera. the servants have been telling meâ€"and she took up with Scowles, the banker, until he died. She passes for a lively kind of widow now." “ And keeps this company ?" ” It will pay. She’s a. fine woman. and they do say as how Lord Uheeseboroughâ€" that’s him with the gray mustacheâ€"comes here pretty reg’lar todlnner, and â€"there he is talking to her now. That’s Cheeseborough~ awfully tip top.” “ Where ?” I cried. struggling to me feet, and breaking a few glasses with my hands in my strong efforts to rise. “ I should like to see that woman.” “ Oh. you always wasa chap after the gals!” said Tomkins. laughing, as he hurried away. I turned to the other waiter; I should have been glad to cling to his arm, but he had gone also, and left me alone. 1 tattered to the door of the ante-room which looked into the ball-room, and peered through some heavy curtains which hid the view a little I should have soared one poor soul had she looked to- ward me then. Yes, it was she. She was there, in a blaze of jewels, and with flowersâ€"God‘s beautiful flowersnupon her head. and looping up her dress. This was the wife of Dumford the waiterâ€"the woman who had run away from him. She was laughing shrilly at the re- marks of the men with the gray muetache, who was bending over her, and it was not the old true, honest laugh whinh had echoed in our home together. Ay. and it was not a happy face, for all the beauty of it, and for all the splendor about it and her. I could say, “ Poor Jessie I" even than, and with scalding tears in the furrows of my cheeks. I did not. envy her prosperity, or contrast it to a disadvantage with my utter penury. At the moment, a little hand touched mine. a. fairy face looked up to mine. and a child in a ball dress, the only child of all that com- munityâ€"stood before me. “ Pfease. waiter, will you give me a. little lemonade, mamma rays 2” “ Mamma l-twhicla is your mnmma. child ?” I asked vury eagerly new, and with ‘ifly soul turning into ice. The face was like the Woman’s I had been gazing at, like that of my little Jessie who had been stolen from me. She glanced wildly from me to the child. from the child to the glass of lemonade. and then shrieked forth. " Oh. you have poisoned her. Murder ! assassin I Help !" “ I thought she was better in God’s hands than you s,” I said sternly. “ butâ€"" She sc amsd again for help, and the death like as, 11 came on her as her guests rushed to her as ’sstanee, with white faces and star- ing eyes. “ What is it. i’ What is the matter? ” “ The lady has fainted.” I exclaimed ; “ the heat of :he room‘ was too much for her.” “ Why, the lady who lives here, to. he sure.” “ Your mamma 7" “ Yes.” I crawled very slowly to the refreshment table. The waiters were all away ; only the little girl was with me nowâ€"my own child I I muttered thisâ€"I thought this-I was sure of this. As I poured the lemonade into the glass, I remembered the vial of poison which I had bought to dlstroy Ruahton some six years ago. and I thought again that it was saving my child to take her from this life. Madness, if you likeâ€"I don‘t know, even in all my misery, if I were wrong, but I can not brood too much upon it. I stole my hand to the glass of lemonade, a‘n'd kn‘ob’k’ed it dv’er. and whil'a’t She chilliâ€" “ You are very young to attend these parties, little one,” I stammered forth in a hoarse voice. " Oh, I go everywhere with mamma." said ‘9 child, tullof confidence even to me; “ she takes me everywhereâ€"to all the theaters, and concerts, and balls â€"-I’m to dance all the even- ing hereâ€"and she can't ban-r my hair) out of her tight, so please let me have the lemon- ade. n “ What a life I what an example 1 Oh, my God! better this child in its innocence in Heaven than on earth with such a mother 1” As I turned my back toward her I poured the poison into the glass, and with a. strange “ God bless you I" passed it quickly across the counter to her. The child looked afraid of me at last. “ Why do you look like that? Why do you say ‘ God bless you’ ?" she asked, in a low tone. "‘ Nâ€"no. No, I will ndt take it. I will go back toâ€" Oh, mamma ! mamma 1” she screamed, as some one came rustling swiftly into the room. ” this man has frightened me so dgeadfully l"_ There was-a full stop, and then the woman in her jewels glared at me as at a dead man riseq from his gmyet “ Isâ€"itâ€"yofi f” she gasped forth. huskily, at last. “ I don‘t know.” I said; “ I am fond of little children. I had a little girl exactly like you once, and her name was Jessie." " My name is Jessie. too. ” “ Ayâ€" it’s a yretty name Will you kiss me for my little Jessie's sake ‘P" “ 0h ! no, no liâ€"I cauldn't," said the child. shuddering violently. and retreating backward step by step. " Iâ€"I couldn’t touch you.” " This min has I” cried my wife’s voice. “ fjpw dare yogfhowâ€"” “ My name is Jacob Dumford, madam," I rgpligd. “ Great Heaven! what, has brought yeu here 2 ’ “ Honest work." " You must. go away at. once. Here is moneyâ€"take it ; here is my diamond bracelet -â€"sell it; but don’t disgrace me before these people." “ Ha. I you l.1uve came too late,” she cried ; “he is beyond you ; he i-a thousands of miles away. If it had not been! or than hould have never left you, though I have loved him all my life. {was afraid you yould kill the wretch." . “ I did not come for him.” “ Thenâ€" on, Christ 1" not for Jessie! Not for my little Jessie l ” “ Drink your lemonade, than," I urged; “yog haven’t_§ast_ed_i_t_.” ,_ > . “The disgrace came to you years ago, madnm;you should be used to 11;,” I said. pushing away her gifts. “I want nothing from you. I am going now." “ What is that in your hand ?” It was the vial. For the second time in my life I held it up toward her, foreshadowing a. crime. And she remembered at once. my childâ€"was sobbing out an attempt at ex- plantion I crept away from them all, and no one sougm to stay me. _ I saw them never again ; but I think still that in God’s hands my little child would have been safer than in her mother’s, and that. it. would have been marcifulto place her there. In this work house mud, to which poverty and ill health have at last reduced me, 1 try to think it out like this ; but the moral of it all still baflies me. .A rumor reaehes me that m a quiet foreign village my wife and child have been seen ; a grave, decorous,~almosl religious woman she is now, they say. Possi- bleâ€"just possible -, but I shall never knew for certain. A Deadwood Sunday School Superin- tendent Gives a New Version of the Story. A short time since the superintendent of a Sunday school out in the Black Hills happened to be visiting some friends in Brooklyn, and. on invitation, attended the school service of one of the popular Methodist churches. 1n- viied to address the children, he declined at first, but fim I” consented. and to illustrate the welcome «t the sinner to repentance re- lated the following anecdote: “ I reckon most 0’ you young ones have heard about that ole feller in Egypt. which was well fixed ier kids. The ole man was heeled clear to the neck. and that wasn’t a dip nor spur that he wasn’t onto, and you bet he had his squar dose 0’ sheets in every pay dirt claim on the divide. He war a good ole man, straight as a rifle bar'l, and without knot or woodpecker hole from root to crow’s nest. For a long time he’d been full owner 0’ an 80- stamp mill, and travel. ers in them parts has seen the smoke rising from his chimney pretty steady. and they knowed quartz was grinding and the dust was good. That warn’t no funny business about the old man. He knowed prime wash from salt by the color, and it warn’t long afore the boys quit stealing his mules and set down to the levels and picked for trade. They knowed he’d straddle any blind, but he dealt fair, and they respected him. Well, children. the old man banked a heap o’ quartz. He had a big ranch, and the sheep on it was as thick as miners’ tents. Thar was antelopes and prairie chickens, and jack rabbits, and black-tail deer till you couldn’t rest. And that was lots 0’ wheat and a big shack built 0’ logs, with a parlor in one end. Now, I tell you, that that old man was fixed up to the trap, and don’t you forget nothing. One 0’ his sons was kind 0' rest- less. He wanted to prospect for himself. The old man gave him the racket straight from the hip, and told him not to make a dog-gone fool of himself. btay where he was. Thar was more money in a stamp mill than there was in mines. and he advised the kid to locate i ght thar. Why, children,thet thar old man knew from the fust hour that the short didn’t have no show, even for tailings, even if he played to win, to a squat divide on the regu- lar wash. “ But the kid wanted long grass, and so the old man started him and gave him his blessing, and told him for to always deal level with the table and never let a men get his elbow behind his kidney on hurt, and so the boy got away. Fixed straight to his hair. All the dust he wanted. Best advice boy ever got. What do you think he did ? He went broke. I never knew whether he got into a game what they played straights or whether some fellow held over him on a squa1e deal, but he went clean to the bottom of his stock and struck bedrock. Clean up dead gene. Tie yield didn t pen a cent to the ton. Gulph dried up. Dips crossed his angles. Blind leads fetched the only vein he had. except one, but that he didn’t know of. He was digging for yellow in black rock and couldn’t see the glory that was only waiting for him to assay and coin. Yes. you bet. That that poor boy, without money enough to buy a box 0’ matches, was driving where thar wasn’t even pyrites, while all the sky was pouring out the best color ever panned, and he couldn’t get onto it. Well, that was ‘only one thing to do. Prospecting was no :use. So he went down on a ranch and told the ranchmen he’d keep coyetees off the pigs. ‘You know what an ornery derned thing a pig is. You ve got to kill him and smoke him and throw him away and forget him before you can eat him and yet thet that young man hived right down with them pigs and drawed when it was his turn, and if he got afair hand of schucks he was goose on his luck. Bimeby the racket got too stifl for him:and he kicked. He made up his mind Sthat he would flock back to the mill and strike the old man for another stake. Did the old man go back on him? Well, not for coin. Did he say he wasn’t hiring any new hands, but the kid might get onto work at Hamilton's Hollow? I reckon not. Says he, ‘ Put it there, pard,’ and he just fell clean over him. That's style. Thet’s trade from the origin. Thet ain't all. Thet that old man fetched out a buckskin trowsers, and an antelope shirt, and some buffalo boots and acamphat, and drawed the young teller right in. Eh Y How‘s that? Gitting you now, am I? Begin to hook on to my racket 1’ Know who the old man was ‘1’ Yes. you bet your life. and He's waiting for you to pass out on the bobtail. and for you to come to him and be fitted out and started in the stamp mill again like you never hopped the ti ra- -lu and hooked out from under the family umbrella. Let up and be saved. For I tell you children, the lower level gets awful hot some- times, end it you can’t do placer work with the sky right around you, keep away lrom the tunnel business, for thar's no drawing after a bet. Humudn Berda, arrested on the spot and conveyed to prison, subsequently confessed to the cadi that it had been his practice for some time past, whenever consulted by a female possessed of rich jewels or other portable property of value, to invite his visitor to take a turn with him in the garden, where he would then proceed to strangle her,‘despoil her remains and fling them into his cistern. Egyptian justice has probably by this time made an example of this saintly personage by hanging him up in front of hil own home door. â€"Gla.d to see Handford on the high road to respectability again. He has quit pmoha ing and goh‘a Me the n‘ewsp'fip‘ér hu’sineu. About three weeks ago the wife of an Egypt- ian oificer betook herself to the sheikh’s resi- dance for this purpose. When, however, several hours had elapsed wiLhout anything having been heard or seen at her 811108 she entered Hamuda’a doors. her husband applied to the Cairo police [or assistance to discover her whereabouts, and a rigid search was forth- with instituted in the holy man’s domicile. To the horror of the unfortunate oflicer. his wife’s body was found, with several other female corpses. thrust into a huge aisnern standing in she eheikh’s garden. This cistern, in fact, was brimful of murdered wo- men. “ I’d like 50 have you sing a. hymn for me that we sing in our Sunday-school, ‘ Baby Mine 3’ do you knoyit.” And to the astonishment of the local super- intendent they did know it, and he couldn't stop it. A WELL FULL OF MURDERED wo- MEN. ‘ Cairo has recently been plunged into pro- found consternation by the discovery of ~an appalling crimeâ€"0r rather series of crimesâ€"â€" perpetrated in that city by a. religious recluse. Sheikh Hemunda Berda, hitherto enjoying a high reputation for sanctity, and even popu- larly credited With supernatural powers of extraordinary eificaciousness in the way of curing female patients by holy spells.im- parted to him by the prophet. Women were wont to make pilgrimsges from all parts of Lower Egypt to the house of this supposed saint, in order to solicit his intercession with Allah on their behalf. THE PRODIGAL SON. THE END.