The Stolen Singer

y wait,

e tonneau. There was no answer. Holding the flapping ends of her veil awa

t unusual, and now that he had been obliged, by some discomfort, to remove his goggles, his face app

wed up at the office when you teleph

ever, that she was not quite pleased. "T

ather odd

impassive. A moment's hesitation, and then the

Or shall I perhaps follow

re. I shall

op of the stone steps leading down into the tiny park. The driver of the machine, free from observation,

he noble portico of the old college. To the westward, as every one knows, lie the river and the more pretentious park; on the east an abrupt

ork. Angles were softened, noises subdued, sensational scenes lost in the dimmed perspective. To a chance observer, the prospect would have been deeply suggestive; in the woman it stirred many memories. She put back her veil; her face glowed; a long sigh escaped her lips. Slowly she walked

d her would call her beautiful without stint. But more appealing than her beauty was the fine spirit-a strong, free spirit, loving honesty and courage-which glowed like a flame behind her beauty. Best of

uares away, in this very city. They seemed bright in retrospect, like the pleasant paths of a quiet garden, but they had ended abruptly, and had been followed by years of activity and colorful experience in another

e were two letters, one of which was brief and written in bad script on a single sheet of paper bearing a legal head. It was dated at Charlesport, Maine, and stated that the writer, in conformity with the last wish of his

of the street passed far below, the sharp click-click of a pedestrian now and then sounded above, but no one passed her way. The hum of the city made a blurred wash of sound, like the varying yet steady wash of the sea. As s

was written long, in the style of sixty years ago; and the whole letter was as easily legible as print. Across the top was written: "To Agatha Redmond, daughter of my ward and dear friend, Agatha Shaw Redmond"; and

ON,

EAR A

ld you saw me, and you have doubtless heard my name from your mother's people from time to time; but I can scarcely hope that any knowledge of my private life ha

eed, the duty which I am now discharging serves as partial preparation for that very event. This duty is to m

d forgotten by you. Your mother, Agatha Shaw, of blessed memory now for many years, was my ward and pupil after the death of your grandfather. I think I may say without undue self-congratulation that few women of their time have enjoyed as sound a scheme of education as your mother. She had a knowled

thy abilities were supplemented by gracious, womanly arts; and w

essential matter, and I have never permitted my career to be shaped by such details. But from that time, however, the course of my life was changed. From the impassioned orator and preacher I was transformed into the man of books and the study, and since then I have lived far from the

r manuscripts or other material of value my work should lead me to accumulate, together with this house, in whi

hosen, my dear Agatha, I can but believe to be fraught with unusual dangers to a young woman. Therefore I hope that this home, modest as it is, may tempt you to an early re

fully

LES TH

fully. There was a mist in her gaze as she

ther were in a special relationship to the house. It was called "the old red house," and was full of fascinating things. The ancient man had bidden her go about and play as if it were her home, and then had called her to him and laid open a book, leading her mind to r

chyard, listening to the strains of a hymn which floated out from the high, narrow windows. She remembered how, from without, she had joined in the hymn, singing with all her small might; and sudd

n, free of my b

I shall

han the half-voice of a flute, sweet, gentle, beguiling. It told, as so many songs tell, of little ea

singer became conscious of a deeper shadow falling directly in front of her. She glanced up quickl

efore the gentleman, hat in hand, with a deep bow and c

d this way to Van Cortlandt Hall, but I find I am in error, intri

d impertinence which put Miss Redmond on her guard. He was a good-sized,

or of thought was engraved, and decided fleetingly that he was lying. She judged him capable of p

physical order; and she disliked to have the appearance of unconventionality. After the first minute she was not so much afraid as an

the College grounds two blocks south-no, north-of

, also, that this wonderful picture-" here he spread eloquent hands toward the half-quiescent city whose thousand ey

of the last half-hour, were faintly stirred again in Miss Redmond's heart by the strang

of all the daughters of Italy. Ah, Mademoiselle, it is wonderful! But here in this so fresh country, this youth

interlocutor and to avoid the appearance of fright. The man, meanwhile, moved easily beside her, c

and hastened her steps. The man kept pace without effort. Luckily, the car stood only a few feet away, with Renaud, or rather Hand, at the curb, holding open the door. A vague bow an

you raise

Mademoiselle, that i

her direction, after all, but was almost in her tracks, as though he were stalking game. With foot on the step she said sharply, but in a lo

feur replied, Miss Redmond's sharpened senses detected a passag

in close after her. The chauffeur was in his seat, the car was moving slowly, now faster and faster. Suddenly the bland cou

ed her to superhuman efforts. She struggled frantically, fumbled at the door, tore at the curtain, and succeeded in getting her head for an instant at the opening, while she clutched her assailant and h

, the neat hard face of the stranger continued to bend over her. Then everything swam in a maelstro