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Show Hours on Angel The OPPORTUNITIES HAVE LONG Lake N O W 111I1P1 IS TttE PAET ONE-DEA- TH. CHAPTER L HAP.RY TRENT'S TIME TO SUBSCRIBE FOR THE ditttic Mncr THE ONLY Print NEWSPAPER IN tJui) County. NEW HOME, It is less than twenty years Bince the Trent murder iu Now York, and it was one of the great sensations of the time. But the Franco-Germa- n war, following close upon it, distracted public attention. The mystery connected with it was never cleared up, Md today there are few people who remember it. It lies at the threshold, of our story, however, and we must speak of it before going further. In the year 18T0 the city, above Sixtieth street, was thinly settled. Upper Fifth avenue, with the park on one side and a waste of vacant blocks on the other, was like a country road. There were irregular hollows, sometimes with stagnant water in them, or rocky hillocks, adorned with an occasional board shanty; but there was no promise of the array of palaces that look down upon the people's pleasure ground today. When, therefore, the year previous, Harry Trent had laid the foundations of his new house, half a mile or more J yond civilized limits, he was called a clever fellow or a fool, according to the temperament of the critic. Conservatives propesied that he would remain in lonely grandeur for twenty or thirty years to come, while optimists declared that he showed even more than his usual shrewdness in securing betimes a site which, later, was buto to fetch four or five times its present value. Harry Trent himself said little, but went on with his building. He was certainly no fool in a general way of speakiug. . Ho was between fifty and sixty years of age, and his hair was white; but then it had been white since his youth, and bis face looked fresh and young. In figure he was above middle height, graceful and well built. His manners were exquisitely suave and courteous, and had a polish not exactly American. In fact he had lived many years abroad, and was received in the best English and French society. He was a personal acquaintance of the late Emperor Napoleon III, and was said to belong to the Prince of Wales' set. But though cosmopolitan irl his way of life he was a good American in his political and social opinions. It was his business that took him abroad. n Subscribe NOW and et the first chapters of the thrilling and fascinating story entitled, mpenai An absorbing story of 'American Life and Love." BRING ALONG YOUR JOB PRINTING. 7Z "" Z " "E 1 mm H oi id s' SO TO SPEAK. Goods Dry No. 400, Main St. Awake! and take advantage of it 'ere it is too late. e- LIMBS Tlio Opportunity of Your Ldfo Now Prosonts Itsolf, at tlio Salt All-Hom- Wings Swiftly Glide! Stretched out on the rug. He was of good family, and hia father had left him a property sufficient to relieve him from the necessity of work. But Harry Trent had not an idle bone in his body, and he had no sooner completed his university career than he gave proof of his activity. Instead of taking up a profession, however, or cultivating the fine arts as his fine taste and organization might have kd yon to suppose he would ho directed his energies to trade. After spending a few years in a banker's office, to learn the meaning of finance, he rented a place up town and appeared before a startled community as a diamond merchant. After all, if one must follow a trade, there are few articles of commerce more agreeable to deal in than diamonds. They are beautiful to look at, profitable to handle, and they stimulate the imagination. The romances of diamonds are among the most fascinating of the world's stories. The spell woven by these stones is mysterious; it differs from the vulgar craving for money. The living, changing, intangible spirit in them allures forever those who have once yielded to it. Its glory seems unearthly, for it is like nothing else of earth; yet one would scarce venture to call it heavenly. It gleams most brilliantly from the midst of human blood and crime and misery. The diamond necklace sparkles like a river of flowing light on a woman's besom; but on that river the souls of both man and woman are hurried to death. The hollow of an infant's hand may hold a gem nble to raise an army or provision a city; yet it in but a form of the commonest of physical products. It is our invincible luve of beauty that gives it its value, yet all evil and ugly Its pospassions are its foster children. session carries power, but ever threatens destruction. Bo all that as it may, Harry Trent dealt in. diamonds, and built famo and fortune from them. In a comparatively short time he became the best known and wealthiest merchant in the trade. No one was a surer judge of their purity and value; diamonds of nnoqualcd purity and splendor seemed to crystallize beneath his lingers. He knew the histor,' and owners of all the great gems of the world, and atones were believed to pass through his hands equal in quality to anyfxtatit. Withal, like all true diamond merchants, ho was us silent as tlio t'?v. No one could ti ll witli certainty what his transactions were or who were his chief client Therefore, 011 the principle of omne ignotiim pro magnifico, fabulous reports were circulated about him. lie had bought und sold the jewels of empires. Ho had weighed in his balances the crowns of the sovereigns of Europe. Ho had bargained with the shah and the sultan. In his books might be found the names of every millionaire of contemporary times. Half the diamonds of Old World history either were r had been in his possession, and were replaced in the regalia of their putative owners by skillful imitations in paste. So ran the gossip, at which Harry Trent, when he happened to hear any of it, would laugh heartily and declare that it was lucky nobody knew how really difficult it was for him to make both ends meet. The truth, as usual, doubtless lay between the extremes, but may reasonably be held to have inclined toward the large extremity rather than the small one. Kings and queens and other people of august station are sometimes in pressing need of money, and have little except their jewels to offer in exchange for it. Their jewels may or may not be their personal property; at all events, paste reproductions are cheap and easily come by. Who knows, or can expect to know, whether the Regent de France, the Pasha of Egypt, the Sancy, or even the Great Mogul, are genuine or bogus? If bogus, where are the originals? Whispers have even been heard regarding the Kohi-noobut it is to be hoped that, in this case at least, there is no basis for them. Meanwhile Harry Trent continued diligently at work on his new house. We have seen many fine houses erected since then; but it is safe to say that Trent's house is still as good as anything in the way of a dwelling in New York city. Its excellence, however, lay not so much in external adornment as in the fittings and furniture inside. It stood on a corner lot or rather on a corner lot and two adjoining ones and there was space on both sides of it, while at the back was a roomy inclosure and stables. It was built of a reddish graystone, with broad projecting windows admitting plenty of light. The plan of the rooms and staircases was most agreeable; at whatever point you stood you saw around you only charming vistas, harmonious lines, soothing colors and spacious perspectives. Every room was a picture in itself, combining with the others to form a more elaborate picture. Yet the eye was never wearied by petty r; details; the minor features constituted and contributed to the whole effect instead of detracting from it. There was nothing in the house that did not belong to Harry Trent not only in the ordinary sense of proprietorship, but as being the material incarnation of his thoughts, tastes and accomplishments. His house was he and it is paying him no small compliment to say so. A man's interior is not always so comely an object of contemplation. You might discover, indeed, here and there, a picture, a statue, a sweep of drapery or a passage of color that indicated regions in the designer's nature of a somewhat sumptuous, sensuous or voluptuous tendency; but they were never obtrusive, never out of due subordination to the rest, and were after all only what would be expected from a man of his artistic and generous temperament. But what was Harry Trent going to do with his new home? He was going to live in it, doubtless; but did he mean to live alone? This question had latterly thrown a good many charming women into a meditative frame of mind. It was known, of course, that Harry Trent had been married; but that was in his youth; his wife had died within a year and had left him childless. There was nothing, then, in the way of his marrying again, and upon other grounds such an event was probable. For, as has already been intimated, he was still to all intents and purposes a young man. That quality in him that led to his being called Harry Trent, instead of Mr. Trent, or Henry, may serve to convey one meaning. He was Btill in the swim; he was not on the retired or retiring list; ho was modern and active, not fossilized and antiquated. Men younger in years than he had not half his elasticity and vitality. He kept pace with the times and looked ahead rather than backward. Moreover, ho w? fond of society and constantly in it, and n man more liked by women could not bo found. It was not that he dazzled them with his own brilliance-- , but ho made them brilliant; he drew from them tlio best that was in them and enchartted them with themselves. Mirabeau had the "don terrible de la familiaritej" Harry Trent had the no less terrible gift of sympathy magnetic sympathy (to employ ohee again that abused adjective). There was a vigorous, masculine fiber in him that never fails to attract the other sex. They felt that he understood them and could manage them could do the thing they wished to have done, whatever it might be. This, of course, is not quite the same as saying that "the American Castellaui" (as ho was sometimes styled) was a man whom women could afford to trust. There were stories about him never fairly authenticated, however that pointed to a different conclusion. If wo give ear to the gossip of the world, who would escaiK-Harry Trent was a man of the world, and he was A highly cultured, a fastidious man. Low intrigues would not come in his way; on the other hand, he made no profession of saintship; be went to church, and was privately charitable; fur the rest, you must take him f;r what he appeared, and he was taken for an uncommonly fine fellow. But to return to the marriage question. Tlio opinion gained ground that Harry Trent contemplated matrimony, though 110 seer was found bold enough to point out the particular woman who was to enjoy the good fortune of being made his wife. Some fancied it might bo the handsome New Orleans widow, Sally Matchiu, who was known to have, been 011 terms of cordial friendship with him for many years, and at whose house in West Eighteenth street he was often wen. But experienced critics objected that, had she been the destined bride, she would have become Mrs. Trent long ago the acquaintance was now too old to issuo in that manner. A few enterprising spirits threw out suggestion looking toward Olympia Kaveii, a Ixan-tifgirl of eighteen, and a cousin of But Olympia was really too young, even for Harry, and besides, he had quietly made known his intention of inviting her and her mother to come and live with him which, it was agref d, he would scarcely have done had he meant to wed her; nor would he have settled an income of eight thousand a year on the motlier and daughter had ho looked forward to becoming the former's So one hypothesis after another was advanced and rejected, and at the eil nobody was wiser than at the beginning. Tho house was completed in what seemed, judged by our standards, a wonderfully short time, for it was ready to be lived in before tho end of the winter season of 170 say iu carnival time. But Harry Trent had himself superintended tho work iu all its stages, and had seen to it that the workmen's hours of rest did not exceed their hours of labor. And yet, when all was done and February was drawing to a close, ha still" delayed moving in. It may have been merely accident; it may have been that he was waiting for Olympia Raven and her mother to get ready, or, possiblyfor all men have their weak side-- he was the least bit superstitious and was haunted by a recollection of that old proverb, "When the house is built death enters in." But ho was Btrong and healthy, in the full enjoyment of a life that had never met with a serious failure or disappointment. Iu everything ho attempted he had been successful, and either prudence or a naturally happy temperament had kept him from spoiling his nerves and digestion by too anxious and assiduous labor. If ever the afternoon slope of a man's life promised to be sunny, easy and prolonged, it promised so to him. He had built a house perfectly adapted to his needs; it was ready to receive him; his many friends, impatient for the house warming, were counting tho days that had to elapse before Lent came and postponed the celebration to a remote Easter and still Harry Trent made no sign. What was the matter with him? He had, in fact, visited the house almost every day, letting himself iu with his passkey, and sauntering through the beautiful rooms, where fires were kept burning in the open grates by the caretakers in charge. He contemplated the interior from all points of view and in all moods, sometimes tentatively making a Blight modification of arrangement, which he was as likely as not to restore the next day. He seemed loath to persuade himself that all was really just as he would have it, and yet he could devise no improvement. So might a lover study tie face of his mistress, afraid" co believe that her lovely features were absolutely without flaw, or 60 might any mortal regard the most nearly perfect earthly achievement, unable to suggest any bettering of it, and yet vaguely conscious that, in some way, nothing of this earth could be perfect indeed. The twenty-fiftof the month arrived and found the situation unchanged. Harry Trent had on that day gone to afternoon tea at Mrs. Matchin's, it being her day at home, and had remained till after six o'clock. A dozen other people were present, and the talk was lively. Harry himself seemed in particularly fine spirits. When he took his leave Mrs. Matchin accompanied him to the anteroom and stayed there a few moments speaking" with him iu an undertone. They were undoubtedly on confidential terms,, and (for every straw must count) it sent up her stock as tho possible Mrs. Trent 6everal degrees. She came back with a deepened color and a mysterious smile, and entertained her company more brilliantly than ever. Harry Trent walked to his club, only a few blocks off, where he temporarily had rooms, and took dinner there with two or three friends, one of whom was his chief clerk. The latter afterward drank coffee with him in tho smoking room. At about eight o'clock Trent left the club without saying where he was going, and he did not come back that night. Let us follow him ourselves. A recent spell of warm weather has melted tho snow from the streets, but now it has fallen clear and cold again. The dry, bracing air tingles in the nostrils. Harry Trent throws away his cigar and fills his lungs with tho frosty distillation of the stars; then he buttons his coat across his chest and steps out at a sturdy pace. His white hair glistens like silver beneath the rim of his silk hut; his ruddy, kindly, handsome face, with its aquiline nose, blue eyes and well set lips, is alternately revealed and shadowed as he approaches and passes the street lamps. At the cor ner of Twenty-sixt- h street and Fifth avenue, where the up town Dehnonico's now stands, he halts and seems to deliberate. A beggar creeps up and mumbles a petition. Harry looks at him a moment and then draws off his glove to give him a quarter. A woman walks by him. lingers and turns to pass him again. Harry says, "Take care, my child; there's a policeman round tho corner!" A hack driver draws up at the curb and touches his hat. Harry hesitates. There were no elevated roads in those days; but finally he shakes his head and continues his walk up the avenue. "It will do me good to foot it," he says to himself. "What's a couple of miles!" Softened light comes through the curtained windows on either Bide of the street; carriages rumblo up and down over tho uneven pavement, ever and anon pausing to set down their occupants at a carpeted doorway. AtTliirty-nixt- h street Harry pauses again, and before liis' mind rises the picture of the young Olympia, a figure of youth, hcaltli. and arch intelligence, who is even now, perhap," thiiiliing of him, only a few doors away. Shall ho go in and pass there? He nearly yields to and takes a step or two iit that direction. But no! he had promised himself something different; he will tomorrow. Ho turns again and resumes his walk. Yet Olympia was really thinking of him at that moment,, and tomorrow well. Tomorrow sometimes means invt. No such reflection disturbs Harry Branch. D. LUCE, Trent. The exercise has warmed his blood, and his heart is light. The constant success of his life has had its effect npon him. He does not believe that misfortune can overtake him. Mortal man seldom or never lives to Harry's age without having done something that he ought not to have done. Yet he has done much good in the world. His reputation If he among his fellows is untarnished. have enemies they have not declared themselves. But has he an enemy? At any rate, he fears none. Like other fortunate men, he has faith in his star; like them, too, he forgets the legend of Crce- - Harry's by marriage. Manager. ceived in a moment that he was dead. But he thought that tho man had died from a stroke of the heart or of apoplexy. He was not prepared for the further rev elation, and as he realized it a groan of horror burst from him. From the back of the neck, a little to the left, protruded the hilt of a knife or dagger, curiously carved. The rug was soaked with blood. Harry Trent had not died a natural death, nor had he slain himself. He had been murdered. CHAPTER IL KEPPEL DARKE, 8US. By this time ho has passed beyond tho most thickly settled portion of fashionable New York; tho rumble ot carriages is less frequent, and there are gaps between the houses. Foot passengers are few. His steady footsteps aro echoed distinctly from tho frozen pavement. His shadow only attends him as he walks, now lengthening behind, now slipping beneath his feet and starting out ahead of him. Darker shadows gather in the side streets. As he reaches the park something seems to detach itself from the duskiness on the left and move forward to where a broken boarding bespread with a gaudy placard announcing the appearance of a favorite actress in the tragic drama of "Leah" provides a onvenient screen. Harry Trent passes steadily on and the shadow follows him. And now, at length, the goal of the little journey is in 6ight. There stands the new house, solid and shapely on its Btrong foundations, built to last and to be tho abode of prosperity and happiness. As Harry Trent approaches it he slackens his pace, and a proud glow of proprietorship expands his breast. He sees, as in a swift vision, the perspective of the years to come. Within these four walls is to begin the long succession of a Rich, powerful and happy posterity. peaceful, they shall take their place as the best type of the foremost nation of the earth. The women shall be beautiful and bountiful, the men eminent and honorable, friends of the great and great The house of Trent! It themselves. stands dark and empty now, but the hour is at hand when its windows shall be illuminated and its doors opened, and all the city come to do it homage. There is pleasure for an imaginative mind in doing privately and, as it were, by stealth things that ordinary persons would make no secret about. Harry Trent, in spite of his proved and prac tical business sagacity, has a lively imag ination; and, as tho miser steals off to count his money, or the lover to serenade his lady love, so had Harry become infatuated with the idea ot Bjienitmg nn unsuspected night in his new house. He would not share with any other that virgin experience, and it would bo agreeable in after years, amid the stir and voices of an overflowing family and social life, to look back upon this first night of solitude and meditation. With an inward smile of satisfaction, accordingly, Harry Trent ascends the steps and puts his key into the lock. The door yields before him and swings on noiseless hinges, but as he closes it the hollowsound resounds through the darkness. Hereupon, presently, steps are heard in the distance, and a light appears, carried in the hand of the faithful caretaker, who, with his wife, maintains guard in the basement. Strictly speaking, of course, Harry will not pass the night alone, nor, perhaps, can a man of his business and social importance ever hope to escape entirely from the knowledge and supervision of his fellows. It was possible that several persons might know of or suspect his present whereabouts. But, on tho other hand, caretakers can hardly be said to count as occupants, and if a man believes his movements to be untraoed, ho is just as content, for tho time being, as though they really were si. "You're not dozing at your post, I see, sergeant," says Harry, for the man was a veteran of the war. "How is Mrs. Simpson?" "In good health, sir, and thank 'ee; we wasn't looking for you so late." "The fact is, sergeant, I've come to spend the night. Is tho bed ready?" "It is, sir, and a good fire in the h 1 BEN. grate." "That's right! I want to find out, yon see, what sort of dreams tho new house will give me." "May they be good ones, sir; you'll come honestly by 'em. If any one calls will I let 'ein in?" "Well, visitors are not likely to be frequent this evening. This is something in the way of a scout reconnaisance, you understand. However, if any one does come it will bo on particular business. I should suppose; bo they may come up." "Very good, sir. You'll not be turning in quite yet, sir?" "No, not for two or three hours, probably. Good night." "Good night, sir, and a pleasant awuk-ening- J I I j j , With the dawn of the next day came snow, covering the roof of the new house and the stone steps of the entrance and the vacant avenue. Sergeant Silnpson aroused himself betime, and having filled a coal scuttle with coal mounted the stairs to the door of the library, which communicated with tho chamber in which Harry Trent was to have slept. The library door was ajar and tho Serjeant was surprised to see the light of the gas within still burning. Had tlio master fallen asleep in his chair? Ho knocked softly, and then there being no response he venture 1 to push open tho door and enter. Tho gaslight falling on the broad ta-- j ble that stood near tho fireplace cast a shadow over the hearth rug, so that the eergeaiit did not at first see what lay there. Ho noticed that the last embers were expiring in the grate, but as he stepped round the corner of tho table he started, and the coal scuttle fell from his hand with a crash. Stretched out on the rug, but in an oddly constrained posi-- i tion, lay the form of Harry Trent. The noise of the falling scuttle did not rouse him; indeed, tho sergeant, with t... . ..m;, ... .t I u: B4 ' II n - IT ill The stratujer fixed his eyes upon him.' On the morning of the Trent tragely, at about eight o'clock, Olympia Raven awoke from the sleep of health and innocence and remembered that she had an ten, appointment at half-paA half smile of meditative satisfaction ( moved her lips and dimpled her cheeks at the thought. Apparently tho appointment was not an unpleasant one. For that matter, there had thus far been very few disagreeable experiences in this young lady's career. Her father had died st before she was old enough to comprehend the bereavement. For a. time sho and her mother had been poor, but their wealthy Cousin Harry had come generously to their assistance and had placed them beyond the reach of poverty. Olympia had been an attractive child and she grew up to he a beautiful girl. Sho had more than usual intelligence; and education (in tho conventional sense) was little more than a pastime to her. Their Cousin Harry, who, having no children of his own, had ideas as to how children ought to be brought up, put her in the way of getting sound training. She was of a spiritnalistic, mystical temperament, and possessed o perceptions and susceptibilities unknowtr-tthe generality. But she was of a wholesome constitution, and had seldom been in poor health. She was very fond of Cousin Harry, and he was 60 young in his ways and spirit and entered into her thoughts and point of view to easily that she regarded him as a companion rather than as a guardian, and a man three or four times her age. They laughed and chatted together and went to theaters and balls, and danced together. Whether she had ever thought of him as a possible Buitor for her hand is nn abstruse question. It is safe to say that, if she did, tho idea was not likely to have been of her own suggestion. The traditions of their intimacy were against that. He, however, may have prepared her mind for the entertainment of it. Men of the world like Harry Trent know how to manage women some women at least without scaring or antagonizing them. Now, Cousin Harry's birthday fell on Feb. 2S, and Olympia, wishing to please him, had resolved to make him a present of her own portrait. This plan was the more easily realized, because she had latterly made tho acquaintance of a certain Mr. Keppel Darke, a young portrait painter, who had a delightful studio in street. Mr. Darke was Twenty-thirhimself delightful, in Olympia's opinion. He was tall and rather slender, with powerful bluo eyes, and hair black, or nearly bo, which ho wore longer than was common, so that it curled about his neck. His manner was grave and, for a young man, impressive; he was laconic iu Bieech, observant, and, beneath a Ho kept quiet exterior, impressionable. his face, including his upper lip, close shaven. You might have taken him for a tragedian, or for a clergyman except that his costume was incompatible with the latter character. He affected somewhat of the brigand style of dress; indoors, velvet; outdoors, a long caped overcoat and a broad brimmed hat. People turned to look at him as he Btalked along the street. Fashionable men of his own age said he was a conceited ass. Girls thought him delicious-l- y romantic and did not know how to "talk to him." Married women commonly dismissed him as unvailablo for social purposes, , with the reservation that he would be all right if he became famous. His brother artists, without expressing much personal affection for him, admitted his talent. This magnanimity came the easier to them, because the world had not yet discovered how really remarkable his talent was. One had to know something to appreciate it. He could do things in painting that others tried, but failed to do. lie had faculties, a perception, an independence of vision given to few. IIo Was not incapable of producing a work of genius. No doubt he was conceited; young men of exceptional powers are apt to bo so, and unlike a lower class of vain men are at no pains to conceal it. Iu addition he had the artistic temperament, which, lovely in itself, is rendered aggressive and extravagant by tho To make Btolid hostility of convention. an end of this cataloguo of his qualities he was sensitive and high tempered. He came of gotxi New England stock, and he had an income which enabled him to pay for his board and lodging and the rent of his studio, even when his portraits did not pay. But for tho last year or two they had begun to pay tolerably well. d (ONTINtKD.) |
