the Dead Witness: OR, THE LADY OF LISBON PLACE.

Te Aroha News, Volume IV, Issue 162, 24 July 1886, Page 12

the Dead Witness : OR, THE LADY OF LISBON PLACE.

By MBS. M. V. VICTOR . Author of "The Phantom Wife." "Who Owned the Jewels," &c» CHAPTER I. ENGAGED. Yes, Oscar Romeyn was engaged- not to be married, a3 my young and pretty readers 'may infer, but — to teach a Spanish boy Xatin and English. This was the way it came about. He was sitting in his lone-ome little room in the American Hotel at about ten o'clock of a. lovely morning, late in February, or early in March, perhaps. He had come in from kis morning visit to the post-office, oh the corner of the next street, where, as usual, ho bad found nothing for him. Other men had letters, papers, package?, plenty of them, but never was there one for him. Five weeks had trailed their miserable dull length alonsr, during which time he had gone thrice each day to the office in hopes of— what? Heaven kno-vs it was but one poor little letter which he expected, and he hardly expected that. Five weary, aimleß3 weeks since be had sailed in through the GoldeD Gate and eat loot on the land of the adventurer and the refugee, making his stopping place— for he could not call it home— where so many others in like case with himself had found temporary rest. This wa9 only in the year 1870, and San Francisco was a great city, into which the Pacific Railroad was pouring anew stream of emigration and business. Nevertheless, now as ever, men suddenly stricken from their own spheres came wandering through the ever open Golden Gate in search of a new orbit. Oscar Romeyn was one of these. He was both an adventurer and a refugee — a ruined, unhappy, disgraced, and poverty-stricken refugee — an aimless adventurer. He had fled from all which might remind him of bis pact life, and from the consequences of sins not committed by himself ; therefore, he was a refugee. He was compelled by the necessity of earning Mb bread and clothing to seek some as yet untried manner of making his own living ; therefore, he was an adventurer. One year before he had walked the streets of New" York with ringing step and fearlesa eye, a youner gentleman of tine fortune and connections, twenty-five years old, healthy, handsome, honourable, and respected. We will say, in the beginning, that it was through no crimo of his own 1 hat he had lost so much of this and was oocupying his present doubtful position. Nevertheless there was a shadow over hia reputation, and he wa3 in serious trouble. Heaitli he still possessed, and, what was dearer still, the proud consciousness of untarnished honour ; the victim of circumstances, he had been outwardly ruined, but truth and a clear conscience "were yet hi 9 own. Five weeks he had been at the American, spending the most of the time in hh room, dimly conscious that his last hundred dollars was dwindling towards extinction, but co stunned Jby the suddenness and force of the storm which had overwhelmed him, leaving him stranded in this fair city, that he had not the courage to make an effort to do for himself. He had walked up and down Montgomery street a few time 3, looking in at the windows of the bankers and brokers, thinking that he would ask for some humble clerkship of some of them, and always retnemberjng in time that he had no references and could obtain none. The banking business was the only one with which he was at all familiar ; the most of his young life had been spent in school, college, and foreign travel j he had passed a couple of years in hi 3 uncle' 3 banking-house, and that was the only thing approaching work he had ever done. On this particular morning he had partially arou=ed from the long stupor which had weighed him down. Something braoing in the bright air had thrilled, his veins and rippled the dull fountain of hope in his heart. He felt the impulse to work. Necessity, also, spurred on his aroused spirits. Another week or two of inaction would find him penniless. Since he must bestir himself, it was well he felt the inclination. After leaving the post-office that morning he had stepped acro3a V\a»hineton-street, entered the r.ews agency ot White & Bauer, and there bought a morning paper. Returning to his hotel, he unfolded the paper. When he had glanced at the news Irom New York, he turned to the column of " Wants." Ac his quick eye ran down the list it lingered long on this : WANTED-A TUTOR FOR -A YOUNG Spanish lad whose education has been neglected. Lessons in Latin nnd English grammar and in history and mathematics required. Board in the house and a fair salary given. Apply to day to Mrs J. Jardinb, No. 13 Powell s.raet He pondered it a good while. It would not be easy for him to resume the duties of a teacher. Ho had never been tied down to hours, nor dictated to, nor filled a subordinate position. Once he had been gay and idle, and a little imperious withal, but that was in the past ; this Oscar Romeyn was no .more the O?car Romeyn of those days than as if they Mere not the same individual. At worst he could but fail. There was a roof, and food, and some duties which might be really pleasant. There was nothing disagreeable in the idea of teaching a bright, fine little fellow some of the knowledge which he himself bad acquired not so very long ago. Meanwhile he would have a further chance to look about — to think —to decide on the course which he must pursue in future. This was but a temporary resource. He would try it. . He had locked his room door, passed down stairs, and was out on the street before he thought about his references. He stood irresolute. Then he walked forward with a firmer step than before. His consciousness of rectitude must sustain him ; his face, his eye, and manner must support his assertions and speak for him. If these failed him, it would not be his fault. He knew that he was fit to become the inmate of the purest family j if this lady hesitated to accept him because he brought no written testimony to his, excellence, why, that would 'be another sequence of his first misfortune. He walked briskly until he came to Powell! street. It was an old street,^otsofashionable as some of the more modern avenues, but respectable; and as he ascended tho rising way toward . the north end; .where .the number indicated was to be found, he was delighted .with' the view of the bay and islands which broke upon him. The darkblue water, sparkled in the sun ; far off MontQ Diablo stood lonely against the

azure sky; the scent of roses and various sweet flowers was On the ait j every bit of door-yard bloomed with great, fair blossoms so generous in Bize, and perfume, and quantity, that they seemed just let down from paradise. . = . j The paper had spokeu of the snow which | lay two feet doep in New York that morn ing. Oscar thought of it as he drank in the sigbtland odour of these lavish flowers ; for the tirst timo a sense of pleasure stole through him -a feeling as it somehow he might be at horns in this now etrange and lonesome Bummer laud ; and while his " melting mood " waß still upun him he came to the house of which he was in search. It wa3 a moderate sized brick dwelling, very much like its neighbours on" either sid«, with an iron railing in front, a few feet of ground inside fairly bursting with velvety grass and red roses, and a short flight of stone steps leading up to the halldoor. It stood there among ,ita fellows, quite at home in the warm sunlight—com-mon-place, highly respectable^ and comfortable, without the least air of myefcery about it. It was'not until Oscar had rung; the^ „Jb©li and been admitted to the hall by 'the Chinese servant who came to ,the dbor* that he began to feel that there was PometMng singular about this dwelling. We talk of the tone and the atmosphere of a picture. Well, there was a tone about the inside of this houso which gave it character. The young man felt its presence and its power without asking himself what it was or why he felt it. There was an atmosphere of mystery and evasion through the place. The fresh spring sweetness was all out in a moment. He felt cold. The 3 T ollow man had takon hia errand away, gliding softly in his oriental sandals to the farther of two rooms which opened out of ono side of the hall. During .the brief time oi hia disappearance young Romeyn stood motionless, feeling chilly, awe-struck, and disagreeable. He eaidto himself that it was the coming out of the bright sunshine which made the contrast so unfavourable. What could there be gloomy, above nil mysterious, in a plain hall, with an open flight of stairs, a window at the first landing, in a Brussels carpet, an ordinary table, and hat-rack, and gas-jet ? It must have beon the Chinese servant, with his white clothes, and sandals, and low voice, and quiet manners, and gold skin, which made such a peculiar impression upon our advonturer. It was not over two minutes when ths man reappeared and motioned him to follow ; yet tho spell had worked so rapidly that Romeyn seemed in a dream as he went down the hall and entered the back parlour, where two ladies were sitting It was a pleasant room, large and well furnished, with an open piano, vases crowned with flowers, and an open baywindow, curtained with lace on the inside and on the outside with jasmine and honeysuckle in full bloom. The older ot the two ladie3 arose as he came in ; the other remained seated, occupied with .s^me fancy* work, vhich tilled her lap as she sat curled up in a corner of a sofa near the window in the careless attitude of a child. Never — not when afterwards he knew the true bisttry of the woman who now advancod to receive him — did the impression then received materially change. Tall and of stately figure, with a marble complexion unchangeable and colourless, handsomely dre?sed in blaok silk with plain gold mourning jewelery— with self- possessed manners., with clear-cut, striking features - her dress and appearance were those of a lady. Yet, as she paused in front of her visitor, although there was no embarrassment, ft was several seconds before she raiaed her eyes. It seemed an effort for her to do so. Meantime he remarked tho straight, heat black browe, wondering what, her oy ea would be like when she did raise them. "Mr Romeyn," Bhe repeated, looking at hia card, which she held in her hand, " you camein answer to my advertisement ?" As she asked the question she forced her self, as it were, to glance at him. He tost a pair of eye 3 black as night, large, deep, inscrutable—singular eyes, melancholy and yet not soft, with a shifting evasive light in them mysterious aa the impression which had overcome him in the hall. Her voice, was like her eyes- earl and yet not gentle ; a low voice, yet not a sweet one. •• Yes. Do I speak to Mra Jardine ?" \ " I am Mrs Jardine. Have you ever filled the position of tutor? I suppose you have brought your references? If you will be seated, I will look them over." She was regarding him steadily enough, with the searching look of a woman of the world. He was prepared for these questions and met them bravely ; hia colour changed, but his clear blua eye 3 met hers with an honesty which she must have felt was real. "I have never taught for a day nor an hour, madam. Until the past few weekß tho question of self-support never occurred to me. A sudden change in my circumstances renders it noceesary that I ehould exert myself to earn my living. I came to this city to look for work, but with hardly an idoa of what that work would be. This morning, looking over the paper in my room at the American, I saw your advertisement, and felt tempted to try to secure the situation. I confess to you that 1 have no testimonials, nor for the present any reference?, although I am daily expecting letters from the East. I am'a gentleman by birth and culture ; ■my education i 3 tolerably thorough".. , ; »\J have never in my 'life knowingly committed a- dishonourable act. Yet lam in"trouble» I have quarrelled with my relatives, and will ask no favour from them— not even a letter of introduction. They do not know where I am, nor will I allow them to know if I can prevent it. So I tell you plainly, Mra Jardine, that if you take me which I can hardly hope for under the circumstances- you must take me onirust" The troubled smile on his frank face, as he concluded, was calculated to awaken a woman's sympathy. Perhaps Mrs jardine believed in him, and was sorry for him,. Evidently she was interested in him. A gleam had shot from her dark eyes when he was saying that he was concealing liimself from his friends. Now she told him to be seated, and drew a chair near his own. " You are from the East, then ?" " From New York city." " I like that. Your friends do noi know where you are, and you do not propose to enlighten them ?" , ; "I have quarreled with them all— save one." 11 And that one?" "Is a woman a friend— a distant relative." " A young woman ?" "Yes." "Pardon the question," smiling. "It was a bit of feminine curiosity that prompted it. You see, if you come into my family, I ehall be your 'friend and confidante—a sort of mother." , He bowed, murmuring "Thank you," and feeling grateful for this unexpocM kindness, 'and yet not drawn to the lady -whp^r|dit. . :•. '■■ ■■;■;•?. >;/;,;;; v.^v ?|-HSye, you any friends in San Francisco!" :.-\- "..'.-.' LV^*'' I :'■'■"■' ■ : ":'X. :t ''- % '. & Not a\ ; jagie acqualntanpe, tliat I fciiow

Again the sparkle of satisfaction in the blaekteyeß^ y> ...\i<''-f : : -- <^v '*' ; '-' : ' '>■'■■■ ■■'■!.' '■' :\ v >*■ I like .you better for that. I mean;" stammering over the sentence a?' little; 11 that I hbpe, from your lonely condition, you -will be drawn to take a deeper interest in our dear, little boy." '■ " Your son, madam ?" "■ "My nephew.'- Anatole is my nephew. His father resides in Mexico. He has no mother. 1 Senor Sebastian is immensely wealthy ; but he spends much of his time at his ■ rancho, where his boy haß no proper associates. The little fellow'? education has been eadly neglected. The clergyman had taught him to read and write — that was all. I was out there oh a visit to my nephew— Anatole is my grand-nephew, really— when he confided to me his perplexities about his child. He was also troubled about his boy's health, which was delicate. I suggested to him that a change of climate might be very beneficial at his age, and that, if he felt he could spare his only child for so long, I would bring him back with me to San Francisco, where we could have good medical advice, and such instruction as he needed. • Fondly as he was attached to Anatole, he approved the plan, and consented to the separation. The little fellow has been with us three months, but I have been delaying his studies until he became stronger. I think his health has improved; We do not expect him to study much at first ; but he is bright and docile. You will be interested in him, and love him, I know, despite his ignorance — he is such a little darling." Oscar Romeyn listened to this account of bis expected charge with much interest. He inferred, from the lady's words and manner, that she had resolved to employ him, and he felt keenly her goodness in trusting his unsupported statement. " If you can and will trust me, madame, with so important a duty, I assure you that you will be repaid in my devotion to the interests of your little nephew, As you say, I havo nothing to interfere with that devotion,", heaving a low sigh. Again the black eyes pierced him through and through. After some time, she said, deliberately: "I like you, Mr Romeyn. But it ie not the fashion-of these days to take any one on trust " " But you will take Mr Romeyn, mamma ?" The young man half turned in his chair to look in the direction whence came the soft, childish voice, half pleading, half imperative. He had perceived, on entering the room, that there were two inmates ; but he had immediately become absorbed in the one with whom his business lay ; and when the lady seated him, it had been in such a position that the other wa3 out of eight. Now, as he turned, he saw the slender, girlish figure nestled in a corner of the sofa. II What did you say, Isabella?" 11 1 said you must take hira on trust, mamma. When a person throws himself upon our generosity, we must be generous. I dare say Mr liomeyn is just as respectable and reliable as though he had twenty letters of introduction. ••' Belle !" exclaimed the elder lady, reprovingly. " Do try him, to please me, mamma," and the voice quivered slightly. " On trust, then, Mr Romeyn," said the elder lady, half smiling. ' " Thank you both ;" and f.hus our hero found himself engaged. During the remainder of the interview the young man's attention was constantly diverted to the young creature who had spoken out so warmly in his behalf.. Now that she had gained her point, she paid him no further attention, going on with her fancywork as if ob'ivious of hia presence. This gave him opportunity to admire and wonder at her, unchecked save by the consciousness of the keen glance of the lady with whom he was negotiating. He did admire and he did wonder. His heart was sore with a recent wound given by tho delicate hand of a girl not much older than tTiif. Ho had thought, and had said, that his soul was dead to woman's peculiarinfluence aa woman. He distrusted young ladies ; he was bitter in hia opinion of them — angry with them by wholesale. One of them had injured him irreparably. A fair face had covered a false mind. True — all true. But aa he looked at this sweet face he did not seem to include itin the rank and tile of the sex. This was a lovely child, not yet contaminated ; a fair flower naturally delicate and refined, bat ignorant of hot-houpe conventionalities. And, indeed, there was an unworldly look about the girl. Not more than sixteen, her dazzling beauty still wore the halo of childhood, so innocent was her expression, and so artless and informal her attitudes. She was dressed in awhile cambric morning wrapper, belted with a rose-coloured rib Don. Her lap was full of gay-coloured floss-silk, and a piece of blue-velvet which she was embroidering. In the opposite corner of the sofa lay the guitar, which she had capt aside. As she bent over her work, her gold-brown hair shadowed her face and throat, and the whole upper part of her figure like a mantle. She had brushed it out and allowed it its own way during the morning hours, untrammelled by braid, hair-pin or ribbon. Glistening, glorious' hair, a yard in length, pure gold in the sun, a light chestnut in the shade, with a ripple through it which brought out all its lustre and changing tints. A clear complexion, soft as velvet and fresh as a rose, lovely features, a slender, pliant form. Beautiful eyes, the colour of her hair where ■it .was darkeet — a tender, melting, lustrous brown. A beautiful mouth, around which the smiles went and came with every changing thought. These flitting smiles of themselves proved an innocent heart, joyous, without care or guile. When one, by chance, dimpled under. Oscar Romeyn's eye, he felt as if a sunbeam had melted its way into his chilled and weary bosom. He fcrgot the disagreeable impression which he had received upon entering the house. Here was -nothing cold or forbidding. A fair, girl working in the warm light which came through the honeysuckles at the window— an odour of flowers— bird?' singing -a large, bright room. A pleasant^ i handsome woman, with, whom he was making a good engagement. .I.They agreed upon the salary — eight hundred a year, with board ; and upon his services — three hours it the morning with little Anatole in the school-room, with some attention to him, during the remainder of the day, as friend and mentor. He was to make himself the companion of the boy ; yet not so strictly as to preclude some hours of privacy to himself each day. This. was what Romeyn liked, this promise of time, to himself, for he had a vague idea of helping on his fortnnes by writing a romance, little dreaming that he was about to take part in an actual romance wilder, stranger, more thrilling and. terrible than he would have dared to imagine.