Wizard Will, the Wonder Worker. Ingraham Prentiss
a young man awaiting her.
"Come, hasten, Ruby," he said in a low tone.
"Oh, Schuyler, I have given up all for you, my parents, my happy home, and poor Kent.
"It will break his heart; but then it would have broken my heart to become his wife loving you as I do."
And away sped the fleet horses, while the night wore on, the dawn came, Christmas morn, and Mrs. Raymond hastened to her daughter's room, to wish her only child a happy Christmas, a happy wedding day.
A shriek that broke from her lips, followed by a heavy fall, brought the miller to the room.
His wife lay unconscious on the floor, an open letter in her hand.
He read it, and his heart grew cold at the words:
"Forgive me, mother, father, forgive me; but I could not marry Kent, as I do not love him, my heart being another's.
"Finding out the secret of my heart, I would not perjure myself by marrying Kent Lomax, and so I fly to-night with the one whose wife I am to be.
"Some day, when you feel more kindly toward me, I will come back and plead for your forgiveness.
"Now good-bye, and Heaven bless you and poor Kent, whom my heart bleeds for in the sorrow I know he will feel.
Loud and stern rang the miller's voice, calling for aid, and one servant was dispatched for the village doctor, for Mrs. Raymond still lay in a swoon, and another for Kent Lomax.
They arrived together, and Kent Lomax looked like a corpse as the miller read his daughter's letter, for the eyes of the deserted lover were blinded with grief and all seemed blurred before him.
"Miller Raymond," said the doctor softly, as he bent over the form of the mother.
"Well."
"Nerve yourself for another bitter blow."
"Oh Heaven! another?"
"Your wife is dead," was the low response, and the miller groaned, as he sank upon his knees by the body of his wife and grasping her hand buried his face in the pillow by the side of the one who had for twenty years borne his name, the mother of his child who had struck the death-blow.
"Dead! dead!" shouted Kent Lomax with wild eyes and writhing face.
"That man did this deed, for he fascinated poor Ruby, won her from me, from home, from all, and by the eternal Heaven I will track him to the death for this!
"I saved his life once, but now I will take away that life; I vow it, so help me Heaven!"
CHAPTER III. – Tracked to His Lair
THERE was no handsomer bachelor rooms in the city of Philadelphia, than were those of Schuyler Cluett, the handsome young gallant and "man about town."
Society said he was very rich, that he had been left a large fortune by an uncle, and many were the young ladies who sought to win favour in his eyes.
His rooms consisted of a suite of five, for there was his parlour, combined with sitting-room, his bed-chamber, a spare one for a belated guest, a snug little kitchen, that was also used as a breakfast-room, and a sleeping place for a servant.
All were delightfully furnished, and the young bachelor was wont to take his breakfast at ten, his valet getting the meals for him, while his dinners and suppers he always took at the fashionable True Blue Club, of which he was a popular member.
At a stable near he kept his coupe and riding-horse, with a coachman, so that he lived in very great comfort; in fact, it amounted to luxury.
His bills were always promptly paid at the end of the month; he dressed with elegance, took the best seat at the opera and theatres, was able to take a run around to Long Branch, Cape May, Newport, Saratoga and the White Mountains in the summer, and having spare money always with him to lend a friend an X or a XX, he was rated a good fellow among the men.
One night, about one, a.m., Schuyler Cluett was preparing to retire, and a friend who had accompanied him home had been shown to the spare room, which also opened into the parlour, so that the two talked as they undressed.
"That deuced valet of mine is always away when I need him most," growled the young bachelor.
"Now, here he is off at a ball, and why servants must have balls I cannot understand, and both you and I, Rayford, are half drunk, and need him to look after our comfort."
"It's too bad!" sang out Rayford from his room.
"I'd discharge him, Schuyler."
"I will, and I do. I discharge him every day, but I hire him over again before he gets off, and that spoils him; so I'll discharge him some time for a week, and it will teach him a lesson – ah! there he is now, and I'll have to go out in the hall and let him in, for he's forgotten his night key," and Schuyler Cluett went to the door to answer a ring.
As the door opened, he began to berate his valet, as he supposed it was, but was considerably taken aback at beholding a stranger enter the hall.
He failed to recognise him at first, but suddenly beheld him in the full light of the parlour, whither the stranger had strode with the remark:
"I wish to see you, Mr. Schuyler Cluett."
"Ho, Lomax, my dear fellow, I did not know you; but you look ill and something has surely happened, for you are as haggard as though after a long illness," and Schuyler Cluett held out his hand.
"No, Cluett, I do not take the hand of a villain," was the stern reply of the young farmer.
"By Heaven! are you drunk? What do you mean?" and the eyes of the young aristocrat flashed, while his friend Rayford, half-dressed, peered out of his door, startled at the turn affairs had taken.
"I mean, Schuyler Cluett, that you, like a snake that you are, fascinated poor little Ruby Raymond, she that was to have been my wife.
"We were happy until you came, and she was all my own; but one unlucky day I dragged you away from death, and I took you to her home, and from that moment you began to win her from me.
"I saw it all, I felt it all, for she became unhappy, and she told me she thought we should be as sister and brother, for she loved me, but not as a wife should.
"She saw how it hurt me to hear her say so, and so she said she did not mean it; but she deceived me, for she did mean it, and one week ago, on the very eve of our wedding-day, you came like a thief in the night and stole her from me."
"Good Heaven! Lomax, I am not guilty of this, and you wrong me, indeed you do!" cried Schuyler Cluett, his face the picture of amazement.
Kent Lomax seemed astounded, and asked, sternly:
"Do you deny it?"
"I do. Upon my honour, yes!"
"You deny that you ran off with Ruby Raymond from her father's house, at twelve o'clock on the night of Christmas Eve?"
"I do."
"You lie in your false throat, man!" shouted the farmer, and at his words Schuyler Cluett sprang toward him; but quick as a flash, a pistol met him, the muzzle in his face, while the young farmer said sternly:
"Back! I did not come here unprepared, and I would kill you, oh! how gladly!"
"I tell you I am falsely accused; and being unarmed, and knowing your great strength, I am forced to hear you accuse me and submit to your insults, Kent Lomax."
"Schuyler Cluett, I know that you are guilty, for I tracked you in your villainy."
"Yet you find me here in my bachelor rooms, and there is a friend who is with me, and can vouch for my words."
"I can, indeed, sir, for I know that my friend Cluett has been but two days absent from the city the week past," and Randal Rayford stepped out of his room into the parlour, he having hastily dressed as he saw that a tragedy was threatening.
"Ah! he was two days absent, then?
"They