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"I should never support my grief," continued Lydia, still tearful, "if it was not that I have at least three dear friends. Ah! I shall never forget that happy Christmas Eve!" "Last Christmas Eve, dear Mrs. Vrain?" said Cecilia. "When you were all so kind and good," sobbed Lydia, with a glance at Lucian, to see that he noticed the confirmation. "We played whist, didn't we?"
Although several of the guilty party are still living, they have left the country; for, the mountaineers have not forgotten the friend whom they esteemed and respected, and will avenge his death if ever the opportunity offers. Cerin St. Vrain, the surviving partner of this celebrated trading firm was equally noted. Upon the declaration of war between the United States and Mexico, St.
With dark hair and eyes, oval face, and firm mouth, majestic figure and imperial gait, she moved towards him an apparent queen. A greater contrast to Mrs. Vrain than her stepdaughter can scarcely be imagined: the one was a frivolous, volatile fairy, the other a dignified and reserved woman.
"Then I think it will be best for me to see Ferruci first, and hear his confession; afterwards call on Mrs. Vrain, and learn what she has to say. Then " "Well," said Diana, curiously, "what then?" "I will be guided by circumstances. In the meantime, for the sake of your name, we had better keep the matter as quiet as possible." "Mrs. Clear may speak out." "Mrs.
They had encountered a party of Indian hunters who, while sparing their lives, had robbed them of their arms, their ammunition and even of every particle of their clothing. Of course they were kindly received at the fort and all their wants supplied. Fort Bent was a trading post; belonged to a company of merchants of whom Messrs. Bent and Vrain, residing at the fort, were partners.
Denzil, I wish to overhear what he says to Mrs. Clear. It is as well to give him enough rope to hang himself with." "Can you trust Mrs. Clear?" "Absolutely. She knows on which side her bread is buttered. Her only chance of getting free from her share of the matter is to turn Queen's evidence, and she intends to do so." "What did she say about Vrain being Wrent?"
"My name is Mark Vrain, young sir," said he, beginning his story without further preamble. "I lived in Berwin Manor, Bath, with my wife Lydia, but she treated me badly by letting another man love her, and I left her. Oh, yes, sir, I left her. I went away to Salisbury, and was very happy there with my books, but, alas! I took morph " "Vrain!" said Jorce, holding up his finger, "no!"
Vrain, jumping up briskly, "I can take you to see some friends with whom I stayed on Christmas Eve. The whole lot will tell you that I was with them at Camden Hill all the night." "What! Can you prove an alibi?" "I don't know what you call it," retorted Lydia coolly, "but I can prove pretty slick that I wasn't in Pimlico." "But Mrs. Vrain your friend Ferruci was there!" "Was he?
That fact came to her knowledge only a week ago. When it did, she declared that the deceased could not be her father." "H'm!" said Jorce thoughtfully, "I am quite in the dark as to why Mr. Vrain was put under my charge." "Because Ferruci wished to marry his widow." "I see! Ferruci substituted another man for my patient and had him killed."
Vrain, who is to leave here on the stage for Kansas City to-morrow," I hesitatingly offered my letter of introduction, which told all that I had tried to say, and more. The woman's calm face was gentle, with the protective gentleness of the stone that will not fail you when you lean on it. One felt sure of Mother Bridget, as one feels sure of the solid rock to build upon.
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