decided to remain all night at the miller's.
He felt that he did not look his best, in a corduroy suit of the miller's and a broad shirt collar; but he had to make the best of it, and so descended to the parlour.
Kent was already there, as was Miller Raymond, his wife, and Ruby, and the young sportsman was introduced, and again told the story of his rescue by Kent.
Then supper was served, and such a supper Schuyler Cluett had never sat down to before, he said, and with truth, for Mistress Raymond was noted for her housekeeping the country over.
During the evening Ruby sang, in a sweet soprano voice, played the piano with a skill that surprised the city-bred gentleman, and he found her to be lovely in face and form, with large, dark-blue eyes, golden hair, and a smile of the most fascinating sweetness, while her refinement of manner was as much a surprise to him as were her accomplishments.
Mr. Schuyler Cluett also learned a secret from the miller, and that was the fact of Ruby's engagement to Kent Lomax.
"Kent is a fine fellow, Mr. Cluett," volunteered the miller, "and we have known him from boyhood.
"His father married a crossed-grained woman after his first wife's death, and she made it so warm for the boy he ran away and went to sea.
"He was gone six years, and returned one day to find his step-mother dead, so he remained at home, took care of his father until his death, and now owns the farm, a mile from here, and a good one it is.
"He and Ruby have loved each other always, and they are to be married, come Christmas."
Schuyler Cluett went to his room that night, pondering over all he had heard, and at last he said half aloud:
"That beautiful girl marry that common fellow? Never! she shall be mine, and I swear it!"
And Schuyler Cluett kept his treacherous oath against the man who had saved his life, for the very eve of her wedding-day with Kent Lomax, Ruby Raymond stole out of her pleasant room, unlocked the front door, and glided across the lawn to the foot of the hill, where in a buggy, with a pair of spirited horses, sat 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
