st
gloomy aspect, her position in the Lamotte household became unbearable.

Sybil had changed a very little, but for the better. Her fits of raving
were less frequent, and almost always to be anticipated. So, worn in
body and tortured in mind, Constance went back to Wardour, and, save for
her daily visits to the prison, was invisible to all her friends.

And she did not suffer alone. Knowing her love for Clifford Heath and
the terrible secret she carried in her bosom, Mrs. Lamotte lived in an
anguish of suspense. Would love outweigh honor? If the worst should
come, could she trust Constance Wardour? Could she trust herself?

In those tortured hours, the same prayer went up from the heart of both
mother and friend--that Sybil Lamotte would die!

While these things were making the world a weariness to Constance, Jerry
Belknap, in his character of prospecting horse jockey, took up his
quarters in a third rate hotel near the river, and remained very quiet
in fancied security, until he became suddenly enlightened as to the
cause of his ill success, as follows:

Lounging near the hotel one day, he was accosted by a stranger, who
tapped him familiarly on the shoulder, saying:

"My friend, I've got a word to say to you. Will you just step into the
nearest saloon with me. We will talk over a glass of something."

Wondering idly at his coolness, Belknap followed the stranger, and they
entered "Old Forty Rods," that being the nearest saloon.

Once seated face to face at a table, the stranger threw a letter across
to Belknap, saying carelessly:

"Read that, if you please."

Opening the letter, these lines stared Belknap in the face:

You have broken your pledge, Jerry Belknap. I have had you under my
eye constantly. Fortunately for yourself, I can make use of you.
Follow the instructions of the bearer of this _to the letter_ now
and until further notice, if you hope for any mercy from

BATHURST.

He stared at the open letter as if it possessed the eyes of a basilisk.

Instantly he recognized the power behind the scenes, and was no longer
surprised at his failures. And he turned upon his companion a look of
sullen submission.

"I know better than to kick against Bathurst," he said doggedly. "What
does he want me to do?"

"That's just what we are going to talk about," said the stranger,
coolly. "Draw your chair up closer, Jerry."

CHAPTER XL.

"TOO YOUNG TO DIE."

Over days, fi