Iuka reporter. (Iuka, Miss.) 1888-1894, 1889-10-31
HE knows of 1t, and threatens me with

10 knows OF 1t, and threatens me with
zposure."
will you tell us what this secret ISL"
sOh, darent, daren't!"
1T may be mere bugaboo- something
ing since forgotten, or wiped out" sug-
ested Doc, in very kind and gentle tone.
The man looked up at him with swift
rateful look. His lips worked. and for
moment he seemed powerfully agitated.
why not now-why not open breast and
oul at once?" he muttered, in trembling
ones. And then he added, in louder
roice, Yes, I'll do it! But first revela-
ion is necessary"
Young sir" said he, turning to Doc,
the lady you were with short time ago
she returned me a fragment of a miniature,
Tou will remember"
Yes, just before pounced at you, and
you darted into that Manifested tunnel.
leaving as many birthstone fumes in your
wake ~ il you had been the devil him
SELF" cried Doc, laughing.
The miniature was mighty precious to
me-" continued the man, tremblingly pro-
ducing the two pieces of painted ivory
from his bosom. I'D have died rather
than parted with it-yes, died thousand
times"
He laid the pieces tenderly together upon
his open palm, and seemed to devour the
picture they thus produced with loving,
longing looks.
Then his hand trembled so violently as
to almost let them fall, as he held out the
picture to Docs curious gaze.
DO you chance to recognize it?" -
muttered, brokenly.
Great heaven! my mothers picture
the miniature copy of her portrait that
still hangs in certain closed room of The
Aspens!" cried the young man, immeasur-
ably agitated. @How did you come by
this? Who are your"
Both Hank and I instinctively felt the
revelation that was coming.
The outcast staggered to his feet, with a
broken cry.
"Oh, does not your heart tell you?" he
said, with the great sobs convulsing his
breast. IL am your father, Richard!"
CHAPTER XIII
AN oUTCAsT's STORY
So the mysterious tramp was at last re-
yealed as the erring fugitive and long, wan
dering Bernard Dixon, the father Of Doc
And Lulu.
His story, so far as it has not already
been sketched forth in our narrative, was
briefly this:
He had sought The Aspens on the night
preceding the murder, sick, out wearied,
and remorseful, after years of hard, penu-
rious, and wandering exile, determined to
once more beseech' forgiveness and rec
oncilistion Of his old father, notwithstand-
ing the obduracy that had met frequent
previous appeals. He knew that to on
counter him in the bosom of his wealthy
home would insure the defeat of his OBJ
ject, and relied upon some happier chance
of urging his appeal alone. He therefore
craved and was accorded the shelter of the
wash house, as we already know. At
about midnight, when most of the house,
hold were buried in repose. he sought and
obtained the interview with his father in
the library, which must have preceded by
an hour or more that second interview
which had ended in the assassination, and
which was only systematically limited at in
the following inquest by the strangely
bridled testimony of Eunice Behman, and
the quaint memorized utterances of the
and futtered her weird. brief hour upon
the scene.
But once more did the elder Dixon prove
deaf and feelingless to the supplications
Of his prodigal and penitent son. The
'uttCI Auhily uoBBcu iuoIcly " 10 BIduteu
IN insignificant pension, that he might live
unknown in the vicicity, with the opportu-
nifty Of an occasional interview with the
children whom his folly had forced him
10 desert in their infancy, but for whom
his heart still hungered with fathers
owe. All, all was in vain. "My plans are
made, my properties arranged, said the
parent. You are already dead
in the eyes of the world-dead by ship
wreckl Your having been strangely and sol
itarily saved, If your good luck, is your fam
ily's misfortune. You have no right to thus
rise up out of the waves, waving aloft and
haunting in our honest faces your drowned
disgrace. You shall not disturb or discom-
mode me. Away with you! Disappear in
obscurity, as it was hoped you had disap-
peared in the waters of the sea. II you
do not. it shall be the worse for you'll
will hound you down! Your children
know you not in memory, neither shall
they know you in the living form. Awayl"
Such had been the parental answer to filial
PRAYERS on the part Of one who. but
brief hour later, was SO suddenly and re-
morselessly hurried forth to lay his own
account, and render up his own petition
before the mercy seat
Crushed and broken, the implied out
cast had faded away from the old mans
presence, out Of the house, out into the
wintry night He had heard Of the muir
der on the following day, while wander
ing homeless in the streets; and at this
time Jocelyn, the steward, had met him by
the merest chance, and, shrewdly divining
his identity with the nameless slumberer
in the wash-house of the night before.
had, by q hypocritical display Of sympa-
thy, made himself master Of his anteced-
ents.
Jocelyn had ct once resolved to use the
disDwned for his own base ends. Bernard
Dixon was by nature weak and irresolute.
and years Of hardship and adventure had
hot served to materially enable his charac-
ter to Withstand an encounter with bold
or and sterner nature than his own. Sup
piled first with means'to meet his necessi-
ties. and then skillfully wheedled into the
Impression that he was to be secretly be-
friended, he was at last hopelessly terrified
by the information that the consequences
Of his youthful misdeeds were still in
force, and that declaration Of his identi-
" with the madcap Bernard Dixon of for
mer days would at once result in his Grim
nal prosecution and conviction to the
direst extent Of the law; whereas those
misdeeds had really been condoned and
forgiven but q short time subsequent to
bis flight abroad. But of course the re-
turned exile. being ignorant Of the true
state OF the case soon fOund himealA