Copyright Fiction by the Best Authors NEW EAGLE SERIES ISSUED SEMI-MONTHLY

The books in this line comprise an unrivaled collection of copyrighted novels by authors who have won fame wherever the English language is spoken. Foremost among these is Mrs. Georgie Sheldon, whose works are contained in this line exclusively. Every book in the New Eagle Series is of generous length, of attractive appearance, and of undoubted merit. No better literature can be had at any price. Beware of imitations of the S. & S. novels, which are sold cheap because their publishers were put to no expense in the matter of purchasing manuscripts and making plates.

ALL TITLES ALWAYS IN PRINT

TO THE PUBLIC:—These books are sold by news dealers everywhere. If your dealer does not keep them, and will not get them for you, send direct to the publishers, in which case four cents must be added to the price per copy to cover postage.

[Pg 3]

HEART TO HEART; OR, A Race for Love

By IDA READE ALLEN Author of “At Another’s Bidding,” “Beyond His Reach,” “No Man’s Wife,” “Put to the Test,” “Without Name or Wealth,” and others.

STREET & SMITH CORPORATION PUBLISHERS 79-89 SEVENTH AVENUE NEW YORK CITY

[Pg 4]

Copyright, 1896 By STREET & SMITH

Heart to Heart

All rights reserved, including that of translation into foreign languages, including the Scandinavian.

[Pg 5]

CHAPTER I. A STARTLING ANNOUNCEMENT.

There was nothing in the appearance of that wedding day to indicate the tragedy so close at hand.

It was early springtime, with the glad sunshine filling the air, a warm breeze blowing, the sky without a cloud, and the birds singing merrily as they flitted among the trees before the door of the old, ivy-covered church—in short, a perfect day, and one calculated to expand the heart with good nature and hope.

All Lakeview was astir, that part especially which resolved itself into the social element, for at ten o’clock the church was to be the scene of the grandest wedding the neighborhood had ever witnessed—at least so whispered those who had the affair in charge. By half past nine the roadway about the church, which stood on a slight hill, became crowded with people, girls, and young ladies, especially, eager to note the arrival of guests, their costumes, their actions, and, in fact, everything relating to the great event.

In rapid succession four motor cars dashed up the gravel way and deposited six young men at [Pg 6]the church doors. They were the ushers—Ned Degroot, Ralph Gramercy, and four others, all well-known society fellows. They lost no time in hurrying inside of the edifice, for already was it time to look for the first arrivals.

“By Jove, Allen Chesterbrook is a lucky dog,” was Degroot’s remark to Gramercy. “I wouldn’t mind being in his shoes myself.”

“I’ve heard before that you were somewhat enamored of the belle of the set,” laughed Gramercy. “Well, certainly, Maud Willowby is a fine catch,” he added meditatively. “A beauty in a thousand, as the novelists might say. Yet she would not suit me.”

“And why?” questioned Degroot, in brusque tones. He did not fancy this statement, coupled with the first his friend had made.

“Ah! that’s a hard one to answer, Ned. Briefly, let me say, I have found her warmth rather artificial and her apparent interest in what was afoot far from real. To me she appears to lead a double life—her real self and the one she assumes for the occasion.”

“Oh, bosh!” retorted Degroot. “Really, Ralph, you are getting too cynical altogether of late.”

“Perhaps I am,” returned Gramercy, without losing his composure. “But you asked for an explanation, and that is the best I can give you.”

“Well, if what you say has any truth in it,” went on Degroot, as if to change the subject, “certainly the man she is about to marry is even less free from faults—in a way.”

“You do well to say ‘in a way,’ Ned. Taken [Pg 7]as a whole, there is not a more kind, generous-hearted fellow than Allen Chesterbrook in the whole neighborhood of the lake.”

“And no fellow who is so given to moods, who changes his mind so often, who moves in so many strata of society at once, who is so unstudied in his actions, or, I might rather say, indifferent to what people may say or think of his doings.”

“I take it he lives on the principle that as long as he does right, he can do as he pleases. I prefer his openness to the style Maud adopts, which I have just mentioned.”

“I differ with you; and, let me add, privately, that I cannot understand how it is that Maud has accepted him.”

“Humph! Let me say, just as privately, Ned, I believe Maud is responsible for the present state of affairs. She wanted him more than he wanted her—or any one. Allen Chesterbrook is not altogether the kind of man that marries and settles down.”

“Oh, pshaw, what nonsense! Why should she run after him, when she could have the pick of the set? There is Langdon and Sivater and Henry Cross, and——”

“Yourself,” finished Gramercy, and slapped his friend on the shoulder. “But you are not Allen Chesterbrook, with his hundreds of thousands and brilliant prospects.”

“I don’t believe she’s marrying for money!” and now Degroot was more than half angry. “Colonel Willowby is well fixed.”

“To all outward appearances,” finished Gramercy, [Pg 8]in a manner that suggested he could say a good deal more on the subject if he chose.

“He is well fixed; I found that out over a year ago,” insisted Degroot. “And he can place Maud as high as he pleases, and himself, too, as full of pride as he is.”

There was no time to say more, even had they wished to do so. Several automobiles had driven up a few seconds before, and now a dozen or more people appeared, and all of the ushers hurried off to escort the ladies to their seats. Gradually at first, and then faster, as the time grew shorter, the church began to fill up.

The sunshine, stealing through the tall, many-colored windows, never lit up a brighter scene. The fairest and best of Lakeview’s society, with a sprinkling from New York, Philadelphia, and Boston, were there; rich dresses of silk and velvet and satin rustled everywhere, and diamonds and other precious stones sparkled over all. Never had the old house of worship gazed upon a grander picture—never had nature and art so belied themselves in putting on this garb of joy, which was destined to be drawn aside only to reveal a mocking tragedy full of bitterness and long-lasting woe.

Presently an extra stir at the vestry door announced the arrival of Stella Barry, the bridesmaid, and Walter Gardener, the best man. They hurried into the room, and in a moment were ready for their momentous, yet delightful, task of leading the procession up the main aisle of the church.

“Five minutes to ten,” remarked Gardener. “I wonder if Allen has arrived?”

[Pg 9]

“Ask Ned Degroot or Harry Longley,” requested Stella, who was more nervous than she cared to acknowledge. “He ought to be here by this time.”

Word was sent out by the sexton’s son. No, Allen Chesterbrook had not arrived, but he would be there on time, never fear.

The two in the vestry peeped out slyly at the large assemblage in the church. Stella made several remarks about this person and that, and then another machine dashed up, and out came, first Colonel Willowby, and then his only daughter, Maud.

True to his martial training, the colonel was exactly on time—not one minute too early or one minute too late. He was tall, slim, stately; evidently a gentleman of the old school. His hair was white, also his beard, yet he carried himself as if he were but thirty years of age instead of sixty-five.

The daughter, also tall and stately, looked much like her father. But while his eyes were gray, hers were of the deepest blue, and her hair was of fluffy gold. Her chin, too, was rounder than his, and her lips fuller and more lovable, although just now they were drawn tighter than usual.

“What a crowd, papa!” she whispered, as though she had but just noticed it, although they had been driving for fully a minute through a sea of upturned faces.

“Yes, Maud—all gathered to do us honor,” smiled the proud father. “My arm, my dear,” and, leaning upon him, she walked up the steps.

[Pg 10]

It was Harry Longley who motioned them into the vestry room.

“We must wait a moment; the minister is not yet here,” he whispered. “He went to call on old Mrs. Bidwell, who is seriously sick.”

“And Allen, is he here?” questioned the colonel, as he nodded pleasantly to Stella Barry and Walter Gardener.

“Allen will be on time,” was Longley’s reply.

“It is time now,” returned the colonel curtly. Nothing provoked him so much as a delay.

Maud listened to the brief conversation, but said not a word. Indeed, when Longley attempted to utter some words of friendly assurance that all would go well, she turned away and looked out of a window.

The long clock on the wall struck the hour in slow, measured tones; struck it so sedately that she shivered, and pressed her lips together more tightly than ever to control her feelings.

Ten o’clock—the hour set for the ceremony—and neither the minister nor the bridegroom at hand. Surely something had gone wrong. But now a gentleman, in clerical black with a light top-coat, came rushing in, all out of breath. It was Doctor Parlington, the minister.

“So sorry for the delay, but I really couldn’t get away from poor Mrs. Bidwell, who, I fear, is dying!” he exclaimed, as he rushed up to the colonel and grasped his hand. “Good morning, ladies and gentlemen. What a delightful day for the marriage! I will be ready in half a minute,” and he started for his private room.

[Pg 11]

“There is no need to hurry, doctor,” returned the colonel, a trifle sharply. “Mr. Chesterbrook has not yet arrived.”

“Ah!” Doctor Parlington was about to say more, but suddenly stopped. “No doubt he will be here by the time I am prepared,” he went on, after an awkward pause.

He disappeared, closing a little door behind him. Hardly had he done so when Ned Degroot rushed from the main church into the vestry room. His face was ashen, and it was with difficulty that he brought himself to speak.

“Maud—Colonel—Allen has been—that is——” He stopped short and gazed helplessly at the crowd before him, then caught Walter Gardener by the arm. “You tell them, Walter; I cannot!” he whispered hoarsely. “Tell them Allen can’t come—he—he has been murdered!”

“Murdered!”

Who uttered the cry none of the others could afterward tell. In a moment intense excitement prevailed, as the news spread like wildfire throughout the vast assemblage of people. Men and women started from their seats, and ran hither and thither to ascertain if such a horrible calamity could be true.

And in the vestry room, like a marble statue, so set and grim, stood Colonel Willowby, with Maud folded to his breast. Not a sound escaped the young woman’s lips, nor did she move hand or foot. To those standing around it was as if the seal of death had set itself on her heart.

[Pg 12]

CHAPTER II. A DAGGER WOUND.

In the lower hallway of the Rosemore, as the house in which Allen Chesterbrook had his bachelor apartments was called, stood Jimmie Neirney, the young man’s faithful valet, but a brief half hour before. Jimmie had just returned from a trip to the post office, where he had deposited several letters, all for his master, saving one, which he himself had written to his sweetheart in Saratoga Springs.

Jimmie’s face was not very cheerful just then, in spite of the fact that his master had given him notice of a two weeks’ vacation, with no pay to be lost; said vacation to take place while Allen and his bride were off on their honeymoon.

“Locked out of his room fer th’ first time in me life!” he murmured to himself. “An’ me that willin’ to do me best fer him, a-cleanin’ up his boots an’ a-brushin’ of his clothes! Well, if he don’t look his very best on this, his weddin’ day, divil a bit is it my fault. Says he to me, says he: ‘Jimmie, I want to be entirely alone this mornin’; don’t disturb me unless it’s very important.’ An’ when I axed about the juties to be done, he says, says he, he would do them all himself. Now, what do he be a-wantin’ to keep me for if not to do th’ work?”

There was no consolation in remaining in the [Pg 13]wide, empty hall, with no one to console with, so, with a heavy sigh, Jimmie turned to the back stairs to go down into the janitor’s half-public sitting room, to talk it over with Jackson. He had just reached the stairs, when a slight rustle beside him caused him to turn, and he caught a brief view of a veiled lady as she passed hurriedly out the back door and down into the yard among the clothes hung up to dry.

Being filled with his grievances Jimmie gave no thought to the woman he had seen; indeed, he had almost forgotten her by the time he reached the sitting room below. He found Jackson there looking over a number of bills to be sent to the owner of the premises for payment.

“Hello, Jimmie! Why ain’t you upstairs helping Mr. Chesterbrook?” cried Jackson cheerily; and Jimmie at once began his tale of woe, cut short in the middle by the sound of an automobile engine, as the finest turn-out in Lakeview drove up to the curb.

“Humph! Only twenty minutes to ten!” sniffed Jimmie, as he consulted his big silver watch. “Larkins will have to wait ten minutes. Mr. Chesterbrook said he would not leave till ten minutes of ten, an’ I can tell you he is particular this mornin’, so he is!” and again Jimmie sighed.

The valet went outside, and a short discussion took place between him and the chauffeur. Then Jimmie entered the house again, by the hallway, and walked slowly upstairs, looking at his watch once more as he went. It was twelve minutes to ten.

[Pg 14]

Allen Chesterbrook occupied two rooms on the second floor, one room facing the street and the other directly behind it. The second room was that in which Chesterbrook slept, and it was upon the door of this that Jimmie knocked. He waited for a summons to enter, but none came. Then he rapped again. Still the silence continued. Thinking his master might be in the front room, he walked to the other door and knocked. As the silence continued he grew alarmed.

“Mr. Chesterbrook, the car is waiting!”

No reply was vouchsafed to this announcement, and now the man began to bang on the door with all the strength of his big knuckles.

While he was knocking, a gentleman came down from the floor above. He was rather young in appearance, faultlessly dressed, and wore a bright buttonhole bouquet.

“Locked out, Jimmie?” he queried, with a smile.

“I can’t git no reply from Mr. Chesterbrook, sir. I’ve been a-thumpin’ like mad for siveral minutes, too.”

“I heard you. I suppose he has already gone. It is time. I am late, too.”

“Gone, sir! Why, his automobile is waitin’ below, sir, an’ has been these tin minutes!”

“And you are certain he has not gone?”

“Sure, sir. Isn’t Jackson watchin’ downstairs for him, to give him his best wishes?”

“Then something must be wrong. Have you a key to either door?”

“Yes, sir; here it is.”

The man of all work produced the key as he [Pg 15]spoke. But it could not be used, for both doors already held keys on the inner side.

“We can’t use them, Mr. Cross.”

“Perhaps we had better force open one of the doors,” replied Henry Cross, with quick decision. “He must be inside, or how could the doors be locked in this way?”

Pocketing the gloves he had started to put on, the young man put his broad shoulders to the rear door. It creaked several times, and then burst open with a crash that brought Jackson and several others to the scene in quick order.

The little party paused on the threshold. By the bright light which streamed in from the room in front they saw that everything was in disorder—chairs overturned, bureau drawers drawn out, and their contents scattered, and that numerous articles of bric-a-brac from the stand in the corner had been knocked down and crushed under foot.

“There he is! Merciful saints preserve us!”

It was Jimmie who uttered the shrill cry of horror, as with trembling finger he pointed to a spot between the bed and a closet. All eyes followed the direction indicated by the man’s pointing finger, and there beheld a sight that was enough to make the stoutest heart quail.

Allen Chesterbrook lay there, flat on his back, with a dagger thrust through his heart.

The face of the handsome, gifted young man was distorted with pain, and his hands were clenched so tightly that the nails were imbedded in the flesh. He was dressed in his favorite morning suit, a mixed brown, and this was saturated with his life’s blood, [Pg 16]which had run down the side and soaked into the carpet and the white fleece rug partly under his back.

Nevermore would his friends hear his happy, cheery voice; nevermore would those he had helped in a hundred ways receive his aid. There he lay, stone dead, at the time he should have been on his way to his wedding.

It was Henry Cross who first sprang forward and caught hold of that cold, stiffening hand. One touch was enough.

“He is dead,” was all he said, and his voice sounded strangely unnatural.

“Dead, dead!” wailed Jimmie Neirney. “Stabbed with a dagger, too! Oh, who could have done this divil’s own work! Who do you think did it, Mr. Cross?”

“I can’t say. I am too astounded to think. Run for a doctor—but, no; that is useless. It is the coroner who is wanted here.”

“An’ the weddin’ to come off!” cried Jackson. “What will Maud Willowby say to this?”

Henry Cross gasped at the last words. His face paled and he staggered back.

“Somebody must hasten to the church with the news,” he faltered. “I—cannot go. Quick! I will remain here till the coroner or the police come.”

“I’ll go!” said a man in the crowd, and disappeared on a run. He spread the news as he went, and soon all of the residents of Lakeview knew of the mysterious tragedy which had been enacted within their very midst.

“Open all of the windows wide, Jimmie,” said [Pg 17]Henry Cross, a second later. “And Jackson, keep out the crowd; the coroner and the detectives must have full sway here first. It looks like robbery as well as murder.”

Almost beside himself with grief and terror, Jimmie stumbled into the front room to do as he was bidden. Jackson, who had come up and placed his hand on the dead man’s chest, only to snatch it away when it came in contact with blood, stalked over to the door and closed it in the face of the gathering crowd.

“The authorities must come in here first!” he exclaimed, with a sudden show of command, for the situation made him feel his importance even at that chilling time.

As Henry Cross knelt by the side of the corpse, his eyes fell upon the bouquet in the buttonhole of his coat. A sudden feeling of the unfitness of the decoration at such a time seized him, and, wrenching the bouquet loose, he cast it on the floor. It fell into a pool of blood, and the white carnations became red. Made sick by the sight, he sprang up and stepped into the front room, where Jimmie was still at the window, parting the curtains and pulling the sashes down from the top.

At one side of the front room stood a flat-top writing desk, where Allen Chesterbrook had been wont to write his letters and occasionally to transact business, for he was erratic in his habits and had seldom spent a whole day at his office.

On the top of the desk lay several sheets of paper, unmarked in any way. But on the leather seat of the chair before it rested half a sheet filled with [Pg 18]writing. Almost mechanically, Henry Cross picked up this part of a sheet and began to peruse it.