HIDDEN HAND

By MRS. E. D. E. N. SOUTHWORTH

Author of THE CURSE OF CLIFTON

NEW YORK
HURST & COMPANY
PUBLISHERS

CONTENTS.

CHAPTER I. The Nocturnal Visit
CHAPTER II. The Masks
CHAPTER III. The Quest
CHAPTER IV. Capitola
CHAPTER V. The Discovery
CHAPTER VI. A Short, Sad Story
CHAPTER VII. Metamorphosis of the Newsboy
CHAPTER VIII. Herbert Greyson
CHAPTER IX. Marah Rocke
CHAPTER X. The Room of the Trap-Door
CHAPTER XI. A Mystery and a Storm at Hurricane Hall
CHAPTER XII. Marah's Dream
CHAPTER XIII. Marah's Memories
CHAPTER XIV. The Wasting Heart
CHAPTER XV. Cap's Country Capers
CHAPTER XVI. Cap's Fearful Adventure
CHAPTER XVII. Another Storm at Hurricane Hall
CHAPTER XVIII. The Doctor's Daughter
CHAPTER XIX. The Resigned Soul
CHAPTER XX. The Outlaw's Rendezvous
CHAPTER XXI. Gabriel LeNoir
CHAPTER XXII. Gabriel LeNoir
CHAPTER XXIII. The Smuggler and Capitola
CHAPTER XXIV. Capitola's Mother
CHAPTER XXV. Cap's Tricks and Perils
CHAPTER XXVI. The Peril and the Pluck of Cap
CHAPTER XXVII. Seeking his Fortune
CHAPTER XXVIII. A Panic in the Outlaw's Den
CHAPTER XXIX. The Victory Over Death
CHAPTER XXX. The Orphan

THE HIDDEN HAND.

CHAPTER I.

THE NOCTURNAL VISIT.

Hurricane Hall is a large old family mansion, built of dark-red sandstone, in one of the loneliest and wildest of the mountain regions of Virginia.

The estate is surrounded on three sides by a range of steep, gray rocks, spiked with clumps of dark evergreens, and called, from its horseshoe form, the Devil's Hoof.

On the fourth side the ground gradually descends in broken, rock and barren soil to the edge of the wild mountain stream known as the Devil's Run.

When storms and floods were high the loud roaring of the wind through the wild mountain gorges and the terrific raging of the torrent over its rocky course gave to this savage locality its ill-omened names of Devil's Hoof, Devil's Run and Hurricane Hall.

Major Ira Warfield, the lonely proprietor of the Hall, was a veteran officer, who, in disgust at what he supposed to be ill-requited services, had retired from public life to spend the evening of his vigorous age on this his patrimonial estate. Here he lived in seclusion, with his old-fashioned housekeeper, Mrs. Condiment, and his old family servants and his favorite dogs and horses. Here his mornings were usually spent in the chase, in which he excelled, and his afternoons and evenings were occupied in small convivial suppers among his few chosen companions of the chase or the bottle.

In person Major Warfield was tall and strongly built, reminding one of some old iron-limbed Douglas of the olden time. His features were large and harsh; his complexion dark red,