The Child of Waterloo, or, The Horrors of the Battle-Field — page 114: what you’re looking at

Machine-transcribed from the original scan — historical spelling and the odd misread are preserved.

THE CHILD OF WATERLOO. 111 that this voung traveler, who was murdered so cruelly at the. inn, is he who in that paper is named F.? Oh, does it not come across your minds with all the force of a horrible conviction that such is the case? The mendicant has murdered him, and, from among the stolen papers he took from the chamber of his victim, he has acquired the information concerning Mabel which has enabled him probably to impose upon her judg- ment. Oh, Heaven, have mercy upon our poor Mabel! e is now in the blood-stained hands of a murderer! She is lost—lost to us forever!” Such was the agony of grief into which this cruel, but ex- tremely probable, conviction had thrown Mrs. Morton, that after uttering these words, she fainted away, and every other consideration was forced, for the moment, to be put aside, in the anxiety of Captain Morton to see her conveyed in safety to her own chamber. ; Henry remained in the parlor, with his head resting upon his hands, and in such a bewildered agony of thought as regarded the situation of her whom he loved to such an extent of devotion beyond his power of expression, that, once or twice, he almost thought he should go distracted. He had the greatest difficulty to keep himself from rushing out of the house like a lunatic, shouting the name of Mabel, and calling upon all mankind to assist him in finding out her hiding-place. But he did, for a wonder, succeed in restraining himself from so heedless an act, and in waiting till his brother, the captain, after seeing Mrs. Morton partially restored, came into the parlor again, looking so pale, and agitated, and ill, that scarcely any one who had only seen him in the glow of robust health the day before, would have recognized him as the same individual. Henry sprung to his feet the moment he saw Captain Morton enter the room, and in a voice which proclaimed the state cf agony he was in mentally, he cried: ‘Brother, we are now convinced that Mabel is in the hands of a ruffian, the suggestion of your aunt cannot be gainsaid. It has about it too terrible a probability—it must be true. Each moment’s reflection adds a world of confirmation to it. Let me now go at once, I pray you, on my pilgrimage in search of her whom I will find, and rescue from the thraJldom which now sur- rounds her, or myself perish in the attempt.” ‘‘T will not delay you now,” said Captain Morton, “all J ask of you is to be careful to communicate often with me, for some information may turn up in this neighborhood that may guide you. You shall go by the first dawn of daylight, Henry, and you shall go with ample means.” “Thank you, brother, thank you. I—I cannot say all I would; my heart is too full.” ‘‘T deserve no thanks, Henry. Do you go and snatch some repose now, while you can, and leave all the preparations for your departure tome. You will have need of all the physical energy you can bring to bear unon the matter: and always re- member that by acting systematically, you will gc through much more fatigue, than by destroying your natural rest, and suffer- comicbooks. com