Rose Mortimer; Or, The Ballet-Girl's Revenge — page 10: what you’re looking at

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

y) ROSE MORTIMER ; OR, a ventured abroad — a night on which the utterly miserable crouched shivering on dreary flag-stones, praying God to take away from them the life which was so bitterly hard to bear. In the stony-hearted streets there was no kind sympathising soul to hear that piteous cry for help —no strong arm to come to the rescue of a fair and fragile girl, struggling frantically with her brutal assailant. Scarcely eighteen summers had she seen, though her lovely face, pale and delicate, showed the not- easily-mistaken record of sorrow and want. Poor thing! her troubles had in truth commenced early. She was miserably clad, though her few fluttering garments were arranged with care and neatness, and seemed to show 4 striving at a better position in life. It was difficult to guess at the occupation of this | young creature, but it was plain that, young as she was, her life had been a hard struggle with want and sorrow. One glance into that sweet gentle face and those clear open eyes of heavenly blue proved that hers had been a sinless life, and that she, though reared perehance in some vile hot-bed of poverty and crime, had yet remained undefiled by her hideous surround- ings. Boa the recess of a low frowning archway leading into a dark narrow alley in Lambeth a man had sprung upon her as she passed and seized her by the wrist. ‘** Help, help, help !” But no one was there to deliver her from his vice- like grasp. Muttering an oath between his clenched teeth, he bade her hold her peace. As they emerged from the shadow of the archway, the light of a gas-lamp revealed the features of her worst enemy ! A wolf in sheep’s clothing! Clad entirely in black, with the exception of his necktie, he wore a somewhat respectable appearance ; he was evidently the leader of some highly sancti- monious little flock of true believers; but no garb could conceal the brutal ruffianism of his conntenance, which would have been sufficient- to give him six months at the hands of any magistrate. Holding her tightly by the wrist, he strove with his disengaged hand to cover her mouth. Again und again she shrieked for assistance, but, -though there were lights at some of the windows in the alley, her cries attracted no attention. The ruffian shifted his hold from her wrist to her waist. His strong arm encircled her, and, though she struggled and fought with the energy of despair, she grew weaker every minute, and must shortly suc- cumb to her dastardly assailant. She threw her whole voice into one final appeal. “Help, help, help! ”’ Hardly, however, had the cry ceased to ring through the deserted street when a strong hand was thrust in the ruffian’s neckerchief, a strong arm wrenched it round with strangling violence, and he was flung to the ground. | The girl staggered~half fainting to the wall, but, before her champion could render further assistance, the other man had picked himself up, and came rush- ing at him head-first like a bull His antagonist, stepping coolly on one side, let out his left with steam-engine velocity and power, and again the ruffian fell headlong to the pavement, but this time bleeding and senseless. ‘*T think you’ve had enough of it, my fine fellow,” said the poor girl’s deliverer in a mocking tone; “if you differ from me, don’t hesitate to say so.” He walked up to his prostrate foe and bent over him, but the parson lay motionless as a log. ‘“*T hope I havn’t settled him altogether,” said he; “those blows under the ear are not very highly re- commended by the faculty.” ‘ Then, turning to the still trembling girl, who was standing with a face white as death, and with her little hand pressed to her beating heart, he addressed her for the first time. “Can I be of any further service to you?”’ he asked in soft winning tones, which contrasted strangely with the muscular power he had justshown,. ‘‘ No, no, I thank you, sir,” slie answered, timidly lowering her eyes as she spoke ; *‘ I am deeply grate- ful to you for what you have already done, but—” ‘“T am close home, sir, and I need trouble you no further.” ‘‘T beg your pardon,” said the stanger, who was a tall handsome man of about five or six and twenty, with a profusion of light brown curly hair, laughing eyes, and a huge beard and moustache, rather ragged and uncared for—‘‘{ beg your pardon, but, if I am not mistaken, I have the pleasure of speaking to the young lady who was waiting to-night at the stage door of the theatre in Hardress Street? ”’ The girl, blushing crimson, looked at him with surprise, and stammered an inaudible reply. ‘¢ Miss Rose Mortimer, is it not?” ‘‘ Yes, sir, that is my name. I was at the theatre to-night, waiting to see Mr. Flathers, the manager.” *“T thought I was not mistaken. I heard your name given to him, and I could not help noticing you; you were so different from—”’ She looked at him inquiringly. ““ So different from the majority of those who come on similar errands.” The girl blushed again, but made no reply. ‘““l am engaged at the theatre myself,’ continued her communicative preserver. ‘‘ My name is Jack Halliday, and I am a scene-painter there.” ** Indeed.” “It is very late for you to be out alone, Miss Mortimer ; may I have the pleasure of escorting you to your door? ’”’ ; “‘ Thank you,”’ said the girl uneasily, ‘‘ I am close to my home and will not trouble you any further, though ~ do not think me ungrateful forthe service you have rendered me.’’ / ‘‘Psha! dont mention that. It was a real pleasure to knock the blackguard over. Hullo! What do you want now?” The latter portion of his speech was addressed to his late antagonist, who had struggled to his feet, and was swaying to and fro unsteadily. The light from the lamp at the entrance to the court fell full upon his face, ugly at all times, but now doubly hideous, smeared with mud and blood. ‘f Nothing now,” he growled, rubbing the hair from his eyes ; ‘‘ nothing now, but I won’t forget you.” ‘* Nor I you, my friend.” *‘ { never forgot nor forgave in my life. Did I, Miss Mortimer ?”’ The diabolical sneer with which he uttered these words made the scene-painter double his fist inyo- luntarily. ‘¢There’s a long score to wipe out,” continued the ruffian, ‘‘a very long score; but I never forget !” **T shall give you something mure to remind you of me,” said Jack Halliday, ‘‘ unless you make your- self scarce pretty quickly.”’ But the young girl eagerly caught his arm, and drew him back, with a cry of horror. ‘No! no!” she said, “‘ do not touch him.”’ «Why not?” “* Do not ask me.”’ ‘But I must ask you, for unless you have some powerful motive I certainly cannot resist the pleasure of—’? Gomichbooks CONAN awoke aha.