Rose Mortimer; Or, The Ballet-Girl's Revenge — page 15: what you’re looking at

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

THE BALLET-GIRL’S REVENGE. 7 ee Se — — —— ee *“ Abel Booth! ”’ she exclaimed. “‘ Yes,’ cried her father fiercely; ‘‘ Abel Booth. But this night’s work shall be his last: he has signed his own death-warrant ! ” *‘ Father, do not talk so wildly!” said Rose. **Ah! are you there? Getto yourroom. Do you hear?” “Oh, what does this mean, father? ”’ ‘Listen to me, girl,’’ he said suddenly, in an un- usually gentle tone: ‘‘go to your own room, and re- member, whatever you may hear during the night, remain there.”’ *¢ What dreadful thing is this ? me in that way !” *‘Tt means that this very night, in this very room, Abel Booth and I will play a game, and the stake we play for will be life! ”’ Rose lifted up her hands imploringly,. Hugh Mortimer took no notice of her gesture. Carefully he removed a plank from the flooring of the room and took from a place of concealment a large old-fashioned pistol. ‘“‘To your room, girl,’ he cried fiercely, pointing the muzzle towards her. ‘‘If you stir outside the door till broad daylight to-morrow morning, your blood be upon your own head.”’ Slowly and sadly she turned and quitted the room. In the excited state in which her father was she knew that words would only aggravate him. She knew but too well the savage fits of frenzy to which he at times gave way. Tremblingly she left the room and sought her own apartment, which was immediately overhead. Silent and motionless she remained in the cold, listening eagerly to the faintest sounds which reached her from below. That some terrible calamity was hanging over her father she gathered from his words, That some dreadful scene would be enacted in the room below her she had little doubt. What was this terrible influence which Abel Booth exerted over her father? She herself dreaded and disliked him, but it was evident that some stronger feelings moved Hugh Mortimer. It was quite dark. Even the faint glimmer of the street lamps was shrouded in thick fog. It was bitterly cold, and Rose could hardly keep her teeth from chattering. To go to bed with such a presentiment of evil was an impossibility. Rose took all the warm things she could find, and wrapped herself in them, and sat down to watch and wait. The chimes from a neighbouring church steeple smote every quarter of an hour upon her listening ear, but as yet no unusual sound had startled her. She heard her father’s step every now and then below. She heard sounds as if he were dragging about the scanty furniture. Then there was a long silence. A strong smell of burning arose after a while, and thin wreaths of smoke came curling up through the flooring. Had he set the house on fire ? A thrill of terror passed through her frame as this thought occurred to her. She was high up at the top of the house. There was no trap-door! To fly down stairs, with the lower portion of the house in flames, was an impossibility. To cast herself from the window was certain death. So alarmed did she become as this thought mo- mentarily took a stronger hold upon her mind that, Oh, do not look at -heedless of her father’s warnings, she rushed to the door, fully determined to descend the stairs at all hazards. She turned the handle, but the door did not open. She shook it with all her strength. She pushed against it with all her energy. It remained quite immoveable. It was locked on the outside ! Large beads of perspiration stood upon her fore- head at the thought of the dreadful fate that she believed awaited her. So terrified was she that it was some time before she noticed that the smell of burning had gone, and that the smoke no longer came up between the chinks of the boards. He had not set the house on fire after all. What could he have been doing? Why was she made prisoner ? Who had locked the door ? Was it possible, she asked herself, that her father had been destroying papers, in the expectation that the house might be searched ? It was all a riddle to her, only to be cleared up by time. Again she settled herself to wait patiently and listen for sounds from the room beneath. The chimes from the church steeple sounded again and again, but, although it was past midnight, nothing out of the common had occurred. Wearied with waiting, and exhausted with fatigue and excitement, she sank into an uneasy doze, from which she was suddenly awakened by the sound of voices. She started to her feet and listened intently. The voices came from the street. She ran to the window, opened it, and looked out. The fog had partially cleared away, and she could just distinguish the forms of three men standing to- gether at the door of the house. ““ Open,”’ said one—‘‘ open the door there.”’ There we 70 reply. Hugh Mortimer was silent, and Rose did not dare speak. ‘“ Open, or it will be the worse for you, I say.’’ Still there was no reply. Then Rose heard a low whispered conversation be- tween the three. Then a crowbar was produced and Rose heard the crazy door give way in a moment. The three men entered the house one after the other. Rose hardly dared breathe, for she knew the crisis was at hand. A dreadful longing to know the worst took posses- sion of her. She lay down upon the floor, so that her ear might catch the slightest sound. , There was a slight movement in the room beneath, which told her that her father was on the alert. The few minutes she layin this attitude seemed hours to her. There was a sound of more whispering. Then a fierce oath from her father. The report of a pistol. A shriek of pain and terror. A ery of some poor creature in the agonies of death, hurried without a moment’s warning into the presence of his Maker. Rose shuddered. Who was it that had met with this dreadful fate ? Who was it that had uttered that death-shriek in the stilly night ? " Was her father the victim, or was he the murderer ? After a silence of only a few minutes’ duration there was the sound of a heavy fall, and then the noise of scuffing and fighting. IelOOOkKS:. CO