Rose Mortimer; Or, The Ballet-Girl's Revenge — page 75: what you’re looking at

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THE BALLET-GIRL’S REVENGE. Saying which, he delivered Penryth a violent blow in the face, which brought the blood from his mouth and nostrils, and sent him staggering to the other end of the room. The door was now thrown open, and Miles Trun- nion, with the disputed prize, tlie poor horror-stricken Rose Mortimer, was hurried out by the remainder of the miners. As soon as they were outside the cabin Rose darted past the miner and rushed boldly on. “Hullo, there!’’ cried Trunnion. Come back ; d’ye hear ?”’ Rose, however, only increased her speed. And now there appeared really great probability that she would get off scot free. Fortune was once more against her, however, at this critical moment. Being unacquainted with the country, she made such a round that the miner was enabled to double upon her, saving nearly half the ground. Leaping a hedge one would scarcely have deemed him capable of, from his big burly figure, he alighted upon the ground just before her. Then before she could even utter a cry he had clasped her in his arms. “Help! help !’’ shrieked Rose. “What’s all this row about?” miner, ‘Mercy, have mercy !” *“ Lor’ love ye, what’s got ye ? you, stoopid.”’ In vain did the poor girl implore his merciful for- bearance, He pretended to believe that her coyness was as- sumed. And in spite of her most frantic struggles, her most earnest entreaties, the huge ruffian took her in his big brawny arms and bore her away. At length nature could no longer endure the severe trials to which Rose had of late been exposed. The girl he suddenly found hung a dead weight. on his arms. At first he turned ghastly pale, and trembled with fright. He deemed that he held a corpse in his arms. A faint pulsation at the heart, however, very soon convinced him that she was but swooning, and he paused to restore her before bearing her off to his home. He had a flask of spirits about him, and with some “ What’s that ? demanded the I don’t want to eat of the liquor he bathed her temples and chafed her hands. And gradually she revived. But when she opened her eyes it was only to en- counter a new spectacle of horror. The sight of the brutal miner standing over her was enough to fill her with alarm, but now a third person was added to the scene. An individual of whose presence Miles Trunnion appeared to be ignorant. It was Penryth the miner. He stood there, with his two hands grasping a huge stone, uplifted above the head of Miles Trunnion. Before Rose could utter a sound, before an eye could wink, the blow came. | Down went the stone upon the head of the unlucky Trunnion, stretching him lifeless upon the ground, without a murmur. And this was the speedy vengeance of the giant Penryth the miner. *‘ Ah!” shrieked Rose, ** Curse her! she’s seen it,’’ cried the miner, ‘‘ and she’ll sell me for blood money ; but never. Dead men tell no tales !” He darted upon the ensanguined stone and seized it in his hands. 69 4 Now it was almost a certainty that Rose would have een sacrificed to his vengeance also, had not the sound of footsteps alarmed the murderer. He turned and fled. In an instant there was a rush to the spot, and before Rose Mortimer could gain her feet she was surrounded by a mob of women—old hags, rageed and dirty, and of the most wild and ferocious aspect. See, See. This is what she’s done,” cried one old hag, pointing to the prostrate body of the miner. And it is Miles Trunnion.’’ ‘* Miles?” echoed a dozen voices. 7 Ay.”? ‘ “Then down with his murderer—slay her—tear her piecemeal.” - I swear I did not do it,” cried Rose, earnestly. ‘* Believe me.” : “She lies,” interrupted the old hag. ‘ How came she here else ?” ‘* Of course.”’ SHAY, ays’? “ Down with her, then.’ Rose shrieked and implored their pardon, but they were inexorable. Thus had she by the death of the miner but escaped one fate for another scarcely less horrible. In an instant, and with wild cries and yells, they fell upon her. CHAPTER XXIX. THE VISIT TO THE VAULT—CLARA’S VICTIM— THE SHIP ON FIRE—A SCENE OF HORROR— ON THE ROCKS—THE JEWELS—THE MEDITA- TED MURDER. AT dead of night Edgar Deville and the woman calling herself Clara St. John stood among the ruins of the house in Park Lane. They were alone. Not a soul had seen them approach. Their movements had been conducted with the utmost caution and secrecy. ° Edgar Deville carried a pickaxe and some other tools. Clara was provided with a dark lantern. The woman led the way among the ruins, and presently came to a halt at a certain place. “¢ This is it,” she said. ‘¢ Ts what ?”’ asked her companion. ‘* Never mind at present. You will learn all in good time. I want your assistance when I ask for it, not without.”’ Some sort of reply seemed rising to her com- panion’s lips, but he stopped himself in time. An extraordinary influence did this woman appear to have obtained over him. He was her abject slave. He dared not say his soul was his own. What was the explanation of this mysterious thral- dom in which she held him? Time will show. Clara, stooping down among the ruins, cleared away the rubbish from a certain place, and said— ‘“This is a door. Can we open it?’ JT will try.” He in turn stooped down and examined the place. ‘‘Tf I remove this fallen brickwork I don’t think there will be much difficulty—that is, of course, if you have got the key.” ‘Tt opens with a spring, when you have cleared the stuff lying upon it. I can manage the rest.”’ Deville now worked away with a good will, and by Oo CoMmicloo S C©