Black Bess; or, the Knight of the Road — page 268: what you’re looking at

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

1640 ee ee — — EE eonversation; but the silence was broken by the little irl. . She looked up into her companion’s face, and then, in inexpressibly sweet and silvery accents, she said: ‘But what a strange, lonely place itis! And oh, Jam go very, very cold!” She shivered as she pronounced the words, for sue was but thinly claa—her dress seeming rather suited for some fashionable assembly than for the open air. On her head, too, the watchers noticed she had nothing bu* a wreath of flowers and leaves. “Are you going much further?” she asked; then, finding that her question met with no response, she went on: ‘Qh, do let us turn back! Don’t go any further-- please dont!” “Don’t be silly, Ruth! Come on!” ‘ How cross you speak, uncle. Oh, what a dreary place ! Hold me tightly, I feel so afraid !” “Afraid of what?” said the man, snappishly aud angrily. ‘Don’t let me have any more of your nonsense. Hold your tongue till I tell you to speak! Now come along!” The tears rose quickly into the eyes of the little girl, and, with a sob that she could not repress, and which made Tom’s heart feel as though it was breaking, the tears rolled down her cheeks. “Don’t ery,” said her uncle. Don’t cry!” He shook her half savagely while he spoke. This was a scene which neither Tom King nor Maud could Jook upon with anything like common patience. It was only by exercising the strongest possible con- trol over themselves that they resisted their inclination to interfere. But they felt how important it was that their pre- sence in that place should be not only unknown, but un- suspected. Not only their own safety, but that of their absent companions depended upon it. It was this powerful consideration that enabled Maud and Tom King to have the moral strength necessary to enable them to remain mere passive spectaters ef the ecene, ln perfect silence the strange pair came walking on, and if there had been any doubt of their destination it could no longer have existence, for by this time they were fairly within what might be termed the outer por- tion of the ruins. . In vain our friends tried to come to some conclusion respecting the object of this midnight visit. Only one idea presented itself to them, and that was of such a truly horrible and abhorrent nature that they strove to banish it from their minds. But the whole of their attention was now attracted to the little girl’s uncle, who began to speak. “Tf you had not made me so cross and angry,” he began, adopting a conciliatory tone, “I should have told ou long ago what I am bringing you here to-night for. Vill you be good if I tell you now ?” “Yes, uncle, I will—indeed I will!” The stranger cleared his throat, as though he had some disagreeable communication to make, or as though his words, like Macbeth’s amen, ‘stuck in his throat.” “ Well, Ruth, when your father and mother were alive ~— There now, you are crying again. Be good, or I will not tell you any more.” With much difficulty the little creature controlled her emotions. “When they were alive—you were a little thing then—so little that you cannot recollect them-——” ‘Oh, but I can, uncle!” He went on without heeding the interruption. ‘They left you in my care to bring up for them. I have done so tillnow. You are just seven years old, are ‘Do you hear me? you not ?” “Yes, to-day, uncle.” ‘Hixactly. Well, then, if yen had died before reaching Zour seventh year, then all the money and property be- longing to your parents would have—would have gone —gone to me!” The last words were only brought out by a great effort. 6 Veg, unele.” “But you see, you are alive, and so, according to BLACK BESS; OB, , _—e -< the wish of your poor father and mother, I have brought es you here on this your seventh bi-thday.” “And did they really wish the young girl asked, looking all about her with a half shudder. “ Of course they did. Have I not said so?” “ And at this late hour of the night ?” “ Yes.” “ But what for, uncle ?” * Because—because there ig in this plave a large amount of money and jewels, all of which belong to you, and which, according to your parents’ wish, were not to be toached by anyone but yourself.” “In the ruin ?” said the girl, incredulously. “ Yes, in this ruya. And pray, may I ask, what right you have to call into account any of your parents’ actions, who were so much older than you, and therefore so much the better able to judge what was best ?” sane rebuke had the effect of causing the child to be silent. Her uncle, however, quickly spoke again. ‘““Come on!” he cried. ‘We are close to the place now, and when we have once taken possession of the trea- sure we will make haste back to the carriage.” With a palpable amount of reluctance Ruth accom- panied her guardian still further into the recesses of the ruins. Young as the child was, she seemed to be conscious that there was something highly improbable and un- er ae in the communication her uncle had just made to er. But, if such were her thoughts, she did not give them utterance, or it may be that it was only a vague, indefin- able presentiment of coming evil that cast its influence over her spirit. “Uncle,” she said, after a short interval, during which She seemed to have been reflecting deeply, “‘and when we have got this meney, what is to be done with it ?” ‘‘ There is time enough to consider that point, my dear. But look! Here, I believe, is the entrance to the chamber that was described.” — Now Tom King had come to the conclusion that all which this man had told the child was false; but this belief was shaken when he saw him take a large key from his pocket and insert it into the lock of a door which was self hidden in a thick wall. With some difficulty the key was turned. He pushed the door open a little way. The child shrank back in natural terror when she saw the black-looking place in front of her. “Now, Ruth,” said her uncle, speaking in a high, cracked voice, as though he was laboring undera very un Bene amount of excitement—‘‘ now, Ruth my dear, enter !’ ‘But it is dark—so very dark !” ‘No matter for that. I will stand here, and you will be able to find the treasure easily.” ‘¢ You come in as well, unele,” she exclaimed, shrinking back still more. “No, no—remember what I told you. You, and you alone, must touch this treasure !” “Then get alight that I may see.” ‘‘ No—it is needless. Come, do not delay so muoh time! It is too cold to remain here unnecessarily. Go in! What do you fear ?” he did not reply; but she asked him a question: “Uncle, do you say that this treasurejis all mine?” “ Tt ig all yours.” “ Wholly 2” ‘Yes, wholly-” “ And without any reserve ?” “Yes. But why all these questions ?” * And I can do with it just whatevér I Mke ?” ‘“‘ Yes—yes,” he answered, impatiently. “Then, uncle, come away. Let it remain where & is. Ido not wantit. I would rather give it up a thous sand times than enter that dark place to fetch 1 Her companion stamped his foot impatiently. “Ungrateful, forward, perverse wretch!” he said. “How dare you thus set yourself up in defiance of everyone! Enter at once, I say—enter at once !” “‘ No—no, uncle !” i “But I say yes; and what is more, ij am determined that you shall!” ou to bring me heve?” (E(0) AAILICE JOOKS.CO Ae f U0 Me hat ii Ay a ae, Ree tall e e S m oe A i eo is ts _— vos ps «