Beadle's Dime Novels, No. 11 — page 116: what you’re looking at

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

114 THE PRISONER OF LA VINTRESSE. Minerva, gently. “That, at least, I have learned in all my troubles : to cherish no malice, and to return good for evil.” | “Well, Pll be blest, then, if you ain’t a thorough-going Christian,” said the sailor, in his rough way; “nothing else could do it—n0,” he added, sotto voce; “and, even then, noth- ing else but a woman !” So, when she was able, Minerva took her oi by the state- room in which Senor Velasquez lay. Frightfully changed he was in the short struggle he had had with the fearful typhoid. When the delirium was on him, he talked much of Minerva, and exposed his plans with diabolical minuteness. One night, Minerva, whose state-room was opposite, heard the name of Herman on the frenzied lips. The moon threw its silvery light in at the stern windows, so that every object was clearly visible, and Minerya, anxious to hear whatever concerned that beloved name, glided softly from her state-room and crept to , to the other side of the cabin. The negress, who was em- ployed as nurse, sat on the floor just beyond the door, asleep, her bowed head resting on her folded arms. Senor Velasquez was talking very softly now, so that Minerva crept closer and closer to listen. Terrified at his face, she turned her eyes from the ghastly picture. The steward had shayen his head, and his eyes weirdly wild, large and ebon, rolled from side to side in their loose sockets. “Yes, yes, Don Carlos,”. muttered the sick man, “Ill keep the secret of La Vintresse. Are you sure you have him safe there? Los Americanos are very ing—very strong! Ah! old Jose is with him, the rang noc knows how to torture—let the priso to it—La Vin- tresse. I was there myself once—heaven preserve me from the recollection! The walls were half down—rotten posts stood tottering, sunk at their base in pools of aud and water. There was not a green spot—the man will die of desolation. He will choke himself with his own hands; he will beat his brains out against the horrid walls ; yes, yes, he will go mad!” Minerva listened shudderingly. Presently he broke out in a wild cry—* Bring the priest!” It was a strange fancy, but, nevertheless, it occurred to Minerva to repeat the word “ confess.” “Ah!” cried the senor, eagerly, “are you here, bely father?” “TI am,” said Minerva, in a low voicc. comiclbooks.con