Beadle's Dime Novels, No. 11 — page 123: what you’re looking at

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

AT Last! AT Last! 121 “can he be alive? can he live? oh! cruel, cruel fiends! How could my uncle and Don Carlos bring an innocent man to this? What shall I do? I fear to touch him, he looks so frail; O Herman! Herman! if you could only speak to me?” “He sleeps.good part of his time,” said Jose. Minerva dared not trust herself to reply ; she knew the man before her must haye been as black in heart as in complexion, to see a fellow-being suffer as he must haye suffered; there was in- herent cruelty in a nature like that. Kneeling down on the wretched floor, she softly kissed his forehead. The motion, slight as it was, roused him. He opened his eyes, glassy and restless; they fell up6n the loving glance of Minerva. A singular change came over his face, the whole countenance lighted as if a thin red flame had suddenly run from vein to yein, under that fearful whiteness, He sprang upright in the bed, cried out in a hollow voice: “At last! at last! O God!” and sank back lifeless. “T have killed him,” cried Minerva, as the negro went to- ward him. . ; “He’s been so two or three times, senora,” said the man, “If you will go down stairs, I will get him ready to go in the carriage. I doesn’t think he’s dead.” Sobbing like a child, giving way to utter abandonment of grief, Minerva went down the stairs, and walked to and fro in the narrow entry, Bandola trying in vain to console her. “We must go in the carriage,” said the faithful girl; “to ~ hold him if he needs. Only think, he will be taken from this dreadful place, it ought to make you happy.” — “Oh! but Bandola, I fear I have killed him,” cried Mi- nerva, piteously; “it might have all been managed so differ- ently, and now he is dead, dead,” she wailed piteously. She was prevailed upon, however, to enter the carriage, where she adjusted the pillows, and sat dreading to see the lifeless form, . ight almost carry. | Pee anaes Jose had replaced the miserable rags’ he wore, with the suit that had been taken’ from him, prison- fashion, when he was carried thither. Still seemingly dead, he lay white and nerveléss upon the soft bed prepared for him. | He was yet living. The fresh air, the motion of the carriage revived him. Slowly the luxury of his surroundings dawned conmiclooOoks. conn