Beadle's Dime Novels No. 310: Foghorn Phil — page 11: what you’re looking at

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

A NIGHT RIDE. 18 in a voice that told of a sad, anguish-burdened heart, ‘“:don’t talk so, Herman ; it is very cruel—wicked ! “ Oruel—wicked,” replied the man with a cold, harsh laugh; “ don’t talk of wickedness to me, my dear Camilla.” A sigh escaped the girl’s lips—a sigh that deepened almost into a sob, and the cold night wind seemed to hurl back to her ears the cold, strange laugh of the mysterious Herman Rochelle. / Then a silence ensued that was only broken by the snorting of the animals, and the pounding of their iron-shod hoofs upon the hard, frozen earth, as they sped on throvgh the gathering gloom. Suddenly a thrill of horror passed through the maiden’s heart, as the sharp bark of a wolf broke distinctly upon her ears. The sound was immediately taken up and answered from a dozen directions, and it at once became evident that the plain was swarming with those ravenous beasts of prey. “Ob, Herman !” cried the girl,unable to restrain her emo- tions longer, “‘ hear—hear those terrible beasts! Oh, God have mercy !’’ 7 But Herman was deaf to her cry. He made no reply, but grim and silent he galloped on, Plainer and plainer—nearer and nearer sounded the gib- bering cry of the wolves, as, emboldened by their gath- ering force, they drew closer and cleser. At length the silent riders can see dark forms skimming over the brown, grassy plain around them—to the right and left. Both know what they are—gaunt, hungry wolves. With a feeling of strange terror stealing over her, Camilla watches the skulking beasts, and in a short time their number in- creases until a sea of shaggy forms seems to surround them. And now again the pale young girl, wearied almost to death with hard riding and with nerves unstrung by fear, cries out in anguish of heart to her grim, bearded compan- ion; but the man of stone makes no reply—speaks never a word of encouragement to the poor young thing whose lovely face should have been, of itself, a silent appeai to the stoniest heart, And all this time the wind was blowing, steadily from the north-west, damp, dismal and chilly. And Then as if toadd commiclboolkSaecon