Beadle's Dime Novels No. 95 — page 10: what you’re looking at

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

12 _ EPH PRTERS. without asking more, to know that I hate you and all your kin? Why do you ask for more ?” “Tt will not suffice,” said he, sharply, “ for though you may hate us, as you say, yet do I not believe that Margaret. Wylde hates us as well. If she does, 1 must hear it from her own lips, and not from yours.” “What would it matter if she even loved you—impossible as that may seem—so that’I refuse to admit you? ‘Curses. on ‘you—will nothing drive you away? Do you wish to make me mad ?” “ Madder you can not be,” said he, angrily. “And I I tell you that I will not be the slave of‘your caprice; or its victim, You waste no love on me, I can see., That you have no reason for it, I know, for never did youa wrong, and you reviled me the first time we met. I have tramped all the way from the fatal field of Braddock to this spot, and turned miles away from my course, to see Margaret. _ Woman, Llove her.” _ “ You-came from Braddock field, Ha! ha! Ahy that is a glorious field. There the proud were laid low—the haughty men, who haye oppressed my poor people. Al!” . | She stopped suddenly, for the young man had come cloge to her and laid a finger on herarm. “Tn spite of your English name, Mother Ann, you. have French blood in your veins.” “ French | yes—a thousand times, yes, There, I boast of it ; the purest and best blood in all the earth. Come, now, Ronald Mannering, since you will hear it, sit you down, and you shall have my story. I tell it because I hate you all, and you shall see if I have not great cause. “My blood is not all white. My father. was a Frenchman, - a chevalier of Fragce, and my mother was a,Huron. | She was an Indian, but she was beautiful. I remember her well, though she died awhen I was quite young. It will not brighten your hopes to know that a tide of VaoKg isis tani blood flows in. my veins. “ My father came to live in New York, after my mother died, on some mission to the English. He died there, poor, and a wealthy family took me under its care. I was mot crooked then, as I am now; nor should I be so to-day, did not connicloooks.comn)