Beadle's Dime Novels No. 95 — page 70: what you’re looking at

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

72 EPH PPTERS., “That is the signal, Marguerite. In a few moments the man I have chosen for your husband will be here. See that you treat him kindly.” ‘“T shall treat him as he deserves.” “Be that as it may, you are in his hands, and it is with him to compel you, if need be, to obey him.” “ Does he come alone ?” “No; Hubert Moran is with him.” ; “He is the better of the two. I would sooner have him for my guard than Jaques.” “He does not love you. Hark, here they come.” The clatter of hoofs sounded up the rocky path leading to the natural fortress they had chosen, and the two partisan | leaders, well known to the Indians, passed the guard and stood beside the lake. Moran looked about the place with a . gatisfied expression. —~ “By the saints, Jaques,” was his first exclamation, “ that dog Me-to-ne has a good idea of a defensible position. Noth- ing short of artillery could oust a strong party from this loca- tion. What a lovely ambush could be laid for an enemy in yonder ravine. But, hark at me, babbling in this manner, and leaving unsaluted the most beautiful girl in these Colonies, Cousin Marguerite, I kiss your hand, and humbly ask your pardon for first taking a soldier's view of the position. Though, in faith, he is no soldier who will not bow to female loveliness, as I do. Good-morrow, Cousin Annie.” “Drop the French. Ann will do for me,” said the wo- man. “I am*glad to see you, Hubert.” “J am sorry to see you, Hubert,” said Maggie, “for you come as my enemy.” “Never as your enemy,” replied Moran—“you do me _ wrong. You will think better of me, some day,” he contin- ued, seeing her hesitate. “In the mean time, have you no greeting for my comrade, Jaques Chattillon, who has ridden two score English miles this day to see you ?” “ When I parted last with Monsieur Chattillon,” replied Maggie, “we parted as enemies. I can not be the first to yield.” “No enemy if you love me, Marguerite,” cried Chattillon. “J do not love you, and you know it.” comicbooks.com