Beadle's Half Dime Library No. 261 — page 7: what you’re looking at

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

on ad 288 ed al- —_——- -_———_-—- -— -_— ~ me - +--+ -— ~~~ a —— are Indiry, for a fellow doesn’t always get all he de- gerves in this world! out by the aide door. m me oe of yourself!” he said, is &) to , Fergus sped lightly down the steps, and turned his fawe homeward. It was six o’clock by the time he reached the old beuse em Baxter street, and he found Fleda and her mother waiting supper for him. ‘*Mercy’s sakes!’’ cried Fleda, the moment she saw him; “‘ whatever have you been doing to your- self? Oh! why I never should have known you on the street.”’ ** Don’t Llook gay?”’ “Prime! You've got a new suit of clothes?” “Yes,”” answered Fergus, triamphantly; ‘“‘let’s have supper first, for ’'m awful hungry, and then Ill tefl you all about it.” CHAPTER VII. LORANIA YORKE. CreparR LAWN was the name which had been given Come on now, and I'll let you to the residence that the rich merchant, Elliott Yorke, occupied upon Bergen Hights, It was the abode of luxury. o could be other- wise than happy beneath the roof that covered that sumptuous furnishing? And Ms the gossip of the neighbors was to be credited, e mistress of this stately mansion was not DaRDY, She had beauty, wealth, a proud station, a hus- band who fairly idolized her, and yet a smile was never seen on her fair face. He had a ed to her father, old Garret Van Amringe, for the cause of this strange sadness, and the old man had answered indifferently: ‘It’s nothing, only her way.” When he ques- tioned Lepania, tenderly and gently, she had re- ed, passively, and almost like an echo to her ather: “It is nothing! do not mind me; it is my way.”’ Pliiott Yorke was'by no means content. Though the senior of his fair zone bride by nearly twenty years, he loved her with a strange, wild fervor, and this love was all the stronger that it had come to him sp late in life. Then Garret Van Amringe died suddenly of apo- plexy—he was a high liver—and it was discovered, to everybody’s surprise, that, instead of being the rich og ote was supposed to be, he was deeply in debt. Reckless speculation had ruined him. When his estate was settled not a dollar was left for Lor- ania. Elliott Yorke thought he had found the key to her inexplicable sadness. “She knew hovy her father was ‘involved,’ he told himself. ** That is what has troubled her." He questioned her upon the matter, and she frankly answered him: “Yes, Elliott, my father was the cause of my sad- ness, cannot help it, but I will strive my best against it.” Fie was satisfied. The thought had obtruded it- self into his mind that she had come to him an un- willing bride—a thought that was att galling to his proud spirit, and this answer put that thought to rest. The years passed on but the sadness still clouded Loranta’s face. Two children were born to her, and both died in their infancy, and now there was cause for a sad look on those pale features, but it was — the same, neither deeper or more marked than fore. Elliott Yorke, immersed in business cares—he was one of the merchant princes of New York—was ab- sent the ter part of the day from his luxurious home, is cousin and junior om Rufus Glen- denning, occupied an apartment at Cedar Lawn. He was young enough to be Yorke’s son. The mer- chant had taken charge of him when he was quite a lad, and made a home for him in his own family. Rufus Glendenning owed everything he had in the world to Elliott Yorke. How grateful he was to his benefactor the events to follow will show. i who was quite an artist, amused many an hour’by sketching. She had drawn crayons of the house and grounds, a rtrait of Elliott Yorke, herself, and the two dren they had lust, and these were handsomely framed and hung on the library wall. It is pursuing this favorite occupation that I shall present her to the reader. She is very intent upon her work, tracing a head upon a little square of card-board—a boyish head, ch she draws with great skill and singular beauty. You think it must be a portrait, it looks so real and life-like—a portrait though she is drawin it om memory; and as her work progresses tqwar completion a wonderful change takes place in this woman, who is considered by her husband and ac- quaintances to be scarcely more than a living statue, A faint tinge of pink steals to her cheeks, as deli- eate in hue as that which dwells in the heart of the sea-shell, her eyes gleam with a look of joy and ride, in utter contrast to their usual sad look, her reath cot.cs pantingly, and ..er bosom heaves with an unwonted motion. She lays down her {pencil, having completed her task, contemplates the image she has drawn for a moment with ayearning look of love, then bows her head and presses her lips toit in a lingering caress. ‘‘ Be lives—he lives! and I have seen him!” she murmurs, tremulously. ‘Oh! my heart, what joy, what pain, is in the thought. To see -im—to know he lives, and yet not dare to—” She paused abru apur: seized the card and thrust it into her bosom. yen She turned and coldly faced the servant who entered the library, and whose coming she had heard. Fergus Fearnaugnht, the New a nr a ** Well, Christine?” she said. ‘*A gentleman to mvt by ma’am,”’ answered the maid and she extendeda card toward her as she spoke. Mrs. Yorke arose at once to her feet and took the card, glancing eee! at the inscription upon it. It contained this name: Cyrus Jeturre, LL. D. “Thave been expecting him,” she said. iv the parlor?’ ‘*’'Yes, ma’am.’’ **T will go to him.” Lorania passed into the hall and through it to the front parlor door which she entered. ‘You smile!” he exclaimed, asif he found some- thing surprising in the act. “And you wonder at it? So dolI! I never thought to smile again, I felt like that king of England who never smiled again after the tidings were brought to him that the prince, his son, was drowned.”’ ‘Your loss was greater than his.” ‘**It is not true!” she cried vehemently. Mr, Jelliffe’s features wore a look of perplexity. “‘I am positive of it. The boy lives. I have the best proof of it, for Thave seen him!” She took the drawing she had made from her rater and placed it in his hand. “There is his por- rait.’ He stared at it in amazement. “Is it like?’ she continued. ‘Wonderfully!’ Then he turned his astonished eyes from the portrait to her face. ‘‘ But where did you get this?” he inquired, curiously. “T drew it.” “How? When?” ‘*From memory—from the single glance that I had at his young face.” ‘ * tat then this is little more than a fancy sketch," e said. “It is his very likeness,” she asserted, positively. ‘*Thave no doubt you think so,’ he answered, with a smile. ‘* Where did you see this boy?” “On Broadway—I was riding in my carriage—I saw him leaning against a lamp-post on the corner of one of the cross streets. I saw his face distinctly, and the thrill at my heart convinced me who he was. I called out to him, but he ran away—why I could not tell; but he ran away in 8 most unaccountable manner.” ‘** How was he dressed?” “Very poorly.” ‘Hum! I thought so.” “It is but natural. Where else could we expect to find him except among the ranks of those poor waifs who eke out a miserable livelihood in the streets of New York?” Mr. Jelliffe deliberated, and shook his head grave- ly at the end of his deliberation. “There's plenty of young reprobates in New York,” he said, *“‘and I am very much afraid that you have selected one of them, deceived by a fancied resemblance."’ She resented the implication. “Tt is not a fancied resemblance!” she cried. ‘* Do you not see the likeness there?” ‘* Undoubtedly,” he admitted. **That is a literal transcript of the boy's features. Where else could I obtain them?” He shook his head, by no means convi “Drawn from memory after a single asked. “i Yes. ” nasty shook his head again, and smiled in his grave on, “You draw exceedingly well, Lorania,”’ he said; “T have remarked that before, and you have a vivid imagination. How ar’ then, it would be for you to sketch out your ideal of what the boy’s face would be like if he had lived until now.” She was bag Surpriaes: ‘You believe, then, that this sketch is the result of my Pg ae and not a portrait?’ she inquired. ‘Frankly, I do,”’ ‘You think, also, cin aed is dead?” “*I think the probabilities of the case all tend that way.” ** And I am satisfied that he lives, and that I have seen him. Therefore, I have sent for you, as an old and esteemed friend---my only friend, in fact—to aid me in what I consider to be my duty.” Mr. Jelliffe inclined his head. ** Whatever aid I can offer you shall be cheerfully given,” he said, **T know it,’’ she continued. ‘* While I awaited your coming I drew that. portrait, for it is one, al- though you may not think so. That will aid you in the search I wish you to institute for this boy.” * You wish to ascertain beyond a doubt that he is cones Armytage’s son?” “ do ” “Is he ce?” he To what end?” : ‘To place’him in the position to which his birth entitles him.” He shook his head rather discontentedly at this. ‘‘Hum! that is rather dangerous,” he said. ‘To him?” she cried, surprisedly. ‘**'No, to you,” ** Ah! in what way?” ** You cannot acknowledge him.” She drooped her head sorrowfully. “No, no,’ she murmured. “Oh! what a cruel | fate is mine!” “It is inevitable, and you must bow to it with resignation,” he continued. “I stand in your father’s place toward you now.” * But your heart is not so hard as his was.” He smiled in his grave fashion. “Perhaps not,’ he replied, “but I cannot permit you to sacrifice yourself.” “But my duby?’’ “Your duty as a wife—the wife of such a man as Elliott Yorke—is more imperative than any other.” ‘**Perhaps it is—but I cannot feel it so,”’ ‘“You must,” he answered, almost sternly. “I _ will act as your agent in this affair, and carry out your wishes to the letter—” | ‘Oh! you are so good to me,” she interrupted, gratefully. ‘* On this condition,” he added. ‘* A condition?”’ ‘Yes; that you shall not be seen In the matter. You must keep in the back-ground,” “Oh! I must see him—I must speak tohim, Can I not do so without his knowing who I am?” ‘* Perhaps, but only when we are satisfied that the boy is indeed what you take him to be, and then you must use every precaution to conceal your identity from him.” *T will—I will!” “I will take this card with me, as it may he useful in identifying the boy. 1 will place it in the hands of a detective, one upon whom I can depend, though I shall by no means tell him any more than shall be absolutely necessary. Your name must not be brought into question under any circumstances, His instructions will be simply to search through New York for a boy resembling this drawing, and, when found, to ascertain if his name is Robert Army- tage—was the ra given his father's name?” ‘Yes, Robert F. Armytage.”’ ‘When this is proved to my satisfaction I will dis- pose of the boy according to your wishes. Will that content you?’ ‘** Perfectly.” ; ‘Very well. Then I will return home,” *“ Will you not remain for dinner? Mr. Yorke and Mr. Glendenning will be here in an hour new.” ** Excuse me, but Iam expected at home. I came up from my office directly here. Need I counsel you to guard your feelings against any display of emotion that might betray your secret?’ “Fear me not. I shall not forget the lesson I have learned so thoroughly through all these passing ears. The secret of the past lies hidden in my rozen heart,” She walked to the front door with him. ** Good-day,”’ she said, He exchanged adieux with her, walked down the stone-paved walk to the iron gate, and let himself out upon the avenue, She went back to the libr when he was gone, and sat down again at the table that containcd her drawing and painting materials. / ‘I must sketch another portrait,’ she said, ‘‘ but this time I will paint it in water-colors.”’ A labor of love a quicely performed, The por- trait was soon finished. This one was drawn upon a sheet of paper, and was much larger than the other. It was only the head and a portion of the bust, about the size of an imperial photograyy. She was greatly pleased with this second effort. “I will call it a fancy sketch and have it framed,” she cried, with an almost childish admiration. ‘““How much the coloring improves it.” : She placed it on the window sill to dry, the window being open. Scarcely had she laid re thana sudden gust of wind caught it and bore it away. She uttered a little scream, and ran out through the hall to goin search of it, She looked ben the window, but could not find it. She followed the direction of the wind, which was ye bad, ard the avenue, and as she reached the front o e house she heard voices, and saw Elliott Yorke and Rufus Glendenning coming up the walk. Glend held a paper in his hand, ‘He has found it,"’ she gasped, and a chill of ap- prehension crept through her frame, though she could searcely have told why. **See what Rufus has found!” cried Elliott Yorke. “It is mine,’ she said. | ‘Hah! a colored drawing—a boy's head,” Elliott Yorke remarked, with a careless look at it, ‘ Lorania thought that Rufus Glendenning regarded it with a singular scrutiny. She held out her hand for it, but be still retained it. “Is ita feney sketch?” he asked, ** 'Yes,’’ she answered briefly. Glendenning again bent his. eyes upon the draw- © ng. “It is very singular,” he said, m ly, “but I saw a boy in New York the other day who was the very image of this,” Lorania shivered, and he gave her the paper she — took it without a word, and hurried on r Elliott Yorke, who had walked on to the house. Rufus Glendenning smiled darkly, ‘“*A fancy sketch, eh? Ob, no!”’ he muttered, “The likeness was too strong for that. The boy w something to her, but what I must find out, shrewdly suspect that her sad face has something to do with that boy!”’ CHAPTER VIII. AN ACCIDEXT, | , PRomMPTLy in the morning, at the hour appointed, Clinton Stuyvesant made his appearance at the home of Fergus Fearnaught, and was ushered into the front room by Fleda, Who, having been apprised of his coming, had “ tidied’ herself up; as she phrased it, for the occasion, She and Fergus were alone together when Clinton ae Mrs, Nandrus having departed upon a day's work. | ‘Here you are!” cried wth So ‘Here I am!” answered Clinton, and he took a comprehensive survey of the little maiden, whe was devouring him with her sharp black eyes. ‘This is Fleda?”’ he added, Yes,” replied Fergus. - Eom (GE 5S; GOT