Beadle's Half Dime Library, No. 67 — page 9: what you’re looking at

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

So \ ‘me!—you love me not! Patent-leather Joe. 9 tion to you, nor have I thrown away your ring,” sud Berenice, im a dead sort of way, and drew the ring from the bosom of her dress. Patent-leather Joe stared at her. ** What hi have worn the ring?” he cried, incredulously. ‘““Tt has never left me,” ‘‘ And there were never any love tween you until to-day ?—an your seeking?” sé No. ” ‘‘ And you have always intended—and still in- vend—to marry me, and not him?” <i. i my word. I have always intend- ed and still intend to stand by it.” The l was as pale as death; but there was a directness about her answer that would not admit of doubt. | There was a dead silence, broken by the pleas- ant voice of the delirious ur, saying: ‘You love me!—you age me not! You love . ended with a sigh, putting his hand to his ead. The girl shivered at the tragic significance be- those were not of _ that his words derived from circumstances. It ~ was the mocking of a cruel fatality! — lurid As for Patent-leather Joe, a fierce thrill of ex- seep illuminated his face with an almost ow. ~ , then!” he cried, ‘‘ all I have to do is to crush reptile that lies in my path, and be d taking a step forward, he raised his weapon to execute his thought on the instant. Arthur had raised to his feet, so that he presented a fair mark. With a scream Berenice sprung before him. “Stop!” she cried. ‘‘l have promised to mary you; but you shall not harm him!” ‘You love him!—you love him!” cried Patent-leather Joe, frantically. ‘‘ Oh! you have been deceiving me!” “I have not deceived you. You will have me as your wife. Let that content you. But you shall not harm him who has never injured you. For the first time Arthur’s clouded mind seemed to realize that there was trouble. Putting his arm about Berenice’s waist, he drew her back of him, and glaring at Patent- leather Joe, demanded: ‘*Who are you? Dare you insult this lady?” The action maddened Patent-leather Joe; and the murder that leaped into his eyes agonized the girl with dread. ith the quickness of lightning she snatched Arthur’s revolver from his belt, cocked it, and placed the muzzle at her head. “See!” she cried. ‘If you dare to harm him, [ will kill myself before youreyes! He is wholly at your mercy; but if you kill, I shall never live to be the wife of his murderer!” Patent-leather Joe shrunk back with horror and dismay. ‘*Don’t!—for God’s sake, don’t, Berry!” he cried, “T leave you to determine!” cried the girl, recklessly. ‘Oh! what is this jugglery? You promise to marry me, yet you love hixy!—you show it in every act!” ‘*] would save his life—” ‘‘What is his life to me? He may live a million years, if he does not stand between you and me!” “* Let it be a bargain: then, I will marry you, en Shall cease your ruthless quest of his ife. ‘You swear to marry me?” “Yes; but if you ever attempt to injure him in any way, I shall consider myself absolved from the pledge.” ‘Agreed! agreed! I have got you cheap! Let him live forever! Come! we have no fur- ther need for his company.” And Patent-leather Joe held out his hand to Berenice, to take her away from the man who owned every throb of her heart! CHAPTER XIII. ‘“y aM YOUR MOTHER!” PATENT-LEATHER Jok would have taken his betrothed away at once, and left his rival in his helplessness alone there among the mountain | crags. hat cared he, if in his delirium | L$ SSS ee a ee eee ee se ee ee ee eee, ee ee — Arthur hurled himself over a precipice, or | whether he became a prey to wild beasts, or died alone and forgotten, with no hand to hold a cooling draught to his fevered lips? ‘‘Come!” he said, and grasped ber wrist. ‘* We have no further need for his company !” ' | | ‘What! would you desert a man in delirium of fever, and leave him exposed here in the mountains?” ““Why not? He got himself into the scrape? Let him get out of it the best he can.” ‘Of course he shall accompany us until he can be given over to proper care,” she said, with quiet decision, taking Arthur’s hand. “That was not in the bargain,” said the gambler, with a jealous kindling of the eye. “_ to let him alone on condition that you would let him alone too.” “Common humanity would imply it as a part of our bargain,” she said, bitterly. ‘* Come, we are wasting time in idle debate.’ And she walked forward, leaving Patent- leather Joe to follow. The gambler yielded with a sullen frown. As they entered the gulch which Berenice had so long known as her home, the shades of night were beginning to fall. The silence of the birds and the chill of night- fall struck to Berenice’s heart with a sense of desolation. It seemed as if the glade were the ehaedty ided tl t where sh y she avoide 16 spot where she knew Nero lay. She had a sigh and a tear for his memory. They entered the cave. All was still and dark as the grave! Berenice’s heart beat wildly. What had hap- ned to Aunt Sue since she had last quitted er? Could she have been killed in that dread struggle from which both Arthur and Walt bore such ghastly marks? ‘* Will you strike a light?” she asked, in a fail- voice. atent-leather Joe groped across the a ment, until he stumbled Sealant some sbetede. tion lying on the floor. A hollow groan sounded through the cave! The gambler uttered a startled oath. A moment later he lighted a dip. Aunt Sue was discovered lying in the middle of the room. A thin stream of blood had run from her mouth and stained the matting that covered the floor. Old Rattlesnake had come and gone, though —¢ of the party assembled knew aught of im. With a cry, Berenice ran to Aunt Sue and knelt beside her. ‘*Oh! have you been injured?” she cried, in a piteously-quavering voice. The woman looked at her and smiled faintly as she returned the clasp of her hand with a just perceptible pressure. ‘Is this your work?’ demanded Berenice, turning yoy Patent-leather Joe with blazing eyes and dilating nostrils. ‘*She was all right when [ left,” he said. ‘I haven’t touched her. She’s broke a blood-ves- sel, I reckon.” Bg: me to get her on the bed,” said Bere- nice, coldly. With some difficulty they made the transfer, Patent-leather Joe showing no sympathy for the woman’s sufferings. ‘Tm going to town now,” he said, when it was done. “Til get horses. and somebody to take care of these two, and then we can get out 0’ this.” The girl looked at him, but refrained from re- ply, and he went out. : Arthur was walking back and forth in one of the rooms, muttering to himself. His delirium was taking a violent turn. Berenice went to him and persuaded him to lie down. Having administered such a simple remedy as she knew to allay the fever, she re- turned to Aunt Sue. Though very weak, the woman was conscious, and in her face was a light Berenice had never seen there before. She was perfectly rational! — lips moved, and her eyes looked their ap- in Berenice bent her ear to the lips. ‘*Bend lower, for I cannot speak loud,” she whispered, ‘‘and I have much to tell you. I have received a shock that has brought me my death and, through the mercy of God, my reason. ‘** All my life that has been measured by the span of your existence comes to me dimly, as I can recall the impressions of partially-lucid in- tervals. ‘* | know that you are Berenice, whose love has never failed me. You have known me as a poor demented creature who claimed your pity and your love because of her helplessness. What more has the man you call Walt told you of me‘ ‘* Nothing:—oh! absolutely nothing of you, or of myself!” sighed Berenice, with intense long- ing in her eyes. ‘‘ He has put me off aguin and agai I know only that you are Aunt Sue and I am Berenice!” The woman sighed, and gazed searchingly in- to the girl’s face. ‘What have you asked him?” she said. ““Oh! to tell me about my mother!—my dear mother, whom I cannot remember ever to have seen |!” A faint flush came into the woman’s cheeks. “Do you love her so much, knowing nothing about her?’ she asked. ‘Love her!” nrpeaten Berenice, clasping her hands and raising her tearful eyes heavenward. “Oh! Aunt Sue, I have lain awake nights, and longed to have her come to me, if only ina dream! I have wondered whether she was like ou, if youare really my aunt, Oh! I don’t know or certain that you are! [have studied your face and looked at my own in the glass, and I think that I look like you—a little—don’t I? And if you are my aunt, you must know about her— my dear, dear mother!—and oh! you will tell me !—will you not?” ‘“Would you like your mother to look like me?’ asked Aunt Sue, and her eyes read the girl’s face narrowly. “Oh, yes!” said Berenice, affectionately,” only not so sad and worn; for I have loved you very, very dearly, Aunt Sue!” Tears sprung into the eyes of the dying wo- man. ‘* Kiss me! she whispered. Wondering, yet with unmistakable tender- ness, Berenice complied. ‘*‘And now you will tell me? Oh! I have so longed to know!” ‘*Can you find place in your heart for such a wreck?” sighed Aunt Sue. ‘‘ Worn and sad, as Iam, I am what is left of—your mother !” CHAPTER XIV. AUNT SUE’S STORY—*‘ CHEESE IT, CULLY!” ‘‘My mother!—you! Oh, Aunt Sue!” cried the girl, excitedly, clasping the hands of the woman and gazing into her face. “Can you accept me—can you love me as ha mother?” asked the woman, with infinite onging and tenderness. or reply the girl sunk on her knees beside the couch, clasped the withered form in her arms, and burying her face in the emaciated neck, be- gan to sob and murmur between her kisses. My mother !—oh! my own dear, dear moth- er!” Tears oozed between the closed eyelids of the dying woman, and her lips moved in thanks- i to the Power that had crowned her long ife of shadow with this golden sunset. Presently she said:— ‘Dearest daughter, while my strength lasts I must finish my story. ‘*T do not wish to impose upon others all the blame for what was in part due to my own wickedness and folly. ‘When I was scarcely older than you are now I had two lovers; and | confess that my vanity led me to encourage both of them. When at last I married one, the other upbraided me vio- lently, and threatened to be revenged. ‘“‘ Afterward he apologized and sought again the friendship of my husband and myself. I learned too late that it was only for the aceom- ele paca of his scheme of revenge. He still oved me with a desperate passion that was re- solved to take me from my husband. _ “So subtle was he that he ingratiated himself into my husband’s confidence until he became our most intimate-and trusted friend. My poor Frederick knew not the name of jealousy. ‘“‘For a year all went smoothly, and a son, whom we named after his father, was given to us ‘‘ Perhaps six months after his birth, Andrew Ashurst began to undermine my confidence in my husband’s love and truth. ow he did it I cannot now say. It took long months for its accomplishment, so wilily and patiently did he work; and when at last he offered me indubité able proof of my husband’s faithlessness with a woman whose beauty had brought ruin into at least two families of my acquaintance, I felt so outraged that I was ready for any act of retalia- tion. ‘“‘In my desperation I thought nothing of my- self or my children; for I was then expectin your birth at no distant day. But I resolved a any hazard to cut my husband to the heart (through his pride, for I doubted his love for me), by anticipating him. Before the world knew his faithlessness to me, it should know that I had deserted him. OOo) <€om ‘SS (E