Beadle's Dime Library No. 103 — page 30: what you’re looking at

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

oO —_—_— ‘*T know it, and that shot hits harder than you have any idea, Lou; but we can all preach to others, while our own lives are stained. Never mind; prom- Merle, The Mutineer. When Merton Ainslie entered the room into which he was ushered, to await the coming of the fair oor of the mansion, he glanced searchingly around m { sufficient to pay yourself and crew, and for expen- ses, and I leave all to ae to settle. ‘‘Having accomplished the object of my visit to Vera Cruz, I will remain here to cast my lot with ise me, upon your sacred word of honor, and by the ‘ love you Told. for your mother and sister, that you It was a reception-parlor, and furnished in the | those brave spirits among whom my earlier years will never again drink to intoxication or gamble.” most expensive luxury, containing every article that | were passed. ‘**T swear it, Mert; I have not tasted liquor since I left New Orleans, and I do not feel the need of it now. As for gambling, I have thrown money away at cards that should have bought bread for my mother and sister; but, tell me, Merton Ainslie, where did you find a gold-mine?” It was another random shot that hit home, and the one to whom it was addressed colored and turned away, while he said, pleasantly: Ny gold-mine is in perspective, Lou; you know I have a rich uncle in New York, who is an old bachelor?”’ ‘*That’s so; is the old man in ill-health? I ask from no idle curiosity of course.”’ ‘* A letter, received ere I left, stated he was not in his usual good health, and you know I am his onl heir,’’ and no more was said on the subject then; but, when the yacht let fall her anchor before the cit of New Orleans, Merton Ainslie, after paying o the crew and giving to Louis Chandeleur his theu- sand dollars, found an important letter awaiting him from a New York lawyer. Eagerly he broke the seal and read of the death of his uncle, and that he was his sole heir. “Worth but thirty thousand dollars—subject to my draft in bank—( thought he was worth much more; but, what care I now? **Had it been five times thirty, and I had not de- stroyed those papers, I mndgn have resisted the temptation to— h! it is foolish for me to talk thus; ah! here is an affix to the letter—I read care- ws ter reading what had before escaped his eye, he continued: “This gives me twenty thousand more, if I desire to take that price, cash, for the mansion, and which cannot be worth much more. ‘Yes, I'll write at once, taking the price offered, and now I will not have to touch the jewels for some time; let me see, I must keep my word to Lou, and shall buy a fine brig, give him a half share in it, and make him captain—that will ease my conscience considerably, for I owe it to him, as I intend to give Fidele up, now that Mildred Monteith is my game. ‘**She must only think I had a friendly, no, I'll call it a brotherly, regard for her, and my generosity to her brother will easily make her forget any affection she held for me, for I know she does love me just a little: she has said so.” A few momonts more Merton Ainslie paced the deck of the yacht, and then, all duties having been attended to, he landed and drove to the home of Mil- dred Monteith. As he rung at the massive portal for admission, he muttered: ‘‘Great God! must I meet that woman with a lie on my lips? ‘Yes, the Rubicon is. passed now; I cannot step backward. ‘*Now, Merton Ainslie, smother the pangs of con- science, and put on the mask you must henceforth wear through life—the mask of a man of honor, to hide the heart and face of a criminal. Oh! what will not both man and woman do for love?” The opening of the heavy portal made him start guiltily; but, controlling his emotion, he aryned within the court, and the door closed behind . 70: pita him out forever from a life of true man- He had Proven false, utterly false, to the trust placed in by Merle. CHAPTER XXXVI. SOWING THE WIND. WuHeEN Merton Ainslie promised to aid Louis Chan- deleur, it was no idle boast, for he was anxious to do so, as he always liked the gay youth, and it was his having suggested the wild escapade that had re- sulted in their being dismissed from the navy. Another motive had Merton Ainslie for his friend- ship, and that was the sweet Fidele, the blonde- h , blue-eyed sister of Louis Chandeleur, who, with her mother, lived in a small cottage in the out- skirts of New Orleans. This little cottage with its acre of ground, Jemima, Fidele’s old nurse, Gabriel, the husband of the ne- grees, Blucher the horse, Bossy the cow, and half a undred chickens, were all the worldly possessions that Mrs. Chandeleur could boast of; once it had been different, but the wild career of Louis, his scrapes and extrav ces had dwindled away the inheritance, until the widow and her daughter had come down to the little home near the city; here, | | | i | | could cater to both taste and comfort, for the Mon- teiths had come down from father to son as born millionaires, and Mildred had been the one upon whom at last the golden mantle had fallen. The magnificence of his surroundings almost took his breath away, accustomed as Merton Ainslie had been to move in good society, and he gazed spell- bound upon the broad mirrors in massive frames littering with gold and silver; the gorgeousness of e velvet draperies of the two tall windows @ deux battans, opening upon a balcony that overlooked the rden; the costly girandoles, the ottomans, the fau- id, and the oriental velvet covered lou of blue velvet to match the curtains, and trimmed with gold and silver fringe half a foot deep; the marble pier- tables with their costly porcelain vases, the rare- bound volumes scattered around as if for use and not to be looked at only; the choice and costly paintings hanging from the tinted walls, and many other little elegancies too numerous to particularize caused the visitor to take a solemn oath there an then that he would yet be lord and master over that grand old home. Only one of the cressets in the gold and crystal chandelier was lighted; but it gave light sufficient for Merton Ainslie to take a g view of himself in the full length mirrors, and mentally decide that he was looking his best, the paleness of his face, called up by the daring and dangerous game |he was Pie - ing, but adding more attraction to his decidedly handsome features. Upon the yacht, during the voyage to Havana and back, Mildred had seen in Merton Ainslie, a fine look- ing young sailor, in duck pants, blue shirt and tar- aulin, who was ever most polite and attentive to er, and whom she had heard was brought up a gen- tlemen, and a naval offcer, from which latter posi- tion his crop of “ wild oats,’’ when reaped, had sé cured his dismissal. Now, as she entered the room, she beheld an ele- gantly attired man, with dark, bronzed face and ear- nest eyes, who, with the air of a courtier, came for- ward and bowed before her. Mildred knew the young sailor had gone with Merle, and she extended her hand kindly: ** Welcome back, Mr. Ainslie; Iam glad to see you. Be seated, please.” Merton Ainslie quietly obeyed, and Mildred con- tinued: “IT feel that you have news for me, Mr. Ainslie, from one whom I may say is our mutual friend?” “Miss Monteith!"’ and there was something fore- boding in the calm voice; *“‘ Miss Monteith, I have anlage or you, and from one who was our mutual end.” ‘* Was! dolunderstand aright, sir? Have you, too, turned against Merle Grenville?”’ There was a flash in the eyes that Merton Ainslie did not at all like; but he continued: ‘“*T was as true as steel to Mr. Grenville, dear lady, until he proved his own enemy.” **T do not understand?” faintly said Mildred. **T will explain as well as{can. I left here in the yacht with Mr. Grenville, the last night of carnival, and we ran to Vera Cruz, arriving there at night. “From him I learned that it was his object to se- cure there some important witnesses in his favor but I have since learned that such was not the case.” ‘*Mr. Ainslie, remember well your words, sir—you accuse Mr. Grenville of falsehood,’’ and the sweet voice was threatening. ‘*I make no charges, Miss Monteith. Mr. Grenville left the yacht at Vera Cruz, carrying with him a number of articles which he had gotten in New Or- leans. “He told me he would return in two days, and when the third came round and I saw nothing of him, I set forth in search, leaving Mr. Chandeleur and the crew on the yacht. ‘** After careful search I returned, convinced of one thing—that Mr. Grenville had felt his inability to ive the lie to the charges against him, and had eagued himself with a crew of Mexican buccaneers.”’ Sur. Ainslie, take those words back and I will be our slave. For the love of God, do not tell me that erle Grenville is really the guilty being men call him, and, lost to all honor, has leagued self with irates! I entreat, I h you, Merton Ainslie take back your words!” and the beautiful gir dropped upon her knees before the man, and stretch- ed forth her jeweled hands, “Rise, Miss Monteith! This is not your place. I should kneel to you, never you to me. ‘Would to God I could retract what I have said,” he cried, earnestly, and he meant it, for the deep grief of the maiden moved him strangely. **It is true then?” ‘Thus let me die before the world—a cruel world that will brand me ever now as mutineer, deserter and pirate. ** So let it be—I am content. “Within an inner compartment of my desk you will find a ring—a solitaire diamond, set in a band of solid red gold. ‘Take this ring to Miss Mildred Monteith, Rue St. Louis, New Orleans, and tell her this is a souvenir of Freelance, the Buccaneer, and his son, Merle, the Mutineer. ‘Should we meet on the rolling blue waves, Ains- lie, for you are a sailor, I will remember you as you carry out my injunctions with this ring and the yacht—obey, and the black folds of my flag shall never cast shadow on you; fail me, and I will hunt you to the end of the earth—ay, to the nethermost abyss of hell. ** MERLE, THE OUTLAW.” This very peculiar epistle Merton Ainslie had con- cocted from what he had found in the papers sent to Mildred, wherein he had told her that he was the son of Freelance the Buccaneer, to whom the ring had belonged, and which he had inherited from his fa- ther along with the necklace, anchor and dirk. enone more than this of his past, Merle had not made own, Carefully did the young man watch the maiden as she slowly read the reg letter; but her face was emotionless; save for its marble-like ‘paleness it would be thought she did not suffer. “The ring, if you please, Mr. Ainslie,”’ He quietly handed it to her, and she placed it upon her marriage-finger. “It is exceedingly handsome; the finest stone I ever ~-xf and I have occasionally seen Mr. Grenville wear it. “He had it on the night of the dai masque, I recall ow. [thank you, Mr. Ainslie, from my heart I thank you, for all you have done for me, and I am going to beg that what has occurred may never pass your ‘Never! I shall hold all inviolate, Miss Mon- teith.”’ ‘* Again I thank you; this ring I will keep and wear—the stone will keep me in mind of how hard a man’s heart may be, and how adamantine a woman's pres fi become. at! going? Come and see me ag ” Merton Ainslie gaan the little hand in partin and left the mansion. Once out in the street he muttered: “That is over, and well done too. Hang me! she took the ring! i expected she would it under her feet, or refuse to touch it: but, never mind, I have plenty left, and I'll get it back when she’s my wife, for I had a failing for that stone. “How cool she was too! did not seem to care. Well, women are curiosities in petticoats,” and he walked gayly along, not knowing that Mildred had fallen her full length upon the velvet carpet as soon as his back was turned, and then lay unconscious in her beautiful room. n CHAPTER XXXIX. THE CALM BEFORE THE STORM. Some weeks after the visit of Merton Ainslie to Mildred Monteith, Mrs. Chandeleur and Fidele sat in the cosey sitting-room of their cottage pen to- ether of the absent Louis, from whom they had not eard for several months. The mother was a tall, slender, sad-eyed woman of fifty, with the seal of disease stam upon her face, for she was slowly fading away, though neither she nor her daughter suspected it. Fidele was a fairy-like little beauty, with a face of sunshine that was often like an April sky, as clouds of snow swept over it. There was a look of. resolution in her mouth, and an intensity of sion in her dark-blue eyes, which at times were almost black. Her figure was petite, and well-formed, and her dress fitted her to perfection—a creamy lawn, made . with her own hands. At her side stood an easel and upon it was a half- finished portrait, which was near enough completed to recognize the original as being Merton Ainslie. ‘*T wish Merton would return, mother, for well as I know his face, there are some lines I do not recall about the mouth!”’ The widow looked up and smiled; to finish the por- trait was not the only reason Fidele desired the re- turn of Merton—she wished him ever by her. with the aid of the needle of the mother, and _paint- Mildred sp quickly to her feet and faced him ‘* He will soon be back, I hope, Fidele, for I long to brush of Fidele, who was no mean artist, the two | —deadly pale, her bosom heaving, but perfectly | see if he cannot find out for us where Lotis is; I barely secured acomfortable living, while the scape- | calm am really anxious about bim,”’ said the mother, Sainte Louis; so the _ his card. ace son and brother spent his days in riotous liv- ing, and short cruises to get wine and card-money. ore going with Captain Grenville upon the yacht, Merton Ainslie had held a position as super- cargo of a New Orleans and Havana ket, and when in the former always passed his evenin at the co e home of the widow, and, try to dis- e it as he would in his own mind, he had loved dele, and the two were CEAge- hrough the kind word of a friend his destiny led him on board the yacht, and before the brilliant beauty of Mildred Monteith, the sweet face of Fidele faded away. , Still the young man might have been true to his first / ove not the terrible temptation beset him after he left Merle in Vera Cruz, and carried back with him an immense fortune in precious stones. Before the flashes of these, and under the remem- brance of Mildred’s beauty, added to an almost cer- tainty that his deed would never be discovered, Merton Ainslie fell from grace. When he entered the portal of the Monteith man- sion, he asked for Mildred. She wasin and alone, Captain Grenville and his wife having returned to the plantation, and Wilber Sebastian had taken up his quarters at the Hotel tor was told, and he sent up Ne LLL LLL LL LLL LLL LLL LLL LL LLL RRL tt ttt aa | “ Itis true; I tracked him to the rendezvous of the irates, and dis ising myself as one of the band, I iscovered that he had already sailed with a picked crew to Havana, for the purpose of stealing away the beautiful Cuban maiden, whom he had served years before, and who loved him deeply—I refer to the one who aided his escape from the Mord. “It was said that he intended to bring her back with him as Queen of the Buccaneers, “Upon returning to the yacht at Vera Cruz, I found this note are me,” Merton Ainslie drew frotn his pocket a crumpled note, and handed it to the maiden, IF nro ae it Sg bon a a curl of rego est upon her re w appeared e hand ridin of Merle; ~ “Mr. MERTON AINSLIP, * Yacht Snow Cloud, “Vera Cruz Harbor : ‘“*Str:—Return in the yacht to New Orleans, and report to Captain Grenville, if there; if not, run round the Balize to his plantation home and there leave the vessel, or do as he orders, for, from the re- ception of this note, you are no longer under my command. **In an inner drawer of my desk you will find gold “And so am I, ma mere; I do wish Lou would OR his wild life, and become a true man, as he can ‘‘ Speak of the Devil and his imps will appear.” The voice was cheery, and both recognized it, be- fore Louis Chandeleur darted into the room, kissed his — and gave his sister half-a-dozen loud smacks, ‘That smacks of the sea, hey, sis? Well, Iam glad to get home,”’ and the truant threw himself down into an easy-chair, and then, for the first time in his life open yep the thin face and sickly pallor of his mother, “Tt is I that have done this! Well, all is over now,” he mentally ejaculated, and his face wore a smile that those, who so fondly loved him, had not seen there for several years. The change for the better in Louis Chandeleur was poste’ startling; his face was bronzed by thesea, _ u t then its bloated and red look had gone, and the eyes were bright and clear. He was dressed in an undress half-uniform suit of dark blue, and wore a cap with a gold cord across the visor, while his diamond anchor breastpin, presented to him by the crew of the brig-of-war on which he had been a middy, for saving the life of a seaman— glittered in his immaculate shirt-front, and his wateh- — = ai 2 = —_ . 4 =— TP time CONNIE DOO KES A(6O ia