Beadle's Dime Library No. 103 — page 6: what you’re looking at

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

- —— - —_— SE ———————————————————————————eEEEOEEEeee eel ll alata tet et a RT OLA LL ELL LLL LLL AL LLALL LLL ALLA LLL LLL LLL ALA ALL — ee oe —— ———— a 6 Merle, The Mutineer. “pistols as the weapons, and Lance shot him ‘through the heart.’ “Terrible! Oh! how terrible it must be to CHAPTER VII. THE RIVALS. SEVERAL weeks after the arrival of Lance haye one’s life on your hands,” said Helen | Grenville, as he was generally called by his in- Brainard, with a feeling. ** Bat the trag did not end there, Helen; would to God it had; but what followed dwarf- | ed the death of Ferd Darrington, as Lucille, when her father was brought home to her, dead cursed my. poor brother most bitterly, and tha night took her own life—” ‘A fearful sequel!” ‘* A fearful sequel indeed, Helen, and one that well-nigh killed poor Lance; but he struggled against his sorrow for awhile, and then left home, going to sea. “Two years ago, when I was at home on leave, he returned; but only for a week, and now he is in yonder vessel, and its commander for the service he rendered the Mexicans gained him rapid promotion.” ** And does he intend to remain in the Mexi- can service, Arthur?’ ‘No, he writes me that he has resigned his commission, but the Government sent him home in the vessel he had commanded. He says he does not intend to leave home again as a wan- derer, and I hope he will keep his word, for my mother is getting old now, and I am kept away so much he should be near to cheer her old age.” Helen Brainard seemed deeply impressed by all she had heard, and her pee were busy, as her eyes were turned upon the on ag a brig, above the decks of which floated the Mexi- can flag. Six months before Commodore Brainard had ay peer and fitted up the elegant house where e then lived with his beautiful daughter, mak- ing it his retreat when not at sea, and it was here that Helen had first met Arthur Grenville, a young officer upon her father’s vessel—met and loved him, as he had her, and the two were engaged with the consent of the commodore, who greatly admired the youthful lieutenant, and knew that in point of family and wealth he was second to no suitor in the land. Sweeping up into the wind the brig of war lay to, and a boat put off from its side and headed shoreward. ‘“Boat ahoy!” called out Arthur Grenville, in &@ ringing voice. The hail was heard by the one for whom it was intended, and in clear, manly tones came floating back over the waters: ** Ho, the cliff!” “*Tt is Launcelot’s voice; Re I recognize him in the stern-sheets,” cried rthur, eagerly, and raising his voice again, he called out: ‘* Lance Grenville, ahoy! come here!” “* Ay, ay, old fellow!” came back the answer, and the boat’s course was at once changed. At the landing, Arthur Grenville awaited his brother, and from the cliff above, Helen Brain- ard saw spring ashore the most magnificent specimen of manhood she had ever gazed upon. Strangely like his brother in face, he was yet a handsome man, and his form was several inches taller, and his shoulders broader. Though but two years the junior of Arthur, Lance Grenville looked much older, and his face was stern to somberness, and in his eyes was a look of constant sadness. Attired in a stylish uniform, and with his darkly-bronzed face, Helen Brainard half-ut- tered the thought that flashed through her brain as she beheld Lance Grenville coming up the path toward where she stood: ‘“Have [I made a mistake in believing that I loved Arthur?” ‘Helen, this is my wandering brother, Cap- Launcelot Grenville, of the Mexican Navy, come home to be a quiet planter; Lance, this is Miss Helen Brainard, my intended wife, and the sweetest girl on the Gulf shores.” Such was the introduction of the two, and the eyes of the man and maiden met—hers to fall beneath his earnest gaze, and his heart to give a great throb, as his hand clasped the one extend- ed toward bim in greeting. ** Helen, Lance has sent his traps, and his cu- riosities, on home in the boat, and will remain to dinner with your good father and myself, b my invitation, for I wish him to meet the gal- lant old commodore; then he will drive over with me in the evening to the plantation, where I know mother will scold us for not coming sooner; but she’ll forgive us when she knows you kept us.” It was a ager , the quartette who gathered in the dining-hall of the commodore’s mansion that afternoon, and a sumptuous din- ner, washed down by rare wines, with which the old sailor’s cellar was well stored. After dinner the carriage was ordered, and the commodore and Helen drove the brothers over to their home. : | owing what she did of Lance Grenville’s life, Helen Brainard glanced into his face as the vehicle rolled by the deserted mansion of the Darringtons, and beheld his eyes wander over the garden, to where glimmered in the light of the setting sun, a tall column of marble. Well she knew that it arose above the Dar- rington tomb, and the pity in her heart for Lance Grenville was akin to love; a dangerous fecling in a woman’s heart. i | oe timates, Helen Brainard sat in her own room alone, and in deep and painful meditation, for she had confessed to her own heart, that she loved the brother of the man to whom she was engaged. Since his return home, Lance had settled down to a quiet plantation life, and resumed the charge of the Grenville estates. He seemed no longer the restless wanderer, and his mother be- lieved, now, that she would keep him ever near her while she lived. As she sat thus in her room in deep thought, Helen reviewed her meetings with Lance since his coming, and she felt that her love for him was returned, though no word of his had ever iven her cause to feel that he cared for her, other than as the intended bride of his brother; still she read his heart, as often a woman Can, when she is the one adored. Fretted at the mistake she had made, in con- fessing her love for Arthur, with an impatient gesture Helen Brainard arose, and leaving her room, went out for a walk in the lonely grounds, for she needed action to keep off her painful reveries. Mechanically she sought the Meite leading to the rustic arbor on the cliff, and threw herself down ina wicker chair, to gaze out over the sea. ‘ A rosebud for your thoughts, Miss Helen.” The maiden started at the voice, and beheld before her a young man, elegantly dressed, and with a face that would have been very hand- some, had it not been marred by dissipation and recklessness. In his hand he held a red rosebud, which he offered her in payment for the thoughts he had asked to know. Before coming to her present home, Helen had met in New Orleans Rosal Abercrombie, who then stood before her. He had come of good family, but at the death of his father, some years before, he had inherited alarge estate, which his wild extravagances soon swamped in debt, and from him Commo- dore Brainard had purchased the elegant home in which he then lived. With no mother’s influence to guide his early years, for Mrs. Abercrombie had died when her oy was an infant, and reared by his father, a man wholly governed by his son, it was no won- der that Rosal became wild, recklessly extrava- gant and willful, and threw away his inherit- ance without thought of the future. When all was nearly gone, and he was forced to sell his plantation home to pay his debts, Rosal Abercrombie met Helen Brainard, and from the first meeting loved her, and swore she should become his wife. Admiring him much, the maiden had at first seemed to favor his suit; but after her father had purchased of the dissolute youth his home, and she had met Arthur Grenville, she no longer cared for Rosal, who, to do him justice, had iven up his wild life, and upon the wreck of is fortune was living quietly in the village near his former abode. Though he knew that the maiden was the promised wife of Arthur Grenville, Rosal Aber- crombie did not despair of yet winning her, and was wont to often ride over to Landhaven, as the commodore had named his place, to see the ob- ject of his love. ‘*My thoughts were not of interest to you, Mr. Abercombie; but be seated; I am glad you have come to drive them away, for they were not of the pleasantest,” said Helen, quietly. ‘Would that I could ever drive from you that which was unpleasant to you, Helen,” re- marked the young man, earnestly. } ‘‘ Mr. Abercrombie, is this generous, is it hon- orable in you, when you know I am engaged to another?’ ‘Bah! engaged to one man and loving anoth- er,” sneered the young profligate. _ : ‘What mean you, sir? If you intend to in- sult me, my father shall know of your imperti- nence,” and Helen arose to her feet, an angry flush upon her cheeks. “Helen Brainard, sit down! I wish to talk with you. Nay, do not exhibit anger, for, though becoming in a at degree, it is yet out of place with one who loves you as I do, and who would make you his wife,” “So vou have often said, and as often have sidatved my answer: I do not love you, Mr. Abercrombie.” , ‘‘ Still I would have you marry me, Helen.” ‘Yes, you would use me as a stepping-stone, to get back your old home, which you threw away by extravagance.” The man’s brow darkened; but he answered, Soy: ‘No, I would marry you because I love you; had I known you years ago I would not now be what I am. ‘“T love you, Helen, with all my soul, and would have you my wife, even though I be lieved you loved another.” “Your love is hopeless, Rosal,” protested Helen, with some kindness in her tone; and then she added: ‘*T could not commit such a sin as to marry one man and love another.” ‘*Then I suppose Seccn will break your engage- ment with Arthur Grenville?’ ‘What do you mean, sir?” ‘Simply that you love Lance Grenville, though engaged to Arthur.” a gain you insult me, sir, and upon my own and,” ‘* Tf the truth offends, so be it; [ tell you that which you dare not deny, and I would show you a way out of your present difficulty. “IT have read your secret, Helen Brainard, and I have read his secret love for you, and coe hangs like a suspended knife above your ead. ‘Be warned, Helen, and cause not trouble be- tween those two brothers; they are noble fel- lows, yet they are high-strung and passionate and the secret will leak out, and the ereen-eyed monster, jealousy, may make one or the other of them a Cain. ‘* Break with them, Helen, and marry me.” The maiden gazed upon the man before her with a wild look in her eyes and a white face, She knew well that he spoke the truth. And she dreaded that her secret might yet be known and then trouble would come, She had not intended being untrue to Arthur; but it was her intention to keep her pledged word to him, and become his wife, even though Lance Grenville had fascinated her from her love for his brother. Now she felt that her secret, hardly more than admitted to her own breast, was in the pos- session of a reckless man—one whom she felt loved her, and would gain her for his wife by fair means if he could, by foul means if he must. ' It was no wonder then that she turned a fright- ened face toward Rosal Abercrombie, but her tongue would utter no word. ‘*“You have heard me, Helen; in a week I will come for my answer. “See, I offer myself to save you from doing that which may be a great crime. “T offer you my whole love. Iam not yet a beggar, for I have enough to live on, and for you I will work with every energy I possess. Farewell! In one week I will come for my an- swer.” The man turned, walked toward the mansion, and a moment after Helen saw him dash away on horseback, and a deep sigh escaped her lips. _, ‘* Poor Helen!” | The maiden started with a cry of alarm, and\ turned quickly. Before her stood the tall, elegant form of Lance Grenville! He was in hunting costume, buckskin suit, top-boots and slouch hat, and stood leaning upon the muzzle of his rifle. The arbor was divided into three compart- ments—a center one, open seaward and land- ward, and here Helen had been seated when joined by Rosal Abercrombie. Upon either side of this open hall were two small rooms—one used as a smoking and card- room, the other as a reading retreat for warm days. | ta the doorway of the latter now stood Lance Grenville, his dark face stern and ashen, and his somber eyes still more sorrowful. “Pardon me, Helen, for having been an eavesdropper—I was strolling along the beach, shooting water-fowl, became fatigued and came here to rest, Se ce ok to disturb no one. ‘*T dropped off to sleep, lulled by the wash of the waves, and your voices in conversation awakened me, and I would have made my pre- sence known had I not heard that which caused me to remain quiet, for I cared not that Rosal Abercrombie should know I was present. Am I pardoned for eavesdropping?” “Yes: but oh! what have you not heard?’ groaned the unhappy girl. ‘‘T have heard that which would make me ex- tremely happy, were my joy not purchased with my brother’s misery. ‘Did Rosal Abercrombie speak the truth, Helen, when he said you cared for me more than for Arthur?’ ‘* He did.” “You confess it?” “With humiliation, yes.” “Tt is not humiliating to confess one’s love, Helen, for I tell you that I love you with my whole heart, now that the secret is no longer my own. Helen gave a half-cry, as if of joy, of sorrow, and alarm mingled, Before her stood the noble man who had just confessed his love for her. But he drew not nearer to her; his rifle he had leaned against the door, and his arms were fold- ed upon his broad breast. : For a moment a deep and painful silence fol- lowed his words. 4 Then Lance Grenville continued slowly and in his strangely soft tones: “It isa great joy, Helen, to know that you love me, and yet it is a sorrow unspeakable, for it comes from the lips of one who is betrothed to one dearer to me than all other men—my bro- ther Arthur. “For me you feel but a passing fancy, a fas- Eomicbooks mi)