Beadle's Dime Library No. 103 — page 7: what you’re looking at

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

Merle, ‘The Mutineer. Se cination that will fade away as soon as I am oné from here, and your noble breast will go Back to its first allegiance, and you will wonder how it could bave strayed into forbidden fields, ‘* But, once again, ere I leave you, Helen, let my ears drink in the sweet words, and my heart clasp close this phantom love; tell me you love me, and if it were not for Arthur, that you would be my wife.” ‘I love you, Lance Grenville,” aely said the maiden, advancing toward him. But he held her off, and said in a low voice: “No; your lips are sacred to him. If my bro- ther were to die I would claim you then, but not while he lives. “Helen Brainard, farewell forever.” Quickly the strong man turned, and walked away down the cliff path, and, her heart wrung with anguish, Helen Brainard threw herself up- on the floor, and leaning upon the wicker chair buried her face in her hands. CHAPTER VIII. CAIN ACCURSED. SopsinG bitterly, Helen Brainard remained | is white now, and ere long you will s0me time in her perfect abandon of grief. Then she started, for a light touch fell upon her shoulder. ‘‘ Ah, Lance,” she burst forth, ‘‘I knew that you would not leave me thus.” ‘“‘It is not Lance, Helen.” With a bound, like an enraged lioness, Helen Brainard was upon her feet. Before her stood Arthur Grenville! _ ‘* You! you have heard my words, sir?’ she said, savagely. “T behold you here in great grief, Helen. Your father told me I would find you here, and I heard you speak the name of my brother in strange tones. His rifle stands there, and I saw him going up the beach, a moment since. <9 What does it all mean, Helen?’ The maiden made no reply, and after a mo- ment Arthur Grenville continued: ‘* I will speak for you, Helen, and not in anger will I say a word. ** You will remember when we stood together here, and awaited the coming of my brother?” ‘* Yes,” broke from the white lips. “Then I told you, half in earnest, for I seemed to feel a presentiment of coming evil, not to fall in Love with Lance. ‘Shall I tell you, Helen, that I have lately seen that such has been the case? » Yes, Helen, you love my brother, and not me. Still the maiden uttered no word, and the man went on: i Deeg ore this aie to oo my en- gagement with you, an say “Dy No, no, no, Ps not leave me, achar?” groan- ed the unhappy girl. ‘Yes, I intended to rejoin my ship at once. and beg to be sent cruising in the southern wa- ters after buccaneers, and never to return, until ou were the wife of Lance Grenville, for 1 know ow well you two love each other.” “No, no, Arthur! I do not love him; you only do I love, and I swear it. - “ My regard for him was adoration—fascina- ion. ‘You mistake, Helen; you love Lance, as he does you, and our engagement is at an end. ‘‘ Henceforth you are but as a sister to me.” _ The maiden stretched forth her hands beseech- ingly toward him, and her lips moved; but no word came from them—her heart was almost breaking with the intensity of her feelings. ‘‘Helen, I dare not touch your hand; I dare not—yes, for this once only, and it is my fare- well to love.” Springing forward he seized her in his strong arms—pressed her an instant to his breast, kiss- ed her lips once, twice, thrice, and then turned away; turned away, not seeing that she had sunk in a heap upon the floor of the arbor, wholly unconscious, With rapid steps Arthur Grenville sought the mansion, sprung upon his waiting horse, and dashed swiftly away, just as the sun went down in the blue waters of the : hour after sunset, Lance Grenville return- ed to his elegant home, where his mother was awaiting tea for him. He looked pale and haggard, and glancin anxiously into his stern face, his mother inquir if he were ill. ‘No, mother; bodil heart and brain are terly. : “My poor, poor boy,” said the fond mother, remembering how he had suffered in the past, after the death of Colonel Darrington by_his hand, and the suicide of poor Lucille. “ Mother!” “Well, Launcelot?’ almost frightened at voice, , “ Tt is useless trying; I cannot remain here; I will leave home once more.” ; ** Not soon, I trust, Launcelot?” said the mo- ther, her heart sinking with dread. “4 ‘Yes, to-morrow; ay, to-night—within the hour,” he announced, earnestly. “ And whither would you go, my son?” I am all right; but ering,” he answered, bit- and Mrs. Grenville was the tone of her son’s | | flying from the cruel memories that haunted | CC LLL LLL Tt | | I used?” spo | ‘‘ Anywhere, everywhere! back to Mexico, ** He is, sir.” and in take command of a cruiser. , ““Who killed him?” ae a a ey sail to-night for New Orleans “ ry ae on soo we a . with marke ‘“* IT! why sho ill poor ur ‘Yes put” os Captain Grenville,” and the sheriff approach- “Then I shall go with him; I will at once pack my trunk, so please send word not to let the lug: er sail without me.” ‘But you will miss seeing Arthur?’ said Mrs. Grenville, trying by some ruse to detain him if ed, cautiously: ‘‘ Captain Grenville, Iam very sorry, sir, but itis my duty, sir, to arrest you upon the charge of murder, and I must iron you, as already we know how violent you can be.” The head of the proud man dropped on his{ she could. breast, and a deep groan broke from his lips, as ‘* He went over to Landhaven, I suppose?” he stood a moment in silence. "Yes, Lance.” Then he said, calmly, facing his accusers, and ‘* Then he will not return until late: bid him good-by for me,” and the unhappy man left the tea-room., In an hour’s time he returned, dressed for itd a and accompanied by a negro servant bearing his trunk. | Sorrowing for her son, whom she believed was holding his wrists together: ‘* Do your duty, sir.” The manacles were c upon his wrists, and the party set off for the mansion. As they ascended the broad steps of the piazza another deep sorrow fell upon the prisoner—a | sorrow almost greater than he could bear. | At the door a servant met him, and from his him when at home, Mrs. Grenville bade him | lips broke the words: farewell with many tears, and entreaties not to | ** Massa Lance, your poor mother am dead.” remain long away from her. “Dead! my mother dead, too?’ ‘Tam getting old fast, Lance; He spoke like one in his sleep. ‘* Yes, sah: when de gemmans comed an’ tule mother. her‘how you had kill Massa Art’ur, den she lay ‘“* The sorrows I have had, have left their im- | down on de sofa an’ die,” said the old ne , the ress here,” and she laid her hand upon her | factotwm of the Grenville mansion, when his eart. | young masters were little boys. ‘*If you remain away long, my son, you will With a groan from his inmost heart, Launce- find no welcome from me upon your return, for | lot Grenville sunk down in a chair, and buried I will be sleeping yonder,” and she pointed to a | his face in his manacled hands. grove of trees at the other end of the garden, where, for generations, the Grenvilles had been CHAPTER IX. A STRANGE COMPACT. laid in their last resting: place. ‘‘If you die, mother, I shall never return ‘“*T HAVE come for my answer, Helen.” Helen Brainard sat alone in thesea-view arbor home; you are the only anchor that I have to hold me here,” and he drew his mother toward | on the cliff, and her eyes were looking fixedly out over the sunlit waters of the Gulf, thoug him, imprinted a kiss upon the silver hair and was gone. they apparently saw nothing, as she seemed lost With quick, heavy step he walked down to- | in bitter thought. ward the landing, a few hundred yards distant, Her face was blanched, her eyes deep-sunken, followed by the servant bearing his traps. and her haggard looks proved that she had suf- At a small pier lay a lugger, a plantation | fered, in the week that had passed, since she trading-boat, the sails up, and the negro crew, | last sat in that arbor, and was left there in a of three men, awaiting his coming. deep faint by Arthur Gren ville. **'Well, Dave, I am to be your passenger to| Like a lightning stroke, the news had come New Orleans.” upon her, that Arthur Grenville was dead, and ‘So missis sent word, massa, an’ I has had | that his brother was his murderer! the cabing fixt up as nice as possible,” said the | For days she had lain in a kind of demi-stupor, black skipper, politely, then he added: “TI’se conscious, yet esc | no word; but at last she it to see you goin’ away so soon, sah.” had left her room, and, to her father’s delight, ‘I must go, Dave; but I will remain on deck, | had joined him at breakfast that very morning, on a blanket, if I care to sleep, for the night is | a week from the day of the murder. too beautiful to go into the cabin,” and Lance | As though determined to shut out the past, Grenville glanced out over the moonlit waters, | she had gone about her duties with a quiet man- for a full moon rode in the cloudless heavens. ner, for she was her father’s housekeeper, and ‘* Are you ready now, Dave?” then she sat-down to the piano and idly ran her ‘* Yes, sah, if you is, massa.” fingers over the keys; but the air she started, “Then cast off, for I am most anxious to be | drifted off into a dir , and seizing her unfinish- away,” impatiently said Lance Grenville, and | ed novel, she walked out toward the arbor. = ugger was slowly swung round to catch the But not to read, for bitter memories thronged r eeze. upon her, and her face soon became as cold as ‘* Hold on there with that craft! put back to | marble; but in her eyes dwelt a strange licht. the wharf, or I will fire on you!” ‘*T have come for my answer, Helen.” The words were loud and determined, and is- The maiden did not start; she knew who ad- sued from the lips of a horseman, who dashed | dressed her, and she said, quietly: down to the pier, followed by a score of com- ‘*T am glad you have come, Mr. Abercrom- panions, also mounted. | bie; [ wish to talk with you.” see, my hair have no ‘Put back, Dave; you have not been stealing, | A bright look crossed the man’s face, and en- I pe said Lance Grenville, calmly. _ tering the arbor he seated himself upon a settee, ** No, sah; but dat am de new sheriff, sah, sar- | «Brom my heart I pity you, Helen.” tin.” In another moment the lugger was again | alongside 2h and Lance Greenville sprung ashore, and asked, sternly: “Of what has “Do you?” was the calm reply. ‘Indeed I do; it came so soon, so unexpected- _ ly upon you.” ‘You are without a rival now?’ It was half-assertion, half a question, and there was a sneer in her tone. ** Yes; one dead, and one in prison and as well as doomed—this is why [ came to beg you to let me have the right to comfort you in your ton, laying his hand upon the arm of the young | Sorrow | man. | ; d my servant been guilty, gen- tlemen, that you come after him, frlousihed and armed?” “Tt is not your servant we are after, Captain Grenville, but yourself,” answered sheriff Wins- “The world need not know; only give me the ‘‘Indeed! of what am I accused?” sneeringly | promise that you will become my wife. I told demanded Lance Grenville. I you I would return in one week, and, thou ‘* You are guilty of as base a crime as—” ew your sorrow was overwhelming, I have The man said no more, for a blow, fair in the | come.’ face, laid him his length upon the ground. The man pleaded earnestly, and his voice “Hold! Lance Grenville, you cannot escape,” | trembled. and a dozen pistols were leveled upon him. After a silence of a moment, Helen said: “I seek not to escape; I but punished one who ‘“*T am glad you have come, for I would learn said I was guilty of a base crime; of what am I | from you all about this cruel murder.” ACC ‘“From me! Why, did not your father tell He turned haughtily upon those who confront- you all?’ asked Rosal, in rise. ed him. ‘He told me that Arthur Grenville had fallen ‘Then one dismounted and stepped toward | by the hand of his brother; that was all I then him ; it was Rosal Abercrombie. cared to know. Now I will hear all from you.” ance, my poor friend, the charge against ‘*T will make known all that I can tell of the you, 1S & severe one, and I trust it can be proven | sad affair, Helen, in which, unfortunately, I was alse. | forced to take a too conspicuous part.” i Name it, sir.” wr ‘* You!” and the eyes turned earnestly upon ** Murder.” : his face. , ate “Murder! Who have I murdered?’ andLance | “‘ Yes; the word first canie to me of the mur- ke half-earnestly, half-laughingly. der.” we “ Your brother, Arthur !” | “T am listening,” as Rosal Abercrombie As the last name issued from the lips of Rosal paused, Abercrombie, the hand of Launcelot Grenville was upon his throat, and he was hurled back with a force that nearly stunned him. ‘Liar! wretch! you dare make that charge against me?” ‘“‘ Well, yon know I left you here, the other afternoon, and I rode down the beach to the cabin of old Beal, the fisherman, intending to engage him and his craft for a day’s sport. rap , I did not find Beal at home, and on return- _ It isa severe charge, Captain Grenville, and | ing met him, just after dark, a mile from here, it remains with you to prove it untrue,” saidan | at the White Cliff, and he held in his hand a old planter, coming forward. dark object, which he informed me was a coat. Arthur, my brother, Arthur dead?” “I took it, and by the bright moonlight rec- mie <SicO JOO (E(0)