Beadle's New York Dime Library, No. 104 — page 15: what you’re looking at

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

Montezuma, the Merciless. FN am a a a ree er eae rng anata Re RE AAR EE ERE ES LT I c% the sea, the object came on, until, by a break- er, it was hurled upon the white shore; and roll- ed to the feet of the Nubian. With a cry he sprung toward it, and bent down. it was a human form, the face bruised by the waves, the clothing half torn from the po? ith a cry of rage, the Nubian placed his hand over the heart. “It is still; he has no life, but I will make gure His face is strange to me. Valik goes back fifty years in memory, and he never saw this man before. : ‘* He belongs not here on the treasure isle. He came to rob my mighty master, and Valik’s knife must be true—it must seek his heart, for dead men sometimes come to life; but he shall not. As the Nubian spoke he drew his long blade from his sash, poised it one instant above the eee heart and brought it down with terri- le force, straight into the unguarded side. There came no quiver of the frame, no con- traction of the muscles—the man was dead ere he was hurled upon the beach by the cruel sea. en in mad glee the Nubian again danced by oe the sands, waving his blood-stained knife above his head. “The Vishnu’s eye smiles on Valik,” he shout- ed, several timesin his hoarse tones, and the man seemed turned into a erpte; Rae ttn Suddenly he stopped, and fixed his eyes again upon the sea, ‘“‘There were two of them; the other will china and their blood will mingle on my knife- nt. vane ha! the Vishnu will again smile on Then another dark object upon the wild wa- ters caught his . It was coming shoreward as the other had done—now lost to sight, now in full view. earer and nearer it came, until upon a break- er it was dashed ashore. A human form; but not dead ! The half-drowned man essayed to rise, stag- gered and fell. ith a bound, and a burst of wild laughter, | Ma was upon him—his blood-stained knife in an Dragging aside the Mexican dacket and shirt, to give his knife fair play, Valik poised the blade in mid-air. aa the jeweled dagger fell from his hand, the trig ing itself deep in the sand and not in e heart for which it was intended. Then a wild shriek broke from the Nubian’s —- oe and Lieutenant Otis Alden; both are still vam- pires u Wilber Sebastian, who allows them a regular sum each year. Both have married since.the reader last met them. Lucien Bethune espoused a widow—for her money, and found that she knéw well how to hold the purse-strings, and he is compelled to be content with what she doles out to him. Otis Alden wedded’a young girl—for her money; but her father was a tor, blew out his brains, and left a mere pittance when he was supposed to be a millionaire. Another is Louis Chandeleur, a wealthy pny ing merchant, who has grown stout and - aced, and left the sea for the quiét of an el t home! though fond of the club and gay ty, he never drinks, excepting a glass of noyeaw at times, or gambles. At a small gilt table, with a bottle of cham- gne, sandwiches and sweet biscuit before hem, are three other gentlemen. : The old gentleman with white hair and mus- tache, a military air, and a piercing eye) is Captain Arthur Grenville, and at his left sits a dark-faced, handsome man, once an offcer of marines in the Spanish navy, but for a number of years past a banker in New Orleans. Upon his face rests a troubled look, and he is listening earnestly to the remarks of an elderly gentle- man seated near him—Mr. Rosal Abercrombie, the senior partner of the banking-house of Aber- crombie, Sebastian & Co. Suddenly all eyes fall, as if by m traction, upon a tall form that enters the salon and, approaching the bar, calls for a bottle of c e “Will monsieur be seated, or have it opened here?’ asked the polite bar-tender. “*I will drink it here, merci,” he replied, in tic at- the purest French. ‘ho he ‘was none knew, and ‘they almost rudely ach with the one ) enya upon him, eac thought that a dsomer face and form they had never seen. The. airenger was tall, most graeeful in eve motion, and commanding in appearance, while his feet and hands were extremely small and ax so 4 pon the former were exquisitely made pa- tent-leather boots, and white gloves of the finest kid he drew from his hands and laid upon the marble bar, alongside of a small ratan cane in the gold ‘head of which flashed a diamond of remarkable size, yet not as large as-a stone of the same kind set in a ring he wore on the little finger of his left hand. | attire was certainly in the very best taste for a walking suit, and of the finest material—a a 15 has come here to live, I heard; I know that two large ships with his slaves and effects, followed the yacht into port, and are» now anchored in the river. wT ‘Going to live here, ishe?’ I must look him pi and make his acquaintance, for a depositor of his magnitude would be a gold. mine in a banking-house,” laughed Wilber Sebastian, .. “* He is in the hotel now—came up from his yacht last night, and has the best suite of rooms in the house—those elegant apartaments that look out upon the Rue Royale— Begone! you accursed beggar.’ | | The last part of Dr. Bethune’s remarks. were addressed to a pauvre diable of a man whovhad asked him for alms, 7 His emaciated frame, ragged habiliments and haggard face proved that he was indeed an ob- ject worthy of charity. Once his coat had re- joiced in two skirts, but one tattered one .alone remained, but half-hiding a peasnoes patcl in the seat of his trowsers, while his knees were bare, his elbows out, and his feet incased in is el time worn shoes that showed he had no socks. The luxury of linen he knew not, and his coat was buttoned up to his neck, to hide. this: de-. ficiency in his wardrobe; in..fact. a.m thorough tatterdemalion never. walked | streets. | + Had he worn a mask, it. being Carnival, the attire would have seemed apropos to the occa- sion; but he wore no mask, aud his face, stamped with gentility and refinement, poverty had not ayes from him, was now pitiable im its dis- ess, “ Monsieur, for the love of God, I ask your aid—I am a stranger in PAs city—was knocked down, robbed, became ill and am now sick and destitute.” : ) There was something in the man’s manner that carried conviction with his words, and sev- eral hands went into pockets at once; but Lucien Bethune, sordid, cruel and angry at. being in- terrupted, turned, raised his ra cane, and dealt the wretched being a smart rap across the face that caused him to stagger backward. “For shame! Bethune!” cried a dozenrvoices, among them gentlemen unknown to the reader, and who had witnessed the cruel, cowardly act. But, ere others could speak, a tall form glided in between the poor beggar and his assailant, and in a deep, yet clear voice was heard: ‘* Monsieur, you are a coward to strike sucha creature as that.” | Every man in the salon who had been sitting at the table sprung to. his feet, and all crowded forward, for they felt some strange, scene must pel as Lucien Bethune was feared as a most Fe Ee <a, ee oe ee oe ee pen Res bowing his head down to the earth, he aul tattoo of the Red Anchor covers his “Oh, my master, Valik isthy slave.” Butno word came from the clenched teeth of the man po lay before him—he was unconscious—or sack coat of black silk velvet, with gold buttons, a vest of the same material, and white doe-skin A. soft slouch hat, of grayish h m his 3) ue was u | héadand ta bis cilfe were diamond: salithire buttons, the stones matching the one in the cane and in’ his’ shirt-front burned a single ruby of | rare size and blood-red brilliance | | us man by all who knew him. .He prided | himself as a duelict, and had shot down several antagonists without compunction, besides; he } was a large man, and few cared to measure strength with him. The one who had so suddenly come: to the 1 rescue of the poor wretch was the elegant i ) ; stranger, who had attracted such universal ad- But, most remarkable of all about this striking- | re are and he now quietly confronted Doe- looking man, was his face; it was as white as _ tor Bethune, a smile upon his handsome tace, i mares andthe skin as pure as an infant’s, | A few paces off, now forgotten, was the poor ) CHAPTER XVII. MONTEZUMA. while the teeth were perfect and white as snow, | fellow who had been the cause of the trouble, AFTER a lapse of many years, kind reader, I Each feature was faultless and strongly mark- | wiping with his tattered hat the blood from: his | again bring the scenes of my story to New | ed, the chin being massive, and nose straight, | face, for the ratan had cut deep. } } leans—the Paris of the West Hem here. | and the brow broad and intellectual. White, as a corpse, and trembling with fury, ) {n the gorgeous saloon of the Cufe Bourse Ais hair was black, waving, and fell upon his | Lucien Bethune drew himself up and cried: | beneath the Hotel Saint Louis, were thered | coat collar, while a dark silken mustache curled “What did I understand yov to say, mon- | séveral of gentlemen, engaged in ani- | out over each shoulder, the ends being extreme- | sieur ?” ay. | mated conversation, and the pleasurable occu- | ly long; but his were the most remarkable | “That you are a coward—such you have just tion yor sipping *sherry-cobblers,” ‘mint- | features—intensely black, barning in | ‘proven ourself.” | leps,” i champagne, and other popular | brightness, and yet within ‘them dwelt anex- The deep voice was calm, yet strangely dis- | See: ression of touching sadness, as if inspired by | tinct, and the smile yet hovered upon the lips. | Some were seated at small gilt tables, with | haunting memories of a somber and imbittered expected wine and biscuit before them, and others were | past. standing in front of the marble “ bar,” which Cal he sipped his iced champagne, seem- extended for sixty feet along one side of the sa- ingly wholly unconscious of the admiration and a lon. | ntion he. attracted, and occasionally speak- Among these latter were noticeable several ing pleasantly to the bar-tender upon some ordi- faces well known to the readers of this romance. nary topic. 7” i The gentleman carelessly leaning upon the iad he been poring 2 the following conver- . bar with one arm, a glass of champagne at his | sation would have reached bis ears: that does not help this poor fellow, and I am de- “T say, Sebastian,” said Doctor Bethune, “I | termined that be s return the blow you so | cruelly gave him.” | upon his insulter then and there, or shoot him in ve tracks, for he was known to always go armed, But they were mistaken. He merely said:. ! . to see Lucien Bethune spring t! . “You shall answer for this with your life, rT. ‘“At any time and place you desire, sir; but elbow, and Serar dh some amusing anecdote of ) the day—for it is Carnival time, and the streets | haye some news for you—Montezuma has ar- ’ : are crowded with grotesque forms and masked | rived in town.” Lucien Bethune started back—his face becom- faces—is Don Felipe Cosala, at one time the “Montezuma” cried several voices, while ing a deadlier hue, and he dropped his hand Monte Prince of Mexico, but now supposed to Captain Sebastian asked: _ E08 his pistol-pocket. | be a Mexican of immense wealth, who, with his “Do you mean that Mexican Prince, who. he found himself | has been setting the capitals of the old world | ut, ere he could move, beautiful wife, has made his home in New Or- seized with a power be did not believe mortal * leans, where ais rank and riches have gained | crazy with his wealth and magnificence?” man : his arms were in a vise. of t him entree to the aristocratic society Of the othe game: he gave Tandon: Paris, and St. | brass, it seemed, and he was held against the t city. Petersburgh a view of his imperial self, and out- | marble bar as though he were a mere ‘child, ! Though now in an old man, his form is | shone even Fhe ee in his magnificence.” | while the stern voice of the stranger said: as erect as ever, his step as quick, and his face “Perhaps Don Felipe ean us who he is?’?! ‘Come here, my man, and return the blow does not show that he has passed his fortieth | said Brainard Abercrombie. | he gave you—take my ratan,” and he allowed the diamond-studded cane to fall ar; crime and age have not silvered his black “i ‘‘T made inquiries some months since, when I _ air, nor dimmed ah go of his eyes, and ! saw that a Mexican was astounding Europe his arm. the same courtly grace of old hangs to him; as'| with his wealth and extravagant living, and I But the r fellow hung back, th he he talks to those around him. learned that he is from somewhere in the moun- | picked up the cane, and replied in a trem At his right, sipping a mint-julep, is Captain | tains of my country, and isa direct descendant voice: ‘ Wilber Sebastian, the leading danker o of the Montezumas. “TI do not care to strike him, sir.” the city, and the junior pertuer, of his firm—Brai- ‘* He owns vast estates, and’ a score of silver nard Abercrombie—is 2t his side, a handsome | ** He must be pi ge a lesson, and others,’ too, mines, it is said, and from them comes his fa- i who would deal w our class as be has done. : oung man of thirty, but with a rove air that | bulons income; thisis all that I could learn re- | One thousand dollars if you strike him.” 4 he Gamistakable, arding him; you say he is in New Orleans, _This offer created the wildest excitement, and ‘As upon Don Felipe, age has dealt tightly with Bethune?” was Don Felipe’s reply regardinga several stepped forward, as though to aid Wilber Sebastian, and he is yet among the | man whose name had been upon every aristo- Lucien Bethune, who was wholly unable to gayest of the gay in his club. eratic tongue in Europe for a year. , move; but there was something in the ae wo others present are Dr. Lucien Bethune ‘Yes, he arrived last night in his yacht, and lips and burning eyes of the magnificent COMMGEOOOKS. COTE