Beadle's New York Dime Library, No. 104 — page 2: what you’re looking at

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

Montezuma, the Merciless. inheritance from his uncle, and there had been no occasion for him to touch the jewels—they = —- intact. ut in his room he was often wont to go to his desk, touch a secret spring that pant a or hm pe eae o> Age rare treasures—the ‘diamond necklace—the rub h gem-studded dirk. een As he thus waited until the hour of his visit he again went to his desk and dragged forth his treasures, Presently a youth entered noiselessly, as he bo Seeemening re was his wont, half aloud, and threw himself down: upon. th the martle. 7s =a Merton Ainslie saw him, yet took no notice of 1 — A Sequel to * Merle, the Mutineer. a Some said she lovied Wilber Sebastian; others, that Mertom Ainslie. was her favorite: which was the favored one let the sequel show, And poor Fidele? Alasf the shadow of death had crossed the tiireshold of the little cottage, and Chan- | de,leur had been borne from the rooftree to the cen ctery, leaving her children to bitterly | mou?’ her loss. With success and ho,ve Louis Chandeleur had | returned from his South American cruise, to | find his mother buried', and his sister and the | two old servants alone the occupants of the cot- tage. And Mert! wherwis he, Fidele?’ BAd) Rights of Dramatization Reserved by the Author.] Montezuma, the Merciless; The Eagle and The Serpent. A ROMANCE OF STRANGE MYSTERY. BY COL. PRENTISS INGRAHAM, AUTHOR OF ‘“‘ MERLE THE MUTINEER,” “ FRYE LANCE, THE BUCCANEER,” “ THE FLYING YANKEE,” ETC., ETC. CHAPTER I. REAPING THE WHIRLWIND. A YEAR has gone by since my hero, in the foregoing romance of ‘‘Merle the Mutineer,” left the yacht at Vera Cruz, and in that time ehanges have come to many who have figured in the pages of the story that precedes this one. The gay city of New Orleans had made addi- tions to its aristocratic society, in the person of Merton Ainslie, who had appeared like a meteor in the social firmament, and was said | to be worth everything from one hundred thousand dollars to a million; then came Mr. Abercrombie, wife, and young son, who lived in elegant style in the most fashionable rt of the city; after these were Captain Arihey Grenville, wife, and baby boy. The | latter family were also classed among the | wealthy nabobs, and their house was the resort | of the ultra fashionables, for Mrs. Grenville had a way of drawing around her the creme de la | creme of the elite. nade het forget her grief at parting with her The grand old house on Rue St. Louis, still held as its occupant Mildred. Monteith, tae reigning belle and.acknowledged ‘‘ best.match ” in the city of New Orleans, ever noted for its beautiful heiresses. She seemed a shadow graver in manner than of yore, and yet her eyes sparkled as brightly» and her brilliant beauty and wit were thead- miration of her friends, Shortly after the cee np erage Merle, Mil- dred’s old guardian had been called to that ‘‘ far country from whose bourn no traveler re- turns,” and the maiden held her fortune and herself in her own hands. Suitors she had by the four-score-and-ten; but two were more urgent than others in their at- tentions, and seemingly more sincere in their devotion. These two were Merton Ainslie, the new so- ciety meteor, who hovered around the maiden, as a moth around a candle, willing|to singe his wrinngy. figurativel speakin , bis hopes in reality, if he could but be near the flame. The other was Captain Wilber Sebastian, or rather ex-captain, for after a few wonths’ cruise in his sloop-of-war, he had resigned his commission, and, returning to New Orleans, had settled down to a siege of Mildred’s heart, in which his strongest ally was his sister Estelle. Wilber Sebastian had sold Darrington Lodge for a good round sum in cash, to some exiled French nobleman, throwing in the bones of his kindred—that is, the family burying-ground, which is found upon nearly all large plantations in the Gulf States. The money derived from the salsa, with other cash accumulations, Sebastian had put into the ening business, forming a copartnership with Rosal Abercrombie under the name of ‘* ABERCROMBIE & SEBASTIAN, ‘* Bankers & Brokers.” It was not long before this financial venture proved a success, and the two bankers saw gold- mines ahead of them, and Wilber Sebastian felt, when the master of the Monteith estates, be would be a prince among men, as far as magnet | went. And he had strong hopes of this same estate falling into his hands, for, since Merle had, by his acquiescence in the charges made against him, by silence, and rushing to the bad as an outlaw, proved bis guilt, Mildred had seemed to look apon Captain Sebastian with the kindness she held for him before that scene on the water, when all would have been lost had it not been for the man then branded as pirate, and against whom wild stories were told, for rumors floated around how a daring buccaneer was cruising the seas in his fleet schooner, spreading devas- tation and death, and though some it was Ricardo, Lafitte’s old lieu nt, others were wont to say that they knew that it was Merle, the Mutineer, while a few went so far as to state that they themselves had seen him upon the buecaneer craft, when vessels upon which = were bad been boarded and rob ut there was another lover of Mildred’s who believed she had given him cause to hope, and this was Merton Ainslie, who certainly was on most friendly terms at the Monteith mansion, treated with marked kindness by its mis- Did she love him, or did the secret he le cause her to receive him been near her for mont the funeral, asked if there it had ended. for I don’t like the color goizig from your face.” lie, and the result was,, tha went horme*with: him) to dinner, came back to’Fidele’s face, and her cheeks grew rosy once more,. for’ business ” had been his excuse ; humble, but pretty cottage, 1u the days that had A burst of tears was:the answer: he had not 5 yes, he had attended could serve her, and “ Have you offended him, sis, in any way?” “No, Louis.” “Strange! itis mot like Mert; I must see him, And Bovis Chandelieur dial see Merton Ains- that young gentleman and the smiles for not showing his elegant self at the y. A month the brig and then set sail for the: China Seas, and she for whom the graceful veasel was named went down gone b . cantine Fidele lay in port, would be many, many months ere he again dro anchor in the Mississippi. Bee her escort was Merton Ainslie, and! he spent the evening at the cottage, and poor Bi- dele smiled through her tears, fer many sweet things said Merton Ainslie to her, which almost came not again; he hat tired of his toy, or fear~ ed some of his visits to the cottage might reach | the Monteith mansion. | Fidele, in her love and faith, wrote to-him to | come: but no answers came, and gradially it | forced itself upon her mind that she was de- | other. But after*that night the days went by and he | serted. \ “Oh, God! what am I to do? I loved him | more than all else in the world, and he is untrue ) to his vows to me—alas, poor me! ~~ ‘The world-has no joy for me now; Louis: is, far away, and what can I do? what can Ido? | ‘ Ah! the world. can be forgotten there!’ Yes, I will goand see the good Sisters of the | Convent of Sainte Ursula, and there I can find. rest—rest! ‘Mother, my poor mother! taken instead of you?” A few moments more did Fidele give way to an abandon of sorrow; then she Bon to her feet, repeating the lines, so true, and yet so sad Why was I not that they are true: “Woman's love will too often, like the ivy, cling Around a base and worthless thing.” Then the grief was swept from her beautiful face, and in its place rested firm resolve. Ten days after Merton Ainslie drove by the cottage, and he saw the front door and windows cl : ‘“What does that mean, Gabriel?’ he asked, with a of self-reproach, as he beheld the old negro coming out of the gate. ‘“‘Tt mean Missy Fidele done gone away, Marsa Merton,” sadly answered the old man. ‘‘Gone! and where?” ‘She gone to de convent, sah; has tooked de wail, where she will be free from de debbil and de flesh o’ dis life, sah.” Merton Ainslie turned deadly pale; but he said, calmly: “And you are here alone, Gabriel?” ‘Me an Jemima, sah, de ole woman; den dere’s de Bossy, an’ Bluker, an’ de chickens, as Missy Fidele leff us to care for until Massa Lou come back, an’ she leff us money in de bank for _ our dispenses, and we draws it like white folks ebery month, sah. “Tf you need anything more, Gabriel, come to see me; good-by,” and Merton Ainslie drove rapidly away, muttering: ‘She’s a ter fool than I believed her. Well, I am rid of her, and all is plain sailing now—no breakers ahead, and a clear wake And so it seemed to Merton Ainslie the night when the anniversary of his fall from grace rolled round to one year. As he paced to and fro in his elegant rooms, after a sumptuous dinner, awaiting the hour when he should call upon Mildred Monteith, he looked little like a man who carried a skel in his heart. Around him was every luxu could wish; his home was elegant, bis blooded horses numerous, bis cellar filled with choice wines, and his tables heavily weighted down with silver plate. His servants were well trained, and lif. seem- vk like a happy dream, forno care rested on his w. In the bank he yet had a few thousands of the Se ee ee eS. Se ruee eton that 2 his presence; he trusted the boy implici though he had taken him five monte befor: "a 10ut references. 1ere was something in the handsome. fa the boy that showed he could be trusted, sha. flattering himself upon his power of reading humian nature at a glance, Merton Ainslie when. the youth came to him and asked him for a place in his bachelor home, bad taken him at once, and soon found him invaluable; in fact he ae him ae nion + ER than servant, e was a handsome », apparent] seventeen, with a dark om Mack 1s Rada large dark eyes that were very expressive: a slight mustache shaded his lip, and his short locks curled all over his head. His form was slight, yet he was strong and active, and seemed capable of any work that he to bid her brother a long. farewell, knowing it | was bidden to do. With a glance at the boy, Merton Ai began to pace to and obi treasures arena out ope - ~ little desk. a ‘““We e year is up, and I will hesita lon er,” he muta Te r’ ~ ne ‘ The time allotted for a_widow to mourn. Ly is a par begar ep ree she aan tn content now ‘let the ast i dead.’ sce lho “Yes, to-night must decide my destiny; to- night must say if my sin will reap reward. ‘*T madly love the woman, and I will have her by fair means or foul. Curse Wilber Se. bastian! He runs me neck and neck in the race, and I knowit is his intention to offer him- self. to-night, for, Lucien, Bethune told me go to- day; but he has to take his sister to the opera first, and I'll get in ahead—I hope, hold the ree hag t ‘By heaven!. I. must hold it now, fo Pras. for her, and mine she must be. pom Le ‘If I win her, I'll keep these treasures intaet, and give them all to her; then my conscience will be at rest on that score, for she will get what is really her own; but the secret that goes with them must be kept ever in my heart— Ha! there is the bell. Run, Hope, and say Lam out, for it is doubtless some fellow just dropped in to drink my wines and smoke my cigars i rg is it, my note, sir!’ and the lad a a missive. handed his master e tore it open and read t : the paper pe he line written on “Come to me—I am dying. Frpeus.”’ “Curses. on the luck! who brought this, Hope?” «Good? boys al er ! boys always idle in c ng a mes sage. Mind you, this did not come until after I one out.” HP Soy Ag e Star of Bethlehem! Ho ou | rascal, why didn’t you tell me (ght eight we yp saying, Merton Ainslie rushed from his room out into the hall, threw on his hat, and springing into his carriage, was driven rapidly away. AL midnight he returned, and it was evident that he had stop for su afe Saint Louis, and / ae heavie.., ame ‘‘Hope, you young scape-grace, where are you he cried, gayly as he entered the room, 5 night-key having let him into the house. 1 am here, Merton Ainslie! here, face to face with you! i voice a it and Pe temic: as the outh sprung forward, and the m d back; besiton inte=ten lates == tut There was a gleam in the light from the chan- deliers, as the youth’s arm was raised and brought down with terrible force and wonder- ful quickness, and a cry broke from the lips of the man, who reeled and fell into the arms of the one who had driven a knife into bis heart. ‘‘Ah, Merton Ainslie, thy day of retribution came in the morning of thy life! See, ere your eyes are blind in death, see who I am, or if you have no sight, hear /” The you bent close to his ear and breathed some name—a name that brought a groan of — from the lips of Merton Ainslie, and with that moan of agony, wrung from the heart, his lamp of life went out forever. Mei nde, he isdead! now to fly,” and the outh to the desk, upon which still la e necklace and anchor, where. Merton Ainslic had left them in his nay deguctine: the jewel- held in his elenched gemmed dirk the you Ebooks <€om (E(0)