Beadle's New York Dime Library, No. 104 — page 25: what you’re looking at

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

—w a ——wv *. act kee hits elegant hore, or, for one moment, ceeass his tuxurious siyiv of living—he had a yrivate fund of his own, won at the eard-table which he could draw on, until he recuperated his fallen fortunes; in fact, the Don was too old a bird to be caught with chaff, and his losses beat made gossips say he was far richer then had been believed, for he was just as courtly in big manners as before the failure, and spent his gold with even afreer hand, so that credit remained ‘‘ y ceewyar ed, on change,” up bai renville, as he stepped across the meri of life, found himself a poor man; he trusted so much to his bankers, and indors- ed their paper for them in perfect confidence, to find that bis home must go, and he be able to hardly income sufficient to support him —in fact not enough, unless he eked it out by pabaing his own shoulder to the wheel; but this wheel was found, for, returning from Vera Andrea Angelos at once offered him the position of private secretary, with little to do, and remuneration, and it was gladly ac- t the shock fell heavily upon Estelle—the beautiful, heartless woman who had almost brought her husband to the verge of ruin, ere the — of his —o by ae te i ga gance, her passion for ng, for it was nothing else, and her indi mass the future, so that she could revel in the present. informed that her pet, her “‘ boy low- er,” as she called Brainard Abercrombie, bore a mame one dare not mention in polite society, she had cast him off without a le—she must keep her own skirts clean, she thought, and had at once written to the young man, de manding her vings, her lette nder little mis- wi more childish than wicked, and severed k of sentimentality that had bound them. The missives, rings and many little souvenirs, ven him in a happy past, were returned by he A ote etter accompanied them— ealy a card ing these words in Latin: woe ne lacessit.”* Ww this little quotation, short as it was, eaused Madame Bstzlle to turn pale—she did not feel comfortable, after its reception, and wished that she had not been so hasty; in fact, one would have thought that she carried a guilty — beneath that fair and lovely exte- But the “ most utikindest cut of all,” the hard- est blow, fell upon those who bore the name of A bercrombie— Abercrombie dishon and in jail as the murderer of a woman, and al his fortune and his friends—friends always take their departure when fortune ne from him; his wife lying in her humble quarters, no wife at all, and blankly awaiting to die: his son, apon whose brow was branded in letters never to Bs , the one word—IUegitimate ; this son, pacing day and night, like a tiger in his eage, the limits of his 1 room, listening to the groans of his white-faced mother—his moth- er and yet no wife. ody a knoe eame upon the a ae repeated, again re ere the young a roused himself to bid the one outalae en- or Montezuma begs that you will vieit him, sir; his carri Rom. rf sa A flash of hope came into the sunken eyes; a Petow oir he 2 instant. a wo owed V rainard took up his hat and © elegant carriage rolled away from the door, a cabriolet, coming from an onibceiba di- rection, dashed up to the curb, and a tall form sprung out and entered the portal. Aseending the stairs the man entered the room tage snacking, and crossed to a door @ apartm occupi Peeler = mother. ent pied by the g ock w oauten as answered by the appear- p Hany ap see a Abercrombie.” very monsieur ; shail wny desires to see her?” poration ‘ ‘ Montezuma.” This name was a talisman, and the door epened, and Montezuma entered, his hand seek- lug that of the nurse, in whieh was left a golden sou , * I would see the lady alone.” The woman quickly withdrew—her curiosity to count her ewrs Overcoming her desire to see what the famous Mexiean could wish there. The eyes of the invalid turned npon Monte- wana as he approached, and there was a look of Madame, Th adame, ave come to see you warned that the hand of death was pan’ rig ‘My heart is breaking, and it is better that. I die; but my poor boy, what will become of him?” groaned the unhappy woman. ‘*] have to 4 tang to you of your son, madame —he has u im a weight sufficient to drive him mad; but he is young, and in another land, wader another name, he has it in his er to earve out his fortune anew. I pity and I serve him.” , if you will aid him—if you wild send wounds me with impuntay, a ee es ee ew ee —- — + — SS Montezuma, the Merciless. him away from where he {s accursed with the brand upon him, I will die content,” and the woman seemed almest happy in the look that beamed on her face, “You have said so, and you will, senor?” she continued. ““ Cela depend, madame.” * The woman started. ‘Upon what, senor?” -- Upon your answering me several ques- ons. ‘I will do so; anything for my poor boy’s happiness.” ontezuma smiled and said pleasantly: ‘Your son I pity from the bottom of m heart, and Iam not one of that creed to ‘ visit —— the children the sins of their nts,’ ough I am merciless toward those who have wronged me and mine; now, my dear madame, the questions I ask you are easy enough to an- swer, when I pledge ag your answers shall go net They rita OD, pe hich had hoped ** They will dig up a which you re) was buried; but then there has been such an ex- huming of long-entombed skeletons of late that you will doubtless not refuse to answer, when your son’s welfare hangs cas our words.” Helen Brainard—for she held no right to the name of Abercrombie—grew nervous under that calm voice and those burning eyes; but she said, as calmly as she could: - Tam ready, senor, to hear what you have to “'T would ask you, then, if it was not to Rosal Abercrombie that Launcelot Grenville owed the char ainst him of having murdered his brother Arthur?’ Helen Brainard grew even more white, and her fingers clutched the covering nervously ; but she replied in a distinct voice: ‘“‘ It was, senor.” ‘* He it was who bribed the fisherman Beal te tay what he did?” Yes, senor, I have since found out that such was the case.” ‘* And he swore falsely?” ‘* He did, senor; but that is not all.” ‘I am listening, madame.” ** 7, too, am guilty—I sought to have Launce- lot Grenville ung for the murder of Arthur Grenville; but then I believed him guilty, for I knew not until the return of him whom we be- lieved dead, that he lived. ‘1 loved Arthur Grenville then; I was a mad fool, and—but, oh! let me not dwell upon that now; only let me say that I sold myself to Rosal Abercrombie, if he would prove Launcelot Grenville his brother’s murderer; when I found out that he was not, I dare not refuse the man who held me in his power—would to God I had done so, then this bitter cup would have passed Madame, thank ! : me, It ou; you have my pledged word not to speak of his, and I now pledge my- self to aid your son—i/ he will allow me. ‘* He admires you senor; he will be governed by ou; but, tell me, why you wished to know of the past of Rosal Abercrombie and myself?’ ‘“* Madame, I will tell you in a few words, but vege must be sealed to what I reveal—then feng ill see who it is that has bean the untiring ie of those who bear the name of Abercrom- e. Stooping quickly, Montezuma said a few words in a low tone. Helen Brainard would have cried out in hor- fied amazement; but she could utter no sound. The next instant Montezuma was gone. In the meantime, Brainard e elegant reception room, waiting are ently for the com- ing of the host ; no easy-chair was comfortable to him—no costly bric-a-brac eould claim his eye then; the world was in a whirl to him—the future hopeless and uncertain. Presently Montezuma entered, calm, smiling, and sympathetic. ‘“* Brainard, my poor fellow, I sent for you to have a chat with you—I am glad you have come; sit down and we will have a bottle of wine together, and you can collect your scat- tered senses.” ‘You, then, senor, have not turned a, me, too, as all the rest have done?” said the young man, in broken tones. “When God lays his hand upon a mam, Brainard, I take mine off—you have a curse upon you that few men of spirit would lfve un- der; I pity you for the woe that you feel, and 1 sent for you to offer you aid—hold! I do not wee to interrupt me. _ You have been brought up, Brainaré, to be- lieve this world your footstool, to kick out of the way as you pleased; to look upon the virtue of women as a good thing in novels, but a bad thing in practice; to regard a bling debt as far more necessary to liquidate than your tailor’s bill or your wine b in fact, you be- came under this training a reue—a gentlemanly blackguard, looking down apon all beneath you in wealth or family, and now you have fallen below them all~you have tumbled from heaven to hell, and ws Ay J rp you in ne face. our mother saw ; will not live a week—your fithe will’ betta ee * That depends, madam in three days, found guilty, and hung; he it is who has done you this wrong, and I am to offer you advice—I know advice is a ba thing to offer alone, but I intend to mix mine with substantial reality. ‘You must leave New Orleans—wait and bury your mother decently—if she sinned to- ward you, you, as a son, can forgive her; your father cannot forgive. “Now, ay advice is to bury decently—place a stone over her bute of your love—then pay dollar you owe, and leave ever. ‘* Leave behind you no friend, no regret—wipe your feet and hands of the past, and under an- other name, in another land, seek your fortune, for I shall give you the corner-stone upon which to build it. **It matters not how, but your parents have wronged me and mine deeply; but I pity you, my poor Brainard, and I will serve you—i/ you wl allow me so to do.” There was sometbing in the last few words of Montezuma that told the young man that there Was @ proviso. ‘* You would have me do something for you first, senor?’ “You are ri ht; you are, or rather were, the intimate friend of Madame Estelle Grenville?’ The young man turned scarlet under the burning eyes bent upon him. ‘*] was senor; but that is all over now.” ‘Yes, as rats are said to do, Estelle Gren- ville would always desert a sinking ship,” sneer- ed Montezuma. Then he quickly added: ‘Brainard, I bought up many of the papers, drafts, checks and etcetera of your firm; there are some checks among them with the signa- a of Arthur Grenville—but he never signed The haggard face grew pallid; but the man made no reply. ** Who signed those checks for Arthur Gren- ville?” ‘*T cannot tell, senor.” * You must tell ; I will aid you as I promised, if you do—I will—” : per me, senor!” ** Who handed those checks in, Brainard?” “* Mrs. Grenville.” ‘Who signed them, Brainard?” ** Mrs. Grenville.” “She committed forgery?’ “* Yes, senor.” *“* Who received the money ?” “ Mrs. Grenville.” ‘Who shared it with her?” There was no reply; but Brainard trembled like an aspen. ‘Who shared the money thus received on a checks with Mrs. Grenville?’ e question was merciless—the eyes read the face before them. “TI did, senor.” ‘You managed Arthur Grenville’s estates— that is, all eee collections, checks and pay- ments went t rough your hands?’ ‘* Yes, senor.” ‘“‘Had not those checks been drawn he would be worth now a hundred thousand dollars, 1or that amount has been taken from him in the past twelve years?” ** Yes, senor.” ‘Who suggested this fraud, Brainard?’ -“ Estelle ville, senor.” ‘ a made you her confederate in guilt?’ es, senor. ‘‘ Have you any writing of Estelle Grenville’s compromising to her?’ ‘“* | returned her her letters and iittle sour nirs she had given me two days ago, senor.” ** All of them?” ‘‘ No, senor, there were a few notes.” ** Have you these?” Ke Yes, senor, in my private desk, at my quar- our mother ead as a tri- our debts, every ew Orleans for- ‘* Brainard, I must have those letters—here I have the forged checks, you see?’ The young man shivered, as though with the cold. **‘You shall have th senor.” | “You are sensible; Valik will return with ou and bring them to me; and, Brainard, I in- tend to use them.” “For God’s sake spare me, Senor Montezuma emy father in jail, my mother dying, and I—” ‘‘ Brainard, 1 teil you I inten ing you; but I will make Estelle Grenville suffer—youw shall not be compromised, I pledge you. “Now you must return that money to Cap- tain Grenville.” ** Senor!” ‘*T mean it; but rot for several days yet.” **Senor, I have rot a thouvsandgdollars in the world.” “T will ore it to you, Prainard, and you must send it to Captain Grenville, telling him it was the result of an investment you entered in- to privately, and which went not with the firm’s crash; do you understand?” «tine ” Bea I intend to giv “Then, , I inten e you baer with whic vente te pgetees: dette EOE DOCKS