Beadle's New York Dime Library, No. 104 — page 4: what you’re looking at

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4 ad rich, my mother, my sister and myself, as my father gambled away his inheritance. ‘Hence | sought to support my mother and sister, and entered the navy as a midshipman when I was but thirteen, and Merton Ainslie was my boon companion, for we went together to Algiers, serving on the same vessel, and to- gether we were dismissed the service, five years ago, for a wild frolic ashore. ‘‘T went at once to the dogs, so to speak, while Ainslie, with more manliness, went to work. ““T became a reckless vagabond, and he an honest clerk, though he had none to care for him, and I had a mother and sister. “One night my tide changed, thanks to Mer- ton Ainslie; he was in command of Captain Grenville’s yacht, and one, whom I believed to be an old man, came on board, and the result was I was made second officer, and sailed in the yacht to Vera Cruz.” Mildred started; what was coming next? ““We were in Vera Cruz some ten days, and then returned to New Orleans, without the one who had employed us, and whom I had never seen after arriving at the Mexican port. ‘* Ainslie told me he had taken the yellow fever and died in Vera Cruz, and he was told to return with the yacht, our employer leaving the crew treble wages, and Merton and myself a thousand dollars each.” ag om grew paler, her heart almost stood “Of course I believed Merton—I had no rea- son for doubting him, “We returned the yacht to Captain Gren- ville, and then I received my thousand dollars, and more, for Ainslie had just inherited fifty thousand dollars in money—” “Fifty thousand, did you say, sir?’ asked Mildred, remembering that Merton Ainslie had told her his inheritance was haif a million. ‘Yes, madame, that was the sum he in- herited, and out of that he raised me from verty to independence by giving me a vessel or my own, and demanding from me a promise never to be again a drunkard ora gambler. I have kept that pledge, and more, 1 have been successful, and can return to Mr. Ainslie’s heir the sum which he gave me. ‘*When Merton Ainslie was a poor man, Mrs. Sebastian, he was engaged to my sister, and I . looked forward to the day when she would be- come bis wife; but he broke with her; that is, cruelly deserted her, and became your lover, madame. “* I sailed for the China seas, my mother had died, and poor Fidele, my sister, whose whole heart was wrapped Me in her false lover, at first sought to enter the Convent des Ursulines ; but she was a Creole,* and had warm blood in her veins—blood that was revengeful, and never forgave an injury. ‘““ Hence, my dear madam, instead of leading the life of a nun, she entered upon a far differ- ent career, disguising herself as a boy, dyeing her a complexion brown, and her golden hair k, while she shaded her lip with a slight mustache. ‘*This completely metamorphosed Fidele into a boy of seventeen, and she obtained employ- ment with Merton Ainslie.” “Mon Dieu! she was the te youth, Hope!” cried Mildred, now most deeply inter- ested « ‘‘She was, Mrs. Sebastian, and in the capacity of body-servant and confidential friend to Mer- ton Ainslie, she learned the secret of his life, for be had a bad habit of musing half aloud, and an equally disagreeable one of talking in his sleep, when he threw himself on a lounge for an afternoon nap. “Thus it was that my sister Fidele heard the secret of Merton Ainslie from his own betray- ing lips—heard how the one whom I had sup- posed was an old man was none other than erle, the Mutineer!” Mildred started, and her face flushed and paled alternately; but Louis Chandeleur continued: ‘*T know, Mrs. Sebastian, that you were one time engaged to Mr. Merle Grenville, and I know that he was cast off by every one when he was said to be a buccaneer; but 1 do not believe he is now a pirate—I believe him dead.” ‘Oh God, I thank Thee!” groaned Mildred. ‘‘He went to Vera Cruz to ight a duel, and he told all to Merton Ainslie, telling him to wait one week for him, and if he did not return to ~ — to sail to New Orleans, for he would ea “ Ainslie waited ten days, and then we weighed anchor; but it seems that Mr. Grenville had left some instructions with the man he trusted—some papers that would have cleared him of the charges against him, and these, with a letter, were addressed to you.” ~ ry me? You astound me, Mr. Chande- eur “I tell you the truth, Mrs. Sebastian; they were addressed to you, and would have been de- livered in safety, had not a terrible temptation been left with them,” * There is a wide-spread idea at the North, among intelligent peo i, ; Be Creole +A Weare, or one ving negro blood in his veins; a singu- error, as a Creole is a nolive ef Louisiana, “‘T do not understand, sir,” said Mildred, now ree moved, in spite of her wonderful self-. control. ‘*T will explain: Mr. Grenville was the pos- | ho _ the world. me 9 hie Bi Syaps never seen by | any one excepting Fidele, while in the possession ' of Merton ‘Ainslie: you k ' count for them to Captain Sebastian.” sessor of a valuable diamond necklace, a ruby anchor, and a gem-studded dirk, each of them worth a fortune; also a rivg of rare beauty and. great value, which I now see upon your finger. ‘* These were left by the father of Mr. ville to him, and that father was Freelance the buccaneer, who, in some way, had obtained these treasures ‘“‘It was these, Mrs, Sebastian, that made a — He was poor; he did — not then know of the death of his uncle and his. | inheritance, and he destroyed the papers sent to | you, appropriated the valuables, except the ring | That mystery is not yet solv villain of Merton Ainslie. which you wear, and which he gave you with a forged letter, pretending it to have been written by Mr. Grenville. These will prove the for- pery, and Louis Chandeleur handed to Mildred alf a dozen sheets of paper, upon which were parts of the letter Ainslie shown her as. coming from Merle. ‘“*T am listening, sir,” she calmly said, though trembling like a leaf. ““Upon his return to New Orleans Merton Ainslie began his plot which was to make you his wife.” ‘*T was a victim, too, of his treachery?” ‘Yes, madame; your beauty and wealth made a villain of him, and he entered upon bis ores his inheritance giving him pn erge | without aving to dispose of the jewels which he kept, concealed in a secret drawer in his desk. ‘* At length he asked you to become his wife and that night he was slain—slain by the hand of my sister Fidele, and with the anchor-hilted dirk he had stolen from you, for the treasures _ sent to you, with the papers, by Mr. Gren- ville. ‘“* By snatches of communing with himself, by his mumbling in his sleep, those forged papers in his desk, and those treasures, Fidele learned how great a crime Merton Ainslie had commit- | | to leave his beautiful daughter behind him as ted, Mmm Mr. Grenville, against you, and toward her, his betrothed wife. In her hatred for one whom she had loved, in her jealous rage at believing he was to marry you, she drove that jewel-hilted dagger into his false heart.” ‘“‘A fearful retribution for his treachery.” ‘A just one, Mrs. Sebastian. Allow me to give to you the treasures sent you by Mr. Gren- ville, and would to God I could give you the papers, which Merton Ainslie threw into the sea He took from an inner am the precious She toak them quietly, and gased upon th © them quietly, an upon them, shuddering as dhe total the dirk. ‘*They are ver immense value; ring I wear I have often seen on Mr. Grenville’s finger, and the necklace and anchor he wore the night of the carnival ball—the night he sailed for Vera Cruz, and the last time I saw him. ‘‘ The dirk I never saw before. God pity me, if I have wronged you, Merle.” She spoke more to herself than to Louis; but he replied, earnestly: ‘‘ Pardon me, Mrs, Sebastian, but I have al- ways believed Mr. Grenville far more sinned against than py when charged as a muti- neer—I—I—am a blunt—man, madame, and speak out what I think; but I sailed with Cap- tain Sebastian, and he was a hard officer.” Mildred flushed and said quickly: ‘‘ Am I to keep these?” ‘“Yes; they were sent to you by one whose intention, I now am confident, it was to return and clear himself before the eyes of the world of the brand upon him. By a strange circum- stance, Mrs. Sebastian, one of my crew, home from England, from whence I have just come, was one of the mutineers. He died on the pas- e over, and his story was a strange one:—he said Mr. Grenville was not guilty of mutiny, and—but I will not say more, for my red-hot shots may find their way into a powder-maga- zine; but, one of these days, this mutinous af- fair, I think, will have a different phase put up- on it. Those valuables are yours, madame; I have but done my duty in giving them to ou ” sir,” said Mildred, dreamily. “I thank you, ‘*And your sister, Mr. Chandeleur—what of at her?” ‘“* She is at rest, Mrs. Sebastian; she slee the bottom of the sea,” he said, with intense sadness. ‘‘ She fled from this city on the night of her fearful act, and sought me, knowing the rts at which I was to touch. She found me in verpool, and came aboard my vessel, a wreck of her former self. ‘ Poor girl, she never rallied, with all I did for her, and died on the passage home, after confessing all to me, and placing those valuables in my hands, receiving from me the pledge that I would give them to you alone. I have fulfill- ed my pledge, Mrs tian, to my dying sis- ter, and now will bid you good-morning.” One moment, Mr. Chandeleur, or rather Captain Chandeleur, for such I know is your ti- tle—do you not think that the—the death of Mer- ton Ainslie, that is, as to who took his life, had better remain a dead srcretf” beautiful and rare, and of . Montezuma, the Merciless. a a | ‘‘Mrs. Sebastian, from my heart I thank ren— | but she remained calm; there was a terrible | ister ec in her mind, caused by all she had ———— ee eee arrival at the hotel, and regist | Ait it is most womanly in you to think of poor ele. let her memory not be stained before pow best how to ac- Mildred’s eyes flashed at her husband’s name; eard. As Louis Chandeleur departed, her thoughts gave vent to words: ‘‘ Merle, before God, I believe you innocent, whether you lie in your grave or live, ‘* And Wilber Sebastian, I bere you guilty! it may never ; but, I am your wife, husband mine, only _ before the world’s eye, from now henceforth; my fortune you have; but Mildred Sebastian is her own mistress,” The flash of her eyes, and the resolution in sha feature, proved that she would keep her word. CHAPTER IV. MERLE RECEIVES A VISITOR. THE reader, I know will forgive me, for cast- ing a retrospective glance back of the incidents rela ted in the last few chapters, when it is to | make knuwn to them why it was that Merle did | not return on board the yacht, after leaving it at Vera Cruz. The reader is already aware that, upon his ering as Don | Merlino, from Corpus Christi, he sent word to | Vistal Guarena of his return to Vera Cruz, to ‘ meet him in the duello. But it so happened that the influence of Don | Felipe Cosala, the Monte Prince, had gained for of the C | his son La ag een ge» promised, and command e San Juan de Uloa, and Colonel Ruidrez being ordered to another fort, he was the wife of Vistal Guarena, now colonel com- mandant. It was therefore the bridal eve, and the elite, in beauty and chivalry, of Vera Cruz, had as- sembled at the commandant’s elegant quarters in the grand and gloomy old castle, to see the fair Senorita Victorina made the Senora Gua- rena. Into those elegant and well-appointed apart- ments the misery of the cells below came not, and the groans of the prisoners were not heard: but to the ears of them, not in dungeons too deep for sound to reach them, came the straing of music, which made their sufferings more in- tense, their cells darker, and the sorrow in their hearts ot ‘‘ Don Felipe Cusala to see the Senor Merlino,” and the door of Merle’s room was thrown open and in stepped the Monte Prince—smiling, elegant in appearance, and as courtly in man- ner as a Chesterfield. ‘*To what circumstance do I owe the honor of your visit, senor?” said Merle, col “Your missive, senor, sent to Colonel Gua rena, was turned over by him to me, as this is his wedding-eve, and he begged me to call upon ou. wl am glad to welcome you back to Vera “IT came, senor, to meet Major Guarena—” “ Colonel Guarena, senor, Colonel Guarena for he is now commandant of the Castle San Juan de Uloa, having just been appointed.” “* Be seated, senor,” and Merle motioned to a chair, which the Monte Prince, with a bow of thanks, accepted. Then Merle resumed, in a quiet tone: ““Colonel Guarena seems to have chosen a very inopportune time either for his duel with me, or his marriage. The life of a duelist senor, hangs on a thread.” ‘ “True, and I am going to crave of you a fa- vor for the colonel.’ ‘Name it, senor.” “To appoint your meeting with him for the third evening from this, at sunset, on the beac half a mile below the castle. He does not de- sire to face death and matrimony within twelve hours of each other.” ‘*T will be at his service at the ified time and place. What weapons would best suit Colonel Guarena?” fe Monte Prince raised his eyebrows in sur- e. “The wenpens are your choice, senor.” “*T know it; but I am wholly indifferent as te swords or pistols.” ‘Then we will carry swords to the fleld; but, I warn you, Guarena is a superb swordsman, senor. ‘* So be it, swords shall be the weapons,” and, ree PRPS as though the interview were at an end. “Will you be attended, senor, by a friend!” **'No, 1 will come alone; I have no friend in Vera Cruz upon whom I would call.” ‘Permit me to offer my services, senor M lino. Don Real Juarez will be the friend Colonel Guarena.” Merle glanced quickly at the Monte Prix who till wore his hand in a silken Relay on GOmiGwvooks (E(@)