Beadle's Dime Library No. 111 — page 21: what you’re looking at

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

LL A we q —_— SSS SSS lst sts f “ Hush—hush !” he said, in a hoarse whisper. ‘Make no noise; I expeet the police on my track every moment. have had a fight, and have Killed a man. I must fly!” “ Yeu—yes ; and I will go with you!” gasped the terror-stricken woman. “No; it will be all that I ean do to escape alone. You will be watched by those who try to find out where] am. If Iam canght, I will be hung. Barnard will see to you, and tell you where am as soon as I can let him know, Tliere! good-bye! Don’t fret about mel J] must go. or the police will have me!” And he fled away, leaving her senseless upon the floor; for she fell as if stricken dead when he spoke those terrible words, * good-bye !” When she came to herself, the sunlight was streaming in through her window. She rose, and thought that she had dreamed a terrible dream ; but when she looked at her ghastly, haggard face in the mirror, she saw blood upon it—his blood, as she thought, left there when he pressed his last kiss upon her lips, ’ere he fled , away, she knew not whither. Sne did not know that a little red paint, well applied, had made her think that he was dread- fully wounded —her terror had blinded her en- tirely to his trickery. And now, though she did not know it, she was deliberately deserted by her betrayer. CHAPTER XXXIX. With a heart so sunk in utter wretchedness that she knew not what to do, poor Betsy paced the floor of her reom for two or three hours. She trembled at every etcp she heard, even though servants only were passing her door ; for most of the boarders at that hotel were, as I have said before, * sporting men”, who, spend- ing the night in their nefarious business, seldom rose much before noon, She did not, ns usual, ring her bell, to have breakfast brought; for she had no thought of fsodor hunger now. And when, at Jast—proba- bly at nine or ten o’clock—a step halted at her dvor, and she heard a knock for admittance, she trembled go that she could hardly unlock the door; for slie felt sure that the officers of justice had come to seek her husband, But it was Barnard who came, “ Have you seen my husband?” she gasped, as she sunk into a chair, atter he had entered and closed the door. “No; bat I have heard from him!” he said, “He isin a bad scrape, He wrote me a hasty note before he went away, and sent it by a trusty friend. Here it is. He says I must take you away from the hotel to private apartments, where you can be as qniet as possible until it is safe to send for you to join him!” Betsy took the note, and read it. It directed Barnard to do as he had said. “Oh, I had rather go home—home to my parents!” she cried. “I will go—but I have no money. He did not think to lenve me any. Poor Frank! he was dreadfully hurt ; but he did not even wait for me to bind up his wounds! Oh! what shall I do?” “ As your husband's friend, and your friend, dear lady, let me advise you to do a8 he says— o to private apartments, which I hired as soon as I rend this note. I have paid gout bill at the hotel here, and the sooner you leave it, be- fore your husband's trouble gets noised abroad, the beter it will be for you! At Jenst, that is the best advice that I ean offer !’’ said Barnard, in the most sincere tone. , _ an seems to me if he had only had time to think, or had known how wretchedly lonesome I must be without him, he would have consent- ed to my going home!” said Betsy. ts Pachians he will yet, after he hears of your desire. But, at present, thia hotel is no place for you!” replied Barnard. , “That is so. If you will leave me fora little while, I will change my dress, and pack up my trunks.” “| will do so, Mrs. movie I will be absent an hour. Is that long enough ?” Heaven help me in this hour of trouble. I am already getting my reward for leaving my good, i rents !” aa Fi Betsy locked her door after Barnard went out, and, with many & sob and tear, made her preparattions to leave the apartments in whieh she had known so much brief happiness, and had now met the first of the blighting sturm of wretchedness. ; An hour later, she was seated in a close car riage, with Barnard by her side, and driven she knew not where. She only knew that it was a The Smuggler Captain, long way; for the carriage seemed to go very fast, and she was in it an hour or more before it atopped. When Barnard pie) her out, she saw that they were in front of a large, dingy- looking brick-house; but she had no time to make any observations of the locality, for Bar- nard hurried her into the house, saying that he was afraid the police would wateh or follow them, on account of her husband. In a few seconds, she found berself in a large, handsomely-turnished arlor, with a bedroom adjoining, as she eould see by its furniture through the open door. There were but two windows to the parlor, and through them she could only see a small back-yard, with about six feet square of grass in ita centre, and back of that the windowless dead wall of some huge building. Her trunks were brought in by the coach- driver, who, being paid by Barnard, went out and left them alone there. Then. after remov- ing her bonnet and shawl, poor Betsy had time to look around. Barnard having lenrned that «he had not breakfasted, had gone somewhere in the house to order refreshments for her; and she was glad of it when her eyes rested on 0 couple of pietures which hung in the room. They were so glaringly immodest that she paridaa to take them down and hide them be- fore he eould return, She bad just concealed them in a closet which she found inside the bed- room when he returned. She watched him to see if he noticed what she had done; but as he did not appear to, she thought that he had not noticed the pictures before, and felt better be- cause they were removed. For she was too pure in heart yet to dream how much of a vil- lain he was, Je did not remain long, but said that he would go and see what he could learn about ber husband's difficulty, and would return in the evening to Jet her know what news he had gathered. The lady who kept the house would attend to all her wants, he said ; but he advised her by no means to venture out into the street, for an unprotected woman in that great city was in constant peril in the street. And she, believing him, told him she had no desire to move out of her room, unless it was to go home, or to rejoin her poor husband. Barnard had not been gone long before a woman entered with a large tray, upon which were the materials for a substantial break fast. Eggs, meats, toast, coffee, milk, etc., were placed before her, but poor Betsy felt no appe- tite for food. The woman who brought the tray was n fat, rquabby, greasy, and most repulsive-Jooking creature—rather beyond the middle age. Her gray eyes had a cast, looking at each other as if one wanted to see what the other was doing all the time. Her complexion was of a rich brandy color, and her nose of the “ barnacle” order. Upon her fat, dirty bands she wore a profusion of valuable rings. Her squat figure was robed in a dirty silk dress; and her un- combed hair hung in frizzly curls over her bare shoulders, for her dress bad been made in the “low-necked” fashion. She soon, by her conversation, made Betsy know that she was Jandlady of the house. “Why, what has become of my ‘ Venus and Adonis’, and ‘Susannah and the Elders’ ?” she asked, as she looked up at the space where the pictures had been. “ Do you mean the pietures which hung from the ceiling ?” asked Betsy, innocently. “Yes, to be sure !” replied the landlady. “T took them down, and put them ont of sight in the closet when Mr. Barnard went to order breakfast,” said Betsy. ‘I didn’t think they were such pictures as ought to be seen in a lady’s room, where gentlemen Visited, at any rate. I could not look at them alone without blushing.” The landlady looked at her a moment to see if she was serious, and then she burst into a laugh that made the room ring. “ Barnum ought to have you on exhibition !" at last she cried. “ Why, such pictures are all the style on the Fifth avenue. They make you blush? Well, I wish I may have to drink ton water all my life if you don’t beat any girl that I ever saw! I shall laugh myself to death !” And the woman rose and went out of the room laughing, much relieving poor Betsy by her departure. ro- ol aeS=sAaoeeaeaeaouuoauuaaaoaanananaunauauaqeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee NE SSE CHAPTER XtL. Rosalette, thinking that Hewlet was far away, and feeling lonesome, tov, during Ethelbert’s absenee, frequently visited her favorite retreat by the sea-side, not dreaming of any intrusion there. She went there one morning soon after she had received her first foreign letter from Ethelbert, and sitting upon her moss-eoveredl rock, gazed out upon the placid ocean, and completely lost herself in thonght—thought which wandered away across that vast sea, and off into lands and realms she might never see. She was aroused from her dreamy revery by the sound of approaching footsteps, and sprung to her feet in time to confront Captain Hew et, who stood before her with a note in bis hand. ‘Pardon me, fair lady,” said he, with a low bow. I did not know that you were here, there- fore my intrusion is not intentional. I came simply to deposit a note in the old place to state that I had returned, and shonld Miss Drummond desire an interview, I should only be too happy to accord it.” “Captain Hewlet might have saved himsell the trouble. I have no desire for any inter- views with him,” eaid Rosalette, haughtily. * Oo) as marble, and more cruel than death!” said Hewlet, bitterly. “When I vent away, Miss Drummond was very anxious to know a certain secret in my possession, I think ?” “That anxiety no longer exists,” said Rosa- lette, quietly. “Tf there was any truth in the matter you pretended to kuow, I have taken means to find it ont,” “So, ho! That is the cause of Ethelbert Drummond's visit to Europe—is it?” suid he; and his face flusbed with anger. “ Without my help he will have his labor for his pains. And you, fair and honorable lady, who so solemnly promised not to tell him or your father one word of what I told you, how can you excuse yourself for your perjury?” he added, with a sneer. “T have not broken my promise, Captain Hew let. u will now oblige me by moving out of my path; I wish to return home,” “Not so fast, fair and haughty lady! This interview is not concluded yet, nor will it be until it is my pleasure that you should pasa me. You seem determined to 60 act that my wooing shall be rade and forcible. For avoid me as you may—hate me as you will, you are destined to be my wife!” ‘Man, you are beside yourself! Sooner than wed you, I would cast myself into yonder ocean, which, by some dire mistake, threw you alive upon its shore when it swallowed up fa better men than you are!” “It preserved me that I might have the pleasure of taming you, my pretty shrew,” he said, bitterly. ‘Stand aside, sir, and let me pass!” sh eried, indignantly. “T cannot think of it just at present,” ho cried, as he folded his arms, and looked upon her with a triumphant smile. ‘By Jove! you look grandly beautiful in your wrath. I did not think blue eyes could flash so much fire as yours do. I cannot think of letting those pouting lips pass me without paying toll, to say the least.” “Captain Hewlet, you will attempt to detain me at you peril! I will pass!” ‘‘All in good time—when I sny the word, fair lady, and not before. I believe that this is the second time I have held you thus at bay in spite of haughty looks and bitter words. The first time, you condescended to shed tears be- fore I permitted you to go.” “T have no tears to shed now, Captain Hew- let. But something else will be shed if you bar my prssage much Saket, I am not unprotect- ed now.” ; And quick as thoucht she drew a revolver from beneath her shawl, and presented it, ready for firing, at his breast. “Good God, woman, you would not shoot me ?” he cried, in alarm, as the deadly tube mei his eye, “ Yes, so sure as I live, if you do not immedi- ately leave this spot!” she cried. “Yon de- serve death for your conduct to poor Betsy Hunt,” she added, as she advanced steadil\ toward him, keeping the weapon with a steady aim leveled at his head. With oa bitter curse on his Jips, he turned and fled up the steep and narrow path—she map slowly anil calmly until she had gained the Jevel plain above. “I know not how much you know or what you know about Betsy Hunt or her fate,” he oried, as he paused one moment in his flight ; JOO m cS (E (E (0) eee