Beadle's Dime Library No. 111 — page 24: what you’re looking at

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

| | — + —-—— oe a4 ee —_—---—- “¥ don’t see how you ean get home *without money,” he said, quietly going to the door and standing with his back against it. “I will beg my way—lI will walk, or creep, or die in trying to get there,” she said. And the tears began $0 ooze out from her eyes. “You forget that I paid your hotel-bill this rare ltr) i and am responsible for your board ere.” “Oh, Mr. Barnard! as soon as I get home I will send youthe money. Do let me go, and I swill bless you.” “Tam sorry, my dear Betsy, that I eannot. It was a part of the bargain between me and Hewlet, before I assumed the disguise of Mr. Jolin Jenkins Smith, that in the natural course of events you were to fall to me. And Iam sure that I do not feel in the least inclined to relinquish a prize which I have served so faith- fully tor.” “Mr. Barnard, if you are a man, you will let me go,” sobbed Betsy, beginning to feel her utter hel; -lessness. “ Being a man, a very susceptible one at that, and madly smitten with your charms, my dear Betsy, I cannot accede to your very impolitie request. You may just as well yield to fate, first ns last.” “J never will yield to a fate which will sink me deeper in infamy than I am,” replied Betsy, indignantly, dashing the tears from her eyes. ‘“‘T have sinned, but it has been in ignoranee. Open that door and let me pass, or I will scream for help.” “Scream away, my darling—scream away, and see what good it will do you in this house,” said Barnard, coolly. “ You might have judged what kind of a house it was, from the pictures you so modestly concealed, or the lancuage of thc Jondledy, ‘tho bat had the taming ov a thous: iris as wild'y virtuous as you are. be.c@ul, and che will cume here to comfort ou.” 7 * The police will hear me, ond break ¢!1e doors down to recoue mo.” “ bardly, my dear. Tiere are four or ‘ive thick walls botiwwec you ond the vtreet iio front, and en uncceupied store-house in the rcar. Scrsam, if you) wish—exercise your lungs, and see what 7ood i¢ will do.” “Mr. Barnard, I hate you!” “0 you, my deaz? I love you; and so we are cven.” “ You are a eruel, treachorous tionster, sir!” “And you orc 6 dear, sweet, inticcont little beautyi Gan't you cvear a little? Get our Jundlady mad, ond cool give you a lesson in that polit. «-.. fashionable ert.” “Q Mr. Barnar), have mercy on me, and let me yo.” “ | eac't—i am c eruol, treacherous monctor! And you hate me.” “Ol n—no, Mr. Barnard. Only lot me go and I wili unsay oi! Lay acing words. IJ’ll eall you an angol; Pili pray for you day and night, if you will only lot 1320 go out of thic house. On my knocs i hurab*y beg you to let me go,” volbed the wretched irl. * Really, Bet«y, you plead so gracefully that I should like to oblig you; but E promisea Hewlet that you should not be let foose until you were thoroughly inured ir the wieked ways of the town, 80 that you gould nos give him any future trouble, and it won't do for me te break my word, you know. So mac up your min to like me as veli as you did Lim, and all will go off well.” “T have made up my mind te die first,” cried Betsy, firmly. “Jim Barnard, what do you stand fooling with the deuced girl forso jong? Why don’t you slap her fago, ond show her that you're master? if she puts on many airs with me, I'll rip the Gne ¢lothes off from her in & aurry, and make (or want to hide herseif qui ker tlian she did my fine pictures tais morzing,” screeched the landlady. who had evideutly been listening ouisile the door. Ub. let me alone. I know how to get along without your aid, Mrs. Murray,” replicd Bar- nard. “Semi me uo 5 bottie of wine ana a plate of cake, and keep your dors locked.” “ay, ay: You reedn’t ba afraid of he getting out of here, f caa tell you,” replied the hag, as she went sfter the wine. “ Now, if you'll promise to be qniet, anc think over matters atter I bave taken a ginss | wine with you I'll ieave you in pesce to night,’ saii Barnarc,after th footsteps of the landlady liad died away. “I don't wish to be harsh o, cruel, nor it yx. nad been mine from the first would I havo deserted you. as Hewlet hae done w= —+-- ~~ = _—-- -_-——~Y7 The Smuggler Captain. Mt J go to-night, will you try to bo a little mor feasonable whon I come to-morrow, Betay °” “ Till try—only leave me to-night,” sobbed Betsy, es to make any promise, if she could be left alone to study some plan of escape from a fate far woroc than dcath. CHAPTLR XLV. — ----- The wine #as soon brought hy the larZiady | in porson, sho glared on Betsy with her Lideow Croes-eyes until the poor sobbing girl Lia her fase in her hande So avoid jooking oj her. For éhere ‘ae no look o; merey or pity in that hava- ene. womo:"'s face. that a Jarge ehain was drawn across it, ond it aiso secured in some way. Then she heard heavy steps, as if some one was passing by on a hard pavement, and she felt satisfied that she was by the street-door, Creeping snto wiat ap- peared to be a recess on one side of tne door, she erouched down, and waited for the result of her bold endeavor for freedom. it seemed to her to 'e a long time before she heard any sound whieh indicated that the flames were doing the work of destruction whieh she _ had designed. At lasi, she heara a faint erack- ling sound, then it grew louder, and she heard the unmistakable roar of the fiery element. “Put dewo the wine and cake, and leave ar — , ' woke not—heard it vot. clone, Mother Murray,” said Barnard, who cue Sow frightoned Betay was. ‘he wormsa did ac, und with a short, horrible | lough, wished Betsy good night. and left the room. Bernard now spoke in » kinder tone to Betsy, anc asked her to take o glass of vine witi him. “ Oh, forgive me for refnsing, Mr. Barnard ; but do not asx me to. I feel as if I was chok- ing ; my heart ceermoe as if it was away up in my throat. Do, please, leav: me to myself this night, or I shall die!” sobbed the wretched girl. “ Well, Betsy, I will, after I havo taken s glase or two or wine. I will, in hopes that you will look at your position more reasonably to-mur- row, ond not try to avoid what you cannot help. { really do feel sorry for you; but, apart from my own feelings, I am bound to keep you where you cannot trouble Hewlet at present, for I promised him te do it.” “If I wag free, I would never mention his name,” sobbed Betsy. * Well, we will see how you feel to-morrow,’ said Barnard, who, having drank a couple of glusses of wine, rose to go. “ Keep your don locked inside, and do not open it again until ‘you hear my voice in the morning ; for Motaer furray is & devil if she gets mad at any one, and she hates virtue worse than Satan ean hate religion, for it interferes with her business.” Betsy did not need to be told to keep koe Joor locked. Barnard had barely passed the threshold, whn the bolt shot back into its place, and the unhappy girl feit safe from immediate danger. And then she sunk down on her Knes= and prayrd—prayed ao she never had before— pray: ed, oh! how fervently, for help to eseape from that terriblo place, or for death tu reiease her from pori! of infamy. She felt better, calmer, when she rose to hct feet, and she went and sat down oy the window and tried to atudy how she could escape from ihe house. She had noticed that the little yard in the rear of the house was surrounded by a high wall, over whieh she could not peseibly yximb Therefore, even if she could dvscend from her window cseape in that direction would At last a fearful thought Uashed upon her mind. A thought of an svenue of *scapo in which Death stood grimly in the passige. She might die, but she would cocape. if nut with life, then in death. Sse tee-shirts a Se But the drunken and weary sleepers in che Louse Then she heard the ringing of sonorous bell here and there through the city; she heard hoarse shouts of * Fire, fre!’ ringing on the air. Then the sound of wheels rambling and tearing over the stone pavement. And then came heavy knocks at the door, near which she crouched in trembling silence. but no one came to open the door, though now the loud crackling of the tire and the hut aiv told that the house was thoroughly ablaze. A erash—a fearfui crash—atil the door was torn off its hinges from outside, and 5 crowd of met) in strange dresses rushed past her into the house. Ana now the inmates of the house seemed tomad], wakentotheirdanger. Shricks aud shouts rung from room to recom, and hai> dressed men and women were seen rushing ia terror down the stairs. Betsy waited to cec notnore. Sho rushed or pushed in some way through tho: 1as8 of firemen who crowded into and nbous the burniug Louse. Now sh« was pushee down and trample o.., but che strugyicd to her feet, and at Inct che got clear of the crowd and fled away, che li. ew not. cared nctwhere. ‘ho was free, free ot last | Many ‘seopie pascec. her, but no onc noticed he. fiverybody secinec to be hurrying to the fire, which en: its rod glarc up to the sky, aud threw a pol. of -mekr diack os tho den of shame it \vas destroying < .a ail. Betsy only turne. cace or twice Go look back, and that was wher. che feared sne migb‘ be ful lowed. She walkod on, growing “toro nd nore feeble at overy step, until at jact she coula go m. further. She sunk down on the door-steps of ; house, and in the gray of the dawning day, sh< saw a tin sigt on the door, on which was paint ed these words : “ Boarding, by the day or we:k.’ Shu had beer sitting there but a little wuile when two young girls openod tho door and same out. They wero young, palo, and sickly-look ing. Each had a small baskct on her arm | They did no. seem to notice her at all, though be impossible. | | | And quickly ohe began her preparations. Shx | heaped up the bede and boddig, and the furni turc all togethor, working as atill ao possibile, | shat no olarm might be given. And then she waited, dour after hour, for the time when the inmates of the house should be asleep. Several times she stealthily unlocked her door, and lis- tened in the passage-way outside. She could hear the shrill sounds of women singing and laughing, and th> ooarser voices of men. And the clatter of glasses as the wine passed arourd, Aé last, when it seemed to her that morning | must be near, all became stillin the house. The | sounds of revelry and debauchery had ceased. | Sne opened the windows of the room, 80 that | there might be air tc feed the flame. Thon she | placed a lamp in contact with the inflammabie | materials which she had heaped together. Iv | an instant, the blaze leaped higher than her | head. She hurried to the door of the room, wen! out, and Jocked it outside, so that no one could enter the room to extinguish the flame until if would be too late to do so effectually. Then she crept along in the darkness until she eame to stairs, leading down, she knew not where Down these she crept, and soon found herself on another floor, and in a Jarge ball. Along this she crept, wmntil she found her way barred by a door. She felt for its fastenings, and found t it was locked, and the key away ; also, they almost touched her as they passed, but slic heard one of them say: “We must hurry, or we sliall be late t« work.” Then she heard no noise until it began to be fuliy light, wheu a woman of middle age o1 ovir cawe out of the door wiih a basket on her arm. ““Who’re you?” she asked, roughiy, as she looked st Betsy, who, faint and not able to move, still sat vu the door step. “Can't you speak? Are you drunk or what's the matter? What are you a loafin’ on my dvor-steps for ?” “Is this your house? Please let me ge in and rest myself?” said Betsy, Lescechingly. “Have you got any money? I never take folks into my house without they’ve got mcney. My name is Pheby Larkins, and I never keep boarders that can’t pay. I've got nice board- ers—nice boarders! There's Mr. Squillo, the druggist; and Mr. Augur, the carpentef ; and Mrs. Hewlet, a sea-cap’n'’s wife ; and—" “Mrs. Hewlet, did you cay ?” gasped Botsy, seizing the woman by her arm. “Yes. Do you know her?” “JT dont know. I did knowa Dirs. liewset Oh, take me to this lady. 1 wish to ask bor « question, said Betsy, pleadingly, “Well, you look like a decent, respectable You may come in and sit down in the sittin’-room till I come back from market, fot Misa Hewlet isn’t up yet, nor pubody else, *oept- ing Bridget, the cook, and a couple of workin’ gals that’s gone out before this.” And Betsy rose and followed the woman into a dirty front-rovin on the first floor, where an old rickety and ragged sofa and a few cane- bottomed chairs prociaimed it to be the sitting- room. “ You stay here till I come back; ’twon’t be more'n half an hour, and Miss llewlet’ll be up by that time, for she always gets up early when her man is away,” said Mrs. Larkins. And (E(o) then Betsy was left alone. EOMmIIcDoo cS m / ee