Beadle's New York Dime Library, No. 128 — page 14: what you’re looking at

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

é why _— J — == a -_ a ——_- ——_ _—_——- -- -- — — a a turn, and, lady, 1 will then see you in safety to your home.” With a rope, that hung on a peg, he securely bound the unresisting prisoner, and then turned to the maiden. ‘* Now Lam at your service, mademoiselle.” ‘Hold, sefior! Had you not better resume your priestly robe and mask before you risk your face on the public streets?” The Chevalier turned in surprise upon the man, who smiled pleasantly, as he lay bound “upon the stone floor, ** What mean you?” “‘[ mean that L know you, sefior, for you once did me a good turn in St. Iago, when I was going to be garoted, for bee too guick with my knife, when a man cheated me at cards.” ‘Ha! your name?” ** Pierre Louis, when I am in New Orleans.” The Chevalier started, for he now saw in the man before him the lover of Louisette, the girl who had saved his life half an hour before. CHAPTER XXIII, A SCENE IN THE PADRE’S CELL, Ir was evident that the knowledge of who his risoner was greatly moved the Chevalier, for fianin e Valverde (whom the reader will remem- ber seeing in her elegant home, the night of Don lyan’s adventure with Jocko) saw, without knowing why, that her preserver seemed trou- bled; but, throwing off the look he wore, the Chevalier said, quietly ‘“*T will return and talk with you soon, sir; aud should the Padre Bonito come, bid him await me here.” ““Whom shall I say, sefior?” asked the pris- oner, with an innocent look, “The Chevalier, sir! Come, lady,” and he led Manine from the cell, locked the door, and then with his arm guided her along the dark corridor out into the open air. Once upon the streets, the Chevalier said, in an embarrassed way: ** Mademoiselle, | havea favor to ask of you.” _ “Name it, monsieur, and willingly I grant it, .or what could I refuse you?” was the reply and once more the beautiful eyes were raised to the face of the Chevalier, but only to meet the saintly-looking mask. ** Does any one know of your leaving home to- night?” **My maid only; as it was not far, I would not drive, so threw on my wrap, and a half visor to hide my face, and accompanied that wicked man, little dreaming he was leading me into a trap. But my brother, M. Noel, will have them punished,” said Manine, es, gy eS ‘**It is that very thing I would s of, for the favor I would ask is that you do not men- tion your adventure to-night.’ ¢ y, sefior?”’ and the surprise of the maid- en was evident in her face. *‘ Let me settle itin my own good way, and I romise you that neither the padre, nor his -hireling, will ever disturb you again.” Seeing that she made no reply when he paused, he went on: “It would do no good to prosecute them, ane pledge, you my FOr that wey. will perey n molest you; will you grant my request, nad emoiselle?” “Willingly, andin spite of the mystery that hangs over all, I will trust you,” and stopping at the iron wicket, that let into the grounds surrounding the old mansion, where the Val- verdes had lived for half a century, she con- tinued: **Here is my home, monsieur, and I only re- gret that you taboo my inviting you to visit me, that my brother might t you for the service rendered me.” ** Mademoiselle, my own acts have given me aD often before in my life, and a cruel Fate eads me ever to bring sorrow to my own heart, for, should our paths in life not cross again, a bitter regret indeed would it be to me,” He spoke earnestly, and with a tinge of bit- terness, and impulsively Manine Valverde said, while she laid her han upon his arm: ** And to me, monsieur.” He raised the little hand quickly to his as and turned away, with the same feeling in his heart that the maiden had in hers—that did not a wayward Destiny hold them apart, they could love each other, through storm and sunshine, e’en down into the shadows of the grave. ut, as he went along, retracing his steps to the old ruin, the vision of sweet rian Dalton arose before him, and he remembered her sad, pitiful face, as the moonlight streamed down upon it that night in the cemetery, when she sone by her father’s grave, and he groaned aloud, rather than spoke: “ Poor, poor Marian! Yoursweet nature won my boyish heart in that happy bygone time; but my own hand bas divided us forever, and *twere better that our paths divided, for from this night I know that the one woman on earth ‘to me I have just met,” and after awhile he added: ‘‘Ah, me, what strange things these hearts of ours are! They throb with joy; they ache with pain, and yet obey no laws. He had now reached the ruin, and once more entered its dark and dismal walls, to soon stand at the door of the padre’s cell. ape Shevdher (pratt. —--— a ning the door with his key, ho entered and found his prisoner still lying where he had left him. ‘* Well, sir, I have returned, as I promised.” “So I see, sehor; I knew you would come,” was the response of the captive. ‘* And the padre has not returned?” “‘He has not, and I cannot account for it—ha! there is a step in the corridor.” A tap on the door followed his words, and opening it, having just cast a blanket over the bound prisoner as he lay in the corner, the Chevalier beheld before him Pierre Jacot, the keeper of the cabaret where he had met Ivan the Hunchback, and where he always stopped himself when in New Orleans. ‘* Bah! Thisold hall is asdark as the approach to Purgatory, and, had I not brought my lan- tern, 1 would have shattered my precious shins —sacré! why were not our shins placed under the calves of our legs, sefior, by Dame Nature— Mon Dieu! but you are not Pierre!” and the man started back, as he now saw that he was addressing a different person from the one he had expected. ‘‘No, good Jacot, but I am one whom you well know—see !”” ‘*The Chevalier!” “Ay, and I came hither to see the padre, after which I was intending to return to my quarters in your cabaret.” ‘*'You will have to look elsewhere for the padre, sefior.”’ “What! has harm befallen him?” ‘He has his fate in his own hands, Sefior Chevalier; if he chose to leave this old stone- pile and skim the seas, if is his own look-out.” ‘* Pierre Jacot, what mean you?” asked the chief, in evident surprise. ‘*] will tell you all that I know, Sefior Cheva- lier; the padre sailed to-night for blue water and sent me the following note,” and he handed the chief a piece of paper, which was addressed 1, Pierre Jacot, and which he read aloud: “* JACOT: “Go to my home in the ruin, and you will find there one Pierre Louis, awaiting me with a captive, Bid him bear her back to her own roof once more in safety, and await at the Cabaret Soto until I commnu- nicate with him. ‘*Tell him to keep sober, or he shall forfeit every peso promised him; and more, for I sail to-night on a cruise that will bring gold untold to me, and those who serve me well, ONITO.”’ ‘‘And sent he no word to me, Jacot?”’ asked the Chevalier, who seemed deeply moved. ‘* None, sefior; that is all.” “*T noticed a note on yonder table, sefior, ad- dressed to ‘ The Chevalier.’” The voice came from the corner, and Pierre Jacot gave a cry of alarm, which brought a ringing laugh from Pierre Louis, who certainly took his ill-fortune coolly. ‘*It is only the one you seek, Jacot; I found him here in his deviltry, and made him prisoner,” and, as the Chevalier stepped across the room and took a note from the table, Pierre Jacot said: ‘* Ah, it is you, Monsieur Louis, is it¢ Then you have heard the m I brought you?” ‘Yes, but the Chevalier has saved me the trouble of escorting the lady home, and now has me in irons, as you see,” In the meantime the chief had broken the seal and was reading the note, with a face that was pale and stern, for what he read moved him deeply, and both Jacot and Pierre Louis saw by his burning eyes that the Padre Bonito had made an enemy of a dangerous man. CHAPTER XXIV. THE BUCCANEER’S OATH. THe note left by the Padre Bonito, and ad- dressed to ‘‘ The Chevalier,” read as follows: ““SrNor: ‘When love turns to hatred it is most bitter, and thus now is the feeling I have for you, ‘*Once we were friends; in fact, so dear was our friendship that, when I, for a crime committed in your far Northern land, was sentenced to die upon the gallows, you freed me from my irons, and in so doing placed the brand of outlaw upon yourself, and became a hunted man. “And I, ae atone | to my native isle of Cuba, thought to free her from the galling yoke of Spain and, as a conspirator, was seized, and ete stood under the shadow of death, when a second time you released me, for the sake of the auld lang syne friendship when we were chums at college. * Alas! since then you have swept the seas as & hated pirate, and I, under the guise of a Spanish monk, have found refuge in this old ruin, no one dreaming I was a wolf in sheep's clothing. “ But I tired of this bumdrum life, and fo not the loved one, your sweet sister, Mabel, to whom, in that ol¢en time, I had been engaged, | sought in my priestly oo that cold clime of New mngtand, and begged her to be my bride, and fly with me to other lands. ** And what was her reply? “*Tt crushed my heart, Conrado Costello, to know that my brother was a pirate, but it has broken it to know that you, whom I once loved, are what you are—a murderer, a conspirator.’ ‘* Well, sefior, from her lips I learned that ae had told her of my life, and thus began my hatred for you, which has ripened into a bitterness that makes me Spe foe, for past Leta sea I ay, forever. “To-night I cut adrift from the life I lead, and, as chance. places in my hand the power, I too will sweep the blue waters as a free rover; so beware of the day that brings you across the path of Conrado Costello, once known as the Papre Bontro.”’ etting Sg ey _-- Thrice the Chevalier read this strange letter, from a man he had every reason to believe his friend, but whom he would rather have slain with his own hand than see him the husband of his dearly beloved sister, Mabel. At last he turned to Jacot, and from his face all emotion had gone, as he said: ** Monsieur, I thank you for coming here to serve the padre, and 1 would feel obliged if you would return to your cabaret and have a horse ready for me, as I must sail to-night, and go at once to where my vessel waits.” ‘With pleasure, monsieur; I will go instantly and your horse shall await your coming,” and Jacot took up his lantern aud departed, while, as his receding footsteps died away, the Cheva- lier turned to Pierre Louis, and releasing him from his irons, said: ‘* Rise, monsieur, and when you return to the cabaret Soto, say to Mademoiselle Louisette that 1 have saved you from miscbief, and in part repaid her kind act of to-night.” ‘* Louisette, sefior! have you met her?” asked Pierre, with a jealous look in his eyes. ‘Yes, 1 was in danger of capture, and know- ing, through you, that I had once done you a good turn, she aided my escape; but she will tell you all. Now answer me, are you bound to the Padre Bonito by any ties?’ ‘*The strongest in the world, sefior—golden ones,” ‘* Ah! you serve him for gold?” ‘* True; he saw me in the streets one day, re- cognized in me a kindred spirit for evil, and to- day engaged me to kidnap the sweet lady whom you rescued from me to-night.” ** And his motive was ransom?” ‘* Yes, sefior; he told me he had a vessel ready to sail, and within the week would possess thirty ° thousand dollars ransom money.” ‘‘ And your share was to be?” ‘*One thousand pesos; a fair sum, sefior, for a poor devil like me,” was the frank reply. ‘*Serve me well and I'll give you ten thou- sand, to build a home fer yourself and your pretty Louisette; what say you, garcon @” ‘** Ah, sefior! if I had that sum 1 would never do another evil deed; but, what do you wish of me? I hope not vain > for I don’t like rim specters of the dead dogging me,” said erre, with a shudder. ‘*] will ask nothing wrong of you; only await tidings of the padre, and when you receive his orders, come first to me,” ‘* Willingly ; but where will I find you, sefior?” ‘Go to the cabaret of Pierre Jacot; he will tell you where to find me. Now, take this purse of gold, and see to it that you do not throw it away upon wine; and here is the key to this cell; keep it, and if you bave no better quarters come here, for, if 1 mistake not, you are on no good terms with the guards, and like night bet- ter for a walk than day.” ‘* True, sefior; my little peccadilloes cause me to love darkness rather than light; but I thank you for the gold, and will do your bidding.” He eted the purse, and locking the door, the Chevalier followed him out of the cell into the lonely street, for there were few dwellings in that quarter. They parted, Pierre Louis to hasten away to secure a disguise and visit Loui- sette, and the chief to remain, gazing moodily at the ruin. At.last he stretched forth his hand and gaid, half aloud; , ; ‘‘ Conrado Costello, when I risked my life and honor to save you from the gallows, I believed you innocent of the murder of which you were accused, and to be all that was honorable; but now I know you as you are—the murderer of poor Professor Doane—a gambler—the basest of conspirators against your government, and a would-be assassin of your monarch; while, now that you have the power, you have proven your- self a kidnapper of women, and, if 1 check not our vile career, you may yet drag my beauti- ful sister from her far-away home and make her a guilty a but I will check you, Conrado Costello, for here I swear by the Holy of Holies to hunt you down on land and sea, and may Heaven register my oath!” He turned quickly and walking rapidly along the streets soon reached the cabaret of Pierre Jacot, where be mounted the horse in waiting and, still wearing his priestly disguise, dashed. off at a rapid gallop, in the direction of theopen country. CHAPTER XXYV. THE CONSPIRATOR HOLDS THE WINNING HAND. WHEN the cunning and imbittered Hunch- back arranged with the Padre Bonito to aid him in his vile Be pl of carrying off Edna Enderos, he little dreamed that he was playing right into the hands of a man as wicked as himself. As the reader has seen, in the foregoing chap- ters, the Padre Bonito was only a priest in name and dress; but in reality was the Cuban college mate of Victor De Lisle, whose deed, in killing his pipe pa had caused him to be ser- tenced to the gallows, from which he had been saved only by the daring and noble friendshi of the man whose love for his friend had made: him an outlaw and a fugitive. Still believing in his friend, Victor De Lisle had again saved his life, when in Cuba he was (EOAATICC NOVO KS Gol