Beadle's New York Dime Library, No. 128 — page 6: what you’re looking at

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

| | Sl ~—e= a The Chevalier Corsair. CHAPTER VIII. THE CREOLE BELLE. IN one or the nost palatial old mansions upon the Rue St. Luis, in New Orleans, and a fave weeks prior to the scene that opens this story, a gentleman of noble and striking appearance paced the floor of his élegantly-furnished room, a look of joy upon his face, Without, a storm was raging, and only a few wayfarers, drawn from their homes by stern necessity or duty, to face the pelting rain, were seen upon the streets, while within all was lux- ury and comfort, and the dignified occupant of the room gene to and fro, seemingly content with himself and the world in general. ‘* Yes,” he murmured, “I feel, I know that he is dead, and the iron has gone out of my heart forever. ‘But ah! what have I not suffered in all these years, hiding that dread secret, and dreading that the vows I then made would one day bave to be ag but, thank God, the time has gone by when he was to come, and I know by that that he is dead, rather than by the oaths of the paid wretches who have told me they put him out of the way; but, oh God! should he not be dead,” and a livid hue crossed the face of the speaker, as though a dread of some great terror had risen before his vision; his lips remained firm set for awhile, and until broken in their sternness by a light laugh. ‘“*Ha! ba! ha! the py ere of the past, and expectant specters of the future, make a cow- ard of me, and i ination brings up before me anticipations of evils that cannot come, for he sleeps in his grave. Ha! ha! ha! a grave with not one, not even a mother, to drop upon it one pitying tear. But I must smooth these troubles m my face, for I hear Edna’s footstep on the stairs,” and crossing the room, a smile upon his lips, he greeted a maiden, who just then crossed the threshold, and whose radiant beauty would have made gla: the heart of an anchorite. gg be scarcely sixteen, if quite that age, Edna Enderos was sessed of an exquisite face and form that drove mad with envy the belles in her social circle, and caused men to bow down in almost adoration to her loveli- ness, And as beautiful in character as in person, an heiress to the vast wealth of her father, and just across the threshold of womanhood, it was no wonder that she was the belle of the Creole asi and was sought by beaux innumerable. oud of his beautiful child Henrico Enderos certainly was, and the descendant of a Spanish ndee himself, it was whispered in the clubs that the father intended his daughter should be- come the wife of one of Spain’s nobles only though he had for years lived in America, and called himself an American. Whatever the views of the father regarding Edna might be, they did not discourage the gallants of the Crescent City, and handsome young planters, rich bankers and wealthy Cre- oles sought untiring y to win favor in the mai- den’s eyes, and gain the consent of the beauty and he to cast aside the plans of her am- bitious parent, and dwell in the sunshine of their love. But, up to the time of the opening of my ro- mance, Edna Enderos shown no preferen though she had flirted, waltzed, and encourag all not her admirers, yet kept her own heart my my child, it is too stormy to venture out to-night, so we will have to content our- selves at home, for which Iam not sorry,” and Don Henrico, as he was called, kissed his daneeter Sane her forehead, and led her toa seat. ‘*Nor am I sorry, father, for an evening at home alone with you is a rarity I cannot but enjoy, as I am ennhuied with society and the ry of men.” “Can you blame men, Edna, for telling you the truth?—for you are indeed the most beauti- ful Woman, child though you be in years, in the entire city of New Orleans,” said her father, with enthusiastic admiration. ‘*Spare me, father, I implore you, for I do not wish to have to say with , ‘And thou too, Brutus!’” laughed the beauty, as she turned and took up aS h guitar, running her fin- gers idly, yet skillfully across the strings. ** You will have time to sing me a song, Ed- na, before tea is announced,” said Don ‘Hen- rico, and, without reply, she broke forth into the ‘‘ Pirate’s Serenade,” her voice, rich, melo- dious and cultivated, ringing through every of the house, “That is a stirring air, my child, yet it is strange that you so like it, when it dwells upon piracy,” observed the Don, when she had fin- ished “Tt is my favorite, strange as it may seem father, for I like its wild, reckless tone, an pirate though he be, I could admire one who would woo mein the same fearless, bold man- ner, “Why, Edna! could you love a man you cones a bape She ae re) father, in a tone of surprise, and of sli ispleasure, **Oh, no, never a epinina’, father, fora man must be indeed noble to win my regard; but, I could admire a bold, free rover who risked his life for gold he did not care for, and who had ne cs + es + + - - - -_ 2 ee ee ee —— Se : not in his bosom a cruel heart, and could pity | in its tone, when the face seemed suddenly to him for the sorrows and wrongs that bad driven him to piracy,” she answered, with considerable feeling. % And, admiration and pity lead to love, Ed- na; beware!” answered her father. ‘*True, but then I need no warning, father, for the days of buccaneering are drawing toa close, and ere long the seas will not be shadowed by the flag of the free rover; but, come, Jacques has announced tea,” and, ret es her tiny hand into ber father’s arm, she led the way into the supper-room, little dreaming that her idle words might Pare anything but a jest, for, eter around her young life shadows were creeping shape her destiny as Fate might direct, so “There’s a divinity that shapes our ends Rough hew them how we will.” ‘“‘There isa man in the parlor to see you, sefior,” and Jacques, the major domo of the En- deros mansion, looked into the oo -room. ““Who is it? quietly asked the Don. “‘T know not, sefior.” Ah, he is not one of our friends, then? but, I forget, you said a man, and not a gentleman. “Yes sefior, a man, ana yet one who has the face and form of a devil, or he is deformed and hideous to look upon. Don Henrico had risen to his feet, but, at the words of Jacques be sunk back in his chair, his face white, his eyes staring, and his lips trem- bling, while he said, in a husky voice: ‘‘A deformed body, and a hideous face, did you say?” ‘‘- Yes, sefior,” answered Jacques, in surprise at the emotion of his master, while Edna, in alarm, arose and approached ber father. ‘Oh, God! at last! at last!” and Don Henrico dropped his head upon the table, completely overcome with emotion. CHAPTER IX. THE DEFORMED FOE. — ALARMED at the deep emotion exhibited by her father, and seeming to r who it was that had called, Edna Enderos turned and asked, anxiously: ‘‘Father! father, tell me what has so deeply moved youf’ Peg not ask me, my child,” groaned the on, ‘* Jacques, go and tell that person, whoever or whatever he may be, that my father desires not to see him,” said Edna. ‘Hold! do not tell him that, or—or—tell him I will see him at once; and, Jacques, mark well his face and form, and tell me of him when you return, for his coming has unnerved mé, as f believed bim dead, and he is very dear to me. et, both Edna and Jacques were sat- isfied with this explanation, and the latter left the room while Edna made an effort to comfort her father. Exerting his powerful will, and evidently de- termined to face whatever fate held in store for him, Don Henrico arose and threw off all signs of emotion, so that when the servant returned he sag again, aud asked, calmly: “He is, as I said, sir, a very devil to look at, but his voice is as soft as a woman’s, and his feet and hands are beautiful, as are also his eyes—” ‘*Itis the one I believed dead. Asked he to see Don Henrico Enderos?” ‘Yes, sefior; he said, tell the Don an old and esteemed friend has risen from his grave and come to visit him.” “Ha! did I not say I believed him dead? You see now, Edna, and you, too, Jacques, that I had cause to be deep! moved; brandy here, sir!’ and Don Henrico Sushed off a giass half- full of brandy, and, removing all traces of émo- tion from face, 4 walk — : = room smiling, and apparently unmov y the com- ing of a visitor he had neither expected nor desired to see. In the parlor, standing in the glare of the wax tapers in the massive chandelier, and ing at a portrait upon the wall, a woman's face ro 9 within a handsome frame, was theindividual whose coming had so moved Don Henrico. What his age was were hard to tell, for he might be, as judged by his black hair, unwrin- kled face and bright eyes, hardly twenty, and yet there was a look of sternness in the huge mouth, whose thick lips failed to hide the fangs, rather than teeth, that indicated perhaps two- score years and five bad passed over his head. And such a head! as large asa t’s, square, and set upon broad shoulders, deformed by a huge hump upon the back that almost destroyed all semblance of human shape. And yet his deformed body and short, stout legs were richly clothed in fashionable attire, and in his shirt front gleamed a ruby pin, while a pearl of rare beauty was upon the little finger of his left hand. His feet, incased in well-fitting boots, his hands, small and shapely, his hair, bis com- lexion and his wondrous eyes were the redeem- ng points to look upon in this strange man, while his voice, as he spoke aloud to himself, and gazed upon the oe tng was melodious in its softness, though it --————- Le Ee ee ee AD EEE EO a SF ee a eee eee ee a ee ee a a ee ee — had a disagreeable ring awaken his fierce anger. ‘‘The face of the one who was once all the be! pe and oe se has ggne his work well, for he has portrayed every uty it pos- sessed, even to the exquisite neck mei shoul- ders,” he said, in his soft, harmonious tones. “But,” he suddenly and: fiercely broke out, ‘the artist could not portray the false heart beneath that white bosom, nor the devil behind that angel face—ha! he comes, the grandee of Spain, who gave up his home beyond the seas to come here and dwell among free Americans,” and he turned to the door, a sinister smile rest- ing se his hideous mouth. Ah, Don Henrico, I greet yeu after many long years,” he said, quietly, as the host entered. the room, pale, yet unmoved in a rance. a Yes, it is a surprise I neither expected nor: wished,” was Don Henrico’s calm reply. ‘You seem unmoved by my presence. I had te see your face whiten, your limbe tremble, when you saw me.” ‘‘No, for I knew whom I was to see.” ** Ah! and how, pray?’ you, and I knew that “My servant descri earth held but one such.” The severe shot at the man’s deformity went. straight home, for the hideous face grew black with passion, while he said in deep, hoarse tones: ‘‘ Henrico, had I held in my heart for you one atom of mercy that might have caused me to spare you, your words have banished it, and as Lazarus saw Dives in hell, so could I see yon there without one pang of pity.” Don Henrico ane to oe Pw the passion ‘he had aroused, for he said quickly: “T meant not to offend, Ivan, though God knows I would have no mercy from you, were I to tell you that you were an angel in face, an Apollo in form.” ‘‘Why should you expect mercy from me, Henricof” ‘‘T expect none, and I feel now that you will prove yourself the devil you appear,” was the calm rejoinder. ** And why should I not? I ained with you twenty years ago, offering inducements which you accepted, and in return for vast. wealth, a ) chang name, anda beautiful bride, I received from you vows, which you were to keep when 1 demanded payment, eighteen years after date. Those vows you gave, believing that their demand for payment would never come, for you mentally swore that I should ne- ver live to see them rr ip and, Don Henrico, it is not your fault that 1 now stand before you, for well I know the plots you have arranged, and the gold you have given, to have me die by an assassin’s hand. But your hire were thwarted, and I have come to see that your vows are Are you prepared to beep em?” | ‘Oh God, have mercy!” and Don tottered to a seat and buried his face in his bands, while his whole form trembled with the Wo i eaaeae 40 not ear Seats ng down upon him, a t glitter of triumph in his dark‘eves, stood the farmers back, unpitying and unmerciful, for, after twenty long years, his day of retribution had come, CHAPTER X, DON HENRICO’S TREBLE VOW. For a few moments Ivan the Hunchback, as he had been known in the past, stood ng at the man whom his presence had so ao and the triumphant emile upon his lips into a sneer, as, at last, he said in his low, me- lodious tones: “Well, Don Henrico, my bas shaken even your proud, ambitious and callous heart.” ‘‘Death would not have more terror for me,” broke from the lips of the Don, as he once more conquered his emotion and sprung to his feet with flashing eyes. “T believe you, Henrico, for fear death leas than the loss of the wealth that makes life worth the living; you were always a luxurious fellow, and your tes were the same as the luxurious father you so despise for being the author of your being—” “Hold! Ivan, for the love of Heaven throw not that curse again in my teeth,” cried Don Henrico, warmly. “I must, for though the truth may be un- pleasant to your ears now and then, it has been a tingling curse in mine since, a wee child, my own mother turned from me in abhorrence, ‘You are elegant in form, handsome in face, and can win men to you as easily as you can fascinate women, while all turn from me with dread and aversion; and o" my dear Henrico, are we not the same blood?” ** Alas, too true.” ‘Why should you bemoan that fact, m brother, for where you are godlike in soven,'y am a devil in def. rmity.” ‘Rut the difference! oh! the difference, Ivan!” groaned Don Henrico. “Ha! hal you mean, that in spite of this hideous face and deformed stature of mine, which my own mother shrunk from, and my father cursed at sight, 7 am not basely born, <S GOmMmichoo / co