Beadle's New York Dime Library, No. 128 — page 7: what you’re looking at

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

~ - -— - —+- — while youare! But, brother mine, you should have been the rightful heir, and J the offshoot, for your face and form were worthy the proud name our father bore. It chanced otherwise, tw i arnsiprennin Corsair. et Pm ea eee - —— eee ew ee 7 a — = —— rr res ee ee + —_<-- — ° - <= “‘Great God! I cannot tell,” broke from the | painful character, and i 3 unexpectedness un- lips of the man. nerved you,” and, turning to Kdna, he con- ‘*Ha! ha! ha!” came unfeelingly from the | tinued: lips of the Hunchback, and then, after his con- and when you robbed me of the one roe ; | temptuous laughter, he said: a loved in the world, I offered you terms—not t {loved you, but from very hate and exquisite fondness for revenge, and, biting at my bait, “You cannot tell; then let me decide for you. | Shall I?” ‘Tf it must be, tell me your choice,” groaned you were caught, and now I have you just | Don Henrico. where I want you.” ‘* And you will use the power you hold over me?” “Hal ha! Not gather the harvest I have ory that would be strange!” ; ; ‘Have you no pity—no mercy to one of your own blood?” sail ‘*One of my own blood indeed!” and the Hunchback spoke with deep scorn. ‘‘ Let me see:—your mother was a mountain bandit’s daughter. Her father held our parent prisoner awaiting rich ransom, but his captive ui his hospitality by mating with his child, and you, brother Henrico, come of that illegal mis- alliance. Butat length returning to his Ldap old home, our father found his young bride had given birth to a son, myself, and oh! such a son, such a deformed, hideous infant was I, that my parents shrunk away; and seeing this, and knowing the story of the bandit’s daughter, the nurse of my mother hee apne a scheme to et rid of a horror, and gold, poured out as as water, sent me to the mountain hovel and brought you to the palace. ‘* Was it a wonder, Henrico, that my adopted mother clung to the secret for her child, and ar both you and I, as we grew in years, knew ‘Well, you, the petted one, got the estates of our grandee Enderos, while / me a youn bandit, and at last was captured and sentenc to death; but, through you I saved my life, for we both loved the same woman, the one who looks down upon us from yonder portrait. ‘*She was my captive, and when I told her of my love she scorned me; ay, when I asked her if she could ever love me, her answer was to turn a mirror toward me. ‘Tt revealed all my deformity, and her heart- lessness; but I gave herup to you, and you gave me my liberty—but upon conditions.” as, Ivan, I know them but too well.” ** Still let me recall them, brother mine, for I eame hither so to do. ** You loved to idolatry, Alita, the woman of my love; you loved equally as well ess 3 gold, and the proud name you bore, both of which you had robbed me of, and for my revenge, in my own good time, I swore I would give up the fair captive if you would make a treble vow.” ‘*For the love of God, name them not,” groan- ed the wretched Don Henrico, ** Por the love of revenge, I shall name them. “First, you vowed, if 1 would yield up the Sefiorita Alita, to you, as pure as when she fell into my power, you would, in eighteen years from that date, give into my possession the off- ‘pring of your union with the beautiful Span- “Second, you vowed by the Holy of Holies, that, if I cl not such offspring named, you would, after eighteen years, give me back all right, title, name and estates, which in infancy [ was robbed of on account of my deformity. “Third, you vowed by all that was sacred in heaven and earth, that if I claimed not the off- spring of your union with Alita, nor my title and estates held by you, and kept the sécret of your birth and mine, you would give me your reel é. “The eighteen years have passed, and more, brother Henrico, and I have come to hold you to the keeping of one of those three vows; which do you thinkI will claim—your beautiful daughter Edna, who is your only child, your th and name, or your life P” The Hunchback gazed unpityingly upon the man before him, who in turn s at him, his form like marble, his face rigid, and his whole << agony, existence, gleaming from his ro. r some moments neither spoke, and neither me shrunk from the other's; then Ivan the unchback spoke + at ‘““You were a spoilt and petted child, and sun- shine only was in your life, while I, ah! what was not my life in infancy, and what has it not been in later years? “My title, m4 ers name, my wealth, my loved one, with the joys and pleasures that shoul” have been mine, you have had, while I “ave been a mountain bandit, an outlaw, a hideous deformity, a wanderer from land to land, from sea to sea, and hunted everywhere by the hirelings of the man for whom I gave up —hunted down to be put to death, that he ht live secure in his false name and wealth. “But I would not die; Death shunned me, that in the end I might possess one yoy; that Joy will be my revenge on you, Don Henrico, and know you will not take out of my stricken heart the one ray of sunshine it has known. ‘Ah, no, you will not be thus cruel, and hence I have sought you now to ask you which and of the treble vows you will keep. ‘Shall it be your danghter, your secret and i eT ca ‘* Well, you love your Jife mort, your wealth next, and your daughter next, and yet you idol- | ‘““A glass of brandy, my dear girl, will fully revive him.” “‘] will bring it at once, Oh, father, I am happy to see you like yourself, once more,” and Edna hastened from the room, while the Hunoh- back sternly addressed the Don: ‘*Fool! where is your nerve that you yield toashock like a woman? Calm yourself, and ize her, so what must Le your affection for | tell her news from Spain has unmanned ywu— riches and existence? , ‘*To take your life weuld be good revenge for | me, and it would be a pleasure to deprive you | | Ah, she is here.” ‘* And you will not tell her that—” ‘*] will tell her nothing. Ab, my sweet lady, of your riches; but to leave you both and take this draught will make a new man of your your daughter would be a greater joy, for I would be happy in having you sorrow for her, and in having er suffer with dread of an un- known fate.’ ‘‘And what fate would you have for her, devil that you are?” cried Don Henrico. * PS have heard of Belmont, the Buccaneer?’ * Yes. ‘I would give thy daughter to him; in fact, make her a corsair’s bride.” ‘Fiend! Demon! by the God above, I'll have thy foul life, and thus rid myself and the world of a wretch s0 vile,” and Don Henrico sprung forward and clutched at the throat of the Hunch- back. But he was sewed in a that caused him to groan with pain, and hurled back upon the divan from which he had sprung, halfstunned and breathless while Ivan the Hunchback said, derisively : ** Fool, try not thy strength with ‘mine, or it will be thy life, and not thy wealth nor thy daughter, I will take.” Cowed by the exhibition of strength he had witnessed, Don Henrico remained silent, and once more the deformed spoke: ‘* Belmont, the Buccaneer, is a man I admire for the seas are his abiding-place, the waves an winds his delight, his crew his slaves, and he laughs to scorn the navies of the world. . “Men call him bandsome, and his courage none dare dispute, while tis said he admires a fair face and form more than most men. ‘*Though I have not seen bim in all my cruis- ings, I now wish to meet him, for he holds oe: tive one I love—strange as it may seem in meto love. That one he will yield up, not forransom, it is said, but for a maiden of beauty surpassing that of his captive, and the only one I have ever seen that could t of greater loveliness is your coment) Don Henrico. ‘‘Thus it is, that Ieclaim the keeping of one of oer three vows, and I ask you which shall it One look at Don Henrico would have softened a heart of stone, one would believe; yet, Ivan the Hunchback sh: wed nothing but joy ia his face for the misery he witne in the mao, in whose veins flowed the same blood as in his own. | ‘Which vow will you keep, Don Henrico?” he demanded, in his softest tones. ‘Oh, God, if one vow must be kept, take her, my 1a, my poor, poor child, for, in shame and sorrow I confess it, I love my riches—my T Wem wes f anguish his li d th a cry of an u ps, an wrung from his heart, Don Henitico sunk back upon the divan, unconscious, and in deep, stern tones, Ivan the Hunchback breathed one word: “* Coward |” CHAPTER XI. THE HUNCHBACK AND THE PADRE, THE swooning cry of Don Henrico run through the mansion, and reaching the ears o Edna, who was seated in the library, quickly brought her to her father’s side. Seeing Don Henrico prostrate upon the divan, and the Hunchback bending over him, she turned with flashing eyes upon the latter, while she said, sternly: ‘* What means this outrage, sir?” ‘** There is no outrage, sweet girl; your father has heard news that has overcome him, for, as ou see, he has swooned,” responded Ivan the unchback in tones so seft as to cause Edna to turn a second look upon him, when she met bis glorious eyes, now filled with assumed com sion and anxiety that thoroughly deceived her, and so fascinated her, that she failed to observe his hideous features and terrible deformity, for she said, kindly: ‘* Forgive me, sir; alarm for my father made me hasty in my judgment.” ‘‘T am used to the dee wounds from the sweetest lips,” he said, bitterly, and taking from his pocket a small vial, he placed it so that the unconscious man could inhale it. | The result seemed magical, for Don Henrico. breathed a lon sigh his form trembled; then his eyes opened and became fixed upon the face of the Hunchback. “T am glad you are better, Don Henrico; rouse yourself, for your swooning has greatly alarmed your sweet daughter, here,” said lvan, warningly. ‘““Have you told her?” gasped the Don, with mine that | me back my wealth and estates, | a shudder. e or your li. “Simply that you had heard news of a most | father. | } } | ere, Don Henrico, take this brandy, for it will give you strength.” The Don took the glass with trembling hands, but, bringing his will to his aid, once more con- quered his emotion, dashed off the liquor, and, with an effort, rose to his feet, saying, caimly: ‘“*T am better, now, and in a few days wil oe to attend to the business between us, Don van. ‘‘We will say, then, one week from to-day, sefior; now, I will say adios,” and Ivan the Hunchback bowed low to Edna, glanced warn- ingly at Don Henrico, and left the room and the mansion. He had seen the evil glitter in the eyes of his half-brother: ‘‘ He means to play me false, but he is a fool tothink he can outwit me. Maldita! he is an idiot,” and, co thinking, he folded his cloak around him closely, bent bis slouched hat over his eyes, to keep out the pelting rain, and wended his way along ata a we in the di- rection of the lower part of the city. A walk of fifteen minutes brought him to the last city light, a lamp swinging across the street on a chain; beyond all was gloom and darkness, yet indistinctly visible arose the mas- sive walls of an old convent, crumbling to ruin. Crossing the deserted, grass-grown court of the old cloister, he paused at a stone portal, opening into the stuccoed poor Ren, ite vy cornices and massive pilasters rising high above his head. Once through the arched entrance, and he came to a wide stone stairway, but, as though acquainted with the surroundings, he ascended unbesitatingly until he reached a vestibule above, and there the flickering glimmer of a lamp beyond dimly lighted his way. The winds howled mournfully through the old ruin; the place was cheerless in the cx- treme; yet it seemed to hold no dread for the Hunchback, for, unmindful of his desolate sur- roundin he strode fearlessly on, passed a lamp shedding forth a sickly glare, and then paused at a heavy oaken door, studded with mt a bates Re sengee ent harply, and n this door he rap wice s the ¢ ve three lighter Cae and alinost in- stantly the door was opened. “* Felices noches, sefior padre !” accosted the nn ee es there appeared in the rites | a tall, heavily- built man, attired in a long blac gown, girdled around the waist withar to the ends of which were attached a solid gold crucifix and a rosary. : ‘* Enter,” answered the man, opening the door wide. The hunchback ste over the threshold and the door was closed behind him. Ivan found himself in a large room, with bare walls, stone flooring, and a table, upon which were piled numerous books, a carved chair, a stool, and a cot for furniture. A monk’s street cap, a penitential whip, com- posed of seven knotted cords, ard a mi much worn, lay upon the ect, while a m lamp and iron-rimmed spectacles. witn ink-horn and quill pens were upon the table. And the occupant of the lonely cell was one not to soon forget, for he was past fifty, with iron-gray hair, smoothly-shaven face, that dis- played every mobile feature, and severe, dark gray eyes that were most penetrating and se- vere, while his thin lips expressed a proud and — avaricious nature, for a covert, lurking smile dwelt upon his mouth that was dangerous and treackerous. ; Yet his face denoted great intelligence, and there was character enough upon every feature to promise strength and indomitable will in de pened he might undertake, be it for good or evil. “It is a stormy night without. sefior,” he said, calmly, to Ivan, at the same time motion- ing him to a seat upon the stool. ‘Is it, sefior padre? but, in fact, I had not noticed it,” was the indifferent reply. ‘* Your mind is then more stormy within than the elements without?” pt “You are right, padre, and I sought you to ask your advice, for I told wou, when Jacot the creole, brought me here, that I would need your services.” ‘*‘And I need gold,” was the calm and sug- gestive answer. ‘* You shall have it, for I ask not even a man of your sacred calling to serve me for loye, padre. Now tell me, when dces this Belmont, the Buccaneer, come to the city?’ “*The gold, sefior.” “‘Ah, excuse me! Here! take this purse, and <S O)OKO) Gorm e (E@)