Beadle's Dime Library No. 146 — page 10: what you’re looking at

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

——————_—_—_————aaaai= iS a ~~ -_——. —_— < = La ——s — - — == SST = ons CS; > ’ a Si a a eee LO d a regret for the departed woman as though he fad Shah her all his life and the world hed not held for him a nearer or dearer friend; then he got in his epbts empe which was in waiting and went home to dinner, oppressed all the way with the fear that he was late and that the joint would be overdone. Dura Eldon looked more beautiful than ever in her mourning robes, although her face was very pale, but no tears flowed from her eyes even when she heard the heavy clods of earth falling with a dull thud upon the coffin, and each sound seemed like a blow struck at her very heart; but, she had suffered so long, had wept so much that the fountain was dry and dull despair had taken the place of active sor- row: The gentleman who accompanied her was a remarkable-looking man; he was tall, finely proportioned, an elegant figure and an expres- sive face, He was dark in complexion, looking like a foreigner, had jet-black eyes and hair, a silky mustache and imperial of the same hue, a rather full face, with that peculiar expression upon it which seems to indicate that the owner is a good liver and addicted to the pleasures of the table. In brief, he was one of those rare men who had the faculty of making friends out of strangers without any particular trouble. As we have said he was elegantly dressed, and it was not so much the richness of his garb as the style in which the articles were chosen, fashioned and worn. His jewelry, too, was su- perb without being gaudy; in fine, he was not overdressed in an icular. After the minister had departed the girl stood motionless by the grave, watching the men fillup the cavity in a dazed, stupid man- ner. The gentleman looked at her for a moment; then a peculiar expression came into his eyes, and he slightly compressed the corners of the extremely resolute mouth that the drooping mustache almost completely hid. Evidently he did not like the look upon the girl’s face, He touched her on the shoulder. ‘*Miss Eldon, had we not better withdraw?” he asked, in a voice which was very low, very musical and which possessed a slight foreign ac- cent, “This isa painful scene and the longer you linger the more unpleasant it will become.” ‘*As you please,” the girl replied, turning, mechanically, away from the grave and placing her hand within his offered arm. ' He led her to the brougham which was in waiting; no hired carriage this, but an elegant private establishment—the vehicle, an imported one by a Parisian maker, the harness from Lon- don, the horse a Kentucky thoroughbred, and the coachman, a dignified young man in a rich livery, who, with his smooth, sanctimonious ooked much more like a theological stu- dent than a coachman, Certainly the owner of this establishment was a man of exquisite taste | ‘* Home,” ordered the gentleman to the coach- man after he had the lady to enter; then he got into the seat remy the man mounted to the box and away they went. The home of this gentleman was on a par with the rest of his surroundings, although not very imposing-looking on the outside, being only a small two-storied brick, but it was in a first-class neighborhood on one of the side streets up-town, one of the old cottages built before the up-town march of fashion and brown- stone fronts. There was a small en in front, something rare in that part of the city, and a narrow pas- sageway by the side of the house led to a little stable in the rear. Alighting from the carriage the gentleman conducted Miss Eldon into the house, The butler, a rather large man with a thin, gray beard, and the same peculiar expression upon his face that the coachman wore, met them with the intelligence that dinner was ready to be served. At first, Miss Eldon begged to be excused, saying that she had no appetite, but upon her companion represen to her that she was really not doing justice to herself without taking a mouthful of something after her lo: ride, and a glass of wine, at. least, to no her, she consented to eat, Dura was like wax in the hands of this stranger, and she yielded at once to his desire; she went up to her room, where the French maid who had been employed to wait upon her, speedily prepared her for the dining-room. The woman was a large, buxom person, very quiet and well-trained, as all the people con- nected with the house seemed to be, performing her duties almost without words, a very miracle ef a servant. The meal was eaten in almost utter silence for the gentleman understood of course that the lady was notin a mood for conversation, and therefore he did not trouble her, merely calling her attention to the different as were served as if to coax her to eat. the terrible affliction which had fallen n the girl had utterly destroyed her ; _ fact, the blow was so heavy t i seemed to have dazed her. Her companion watched her with the great- est Sis gee while apparently not notieing her at all ugh his face was one ¥- hich, from jong training, had acquired the difficult art of concealing what was passing within the mind of its owner, yet, in spite of this, one used to the man would have readily detected that he was not only perplexed but annoyed by the girl’s manner. _When the meal was ended he addressed the girl. ‘You must take good care of yourself; you must not give way to grief, you know. ou have received a heavy blow, certainly, but it is the course of nature. We cannot live always and few of us would want to, I am thinking, if | we could. You must bear up, and when the violence of the shock has passed away, and you have sufficiently recovered to talk on business, we will discuss some matters that may be of in- terest to you in the future.” ‘Why delay?” observed the girl; ‘‘let us dis- cuss them now.” ‘‘But do you think you are in a proper con- dition just now? You will pardon me for say- ing it, 1 am sure, but you really seem as if your head was affected by this heavy misfortune that has befallen you.” **Do not fear in regard to that: if I could have become insane | would most certainly have been affected on the night when my mo- ther died. Isurvived that shock with reason unclouded, and there cannot be any greater one for me.in this world,” f ef you are willing, perhaps it would be as well, ‘Act your own pleasure, but as far as I am concerned, I am quite agreeable.” ‘**We will discuss the matter at once then; possibly it will relieve your mind, turn it upon other yer pox than your sad affliction.” The gir silently bowed her head in assent, The two rose from the table and the gentle- man led the way to the library, which was a cosily-furnished little room on the first floor in an extension of the house. , The gentleman was very particular to close the door after the girl entered. ‘To such a conversation as ours is likely to be it is important there should be no lis- teners.” Again the yirl nodded assent, although from her listless manner it was plain that she took but small interest in the matter, ‘“*There!” he said, after closing the door; ‘* there isn’t any danger of anyone overhearing what we say; 1 have as well-trained and as good servants, I am certain, as there are in the city, but servants will be servants, you know, and it is but human nature to be more or less curious,” _ Then he drew a chair up to where the girl had seated herself and sat down. ‘The blow which fell so suddenly upon you was so heavy, and your sorrow was so great, that a rtetaline your grief I refrained from g to you until you had time to recover from the stroke, and I am afraid that even now I am rather hasty.” The man was exerting himself to his very ut- lath tated bo pampetien tie atl dor at ciliate ease, to magnetize the girl, for al- ready he began to be afraid that this silent, wax-like girl, so superb in her glorious beauty, was one to require all his arts to conquer her. She still re ed cold, im ive, a woman of ice rather than warm and living flesh. “Oh, it matters not. I may as well hear what you have to say now as at any other time.” ‘* But I fear I will fatigue you; it will take some time and you have not had an oppor- tunity of recovering from the weakening effect of your long vigils by the bedside of your dying parent,” he urged. ‘*As you please; but I am ready to listen, and I assure you I feel pare ecdy. strong.” ‘* Now, in the first place, in regard to your position in this house,” he said, drawing his chair still closer, and speaking in the most con- fidential manner. ; For the first time an expression different from the one of blank indifference which had rested so eam Tg upon the girl’s face passed over it. It was as if the near proximity of the gentle- man was distasteful to her. His quick eyes caught the expression, and in an instant guessed its meaning. CHAPTER XII. WHO HE WAS, ‘‘My position in this house?’ she repeated, and as if she did not quite understand. ‘* ‘Yes; I am a bachelor, living here alone and without any lady relatives in the house; in fact, the only two women on the premises are the housemaid and the cook. Naturally to bring yon here, a young lady of your remarkable uty, without offering a reasonable explana- tion, would at once have excited gossip. From the servants it would soon have spread around along the neighbors, but, right in the begin- ning, 1 took measures to prevent any idle sur- mises as to who and what you were. Of course I was obliged to have recourse to fiction, buta fiction which does not any one, and is used purely for a good purpose cannot be so a very wrong. I announced that you were a relative, a cousin, whom I had not seen since you were a child, and that misfortune having come upon you, inasmuch as both your parents had been rudely torn oe poe by death, I had determined that henceforth you should make your home with me,” The girl simply bowed her head; the state. ment was a plausible one and she was content, although from the way she felt it did not mat- ter much to her what any one said. ‘You must remember, you know,” he con- | tinued, ‘‘that in reality I know almost abso- lutely nothing whatever about you, and there fore in putting forth any statement I was venturing on dangerous ground. I knew, of course, that your name was Dura Eldon; that our mother’s name was Martha Eldon, and t your father was dead; furthermore, that you were the most beautiful girl I had ever set eyes upon, and now that I have had a chance to make your acquaintance, I have learned that ou are as good and accomplished as you are utiful.” But, not the slightest effect did this compli- ment produce upon the girl; her eyes were cast down upon the floor, and she really did not seem to notice what was being said. That he could not look into her lovely face, and watch in her glorious eyes the effect of his words, an- noyed the man, decidedly. ‘My family history is soon told,” she said, after quite a long pause, raising her eyes from the carpet, but not fixing them upon his face, as he wished she would, but upon his long, white hand, which rested upon the armof the cushioned chair in which he sat, as if there was a sort of a fascination in the costly diamond ring which blazed upon the little finger. ‘I was born in Virginia; my father was the only son of an only son, and my mother was unfortunate enough to lose all her relatives by death, so that I grew up absolutely without kindred, my father and mother excepted. father was in busi- ness in Richmond, Virgmia; he was unfor- tunate, failed, and his creditors took all. Broken down by hard work and by great mental labor brought on by his long struggle anes adverse circumstances, he came to New York, hoping in this great city to get a fresh start, but on the way here he took cold, and not being in any condition to resist disease, died soon after we arrived. Thrown thus upon our own resources in a strange city my mother and myself had a terrible task to secure the bare means of living. Both of us were expert with the needle, and just as we were reduced to our last crust we succeeded in obtaining work, but the st le had been too severe for my poor mother; she sickened and died. The rest you know. You see the story is an extremely simple one.” ‘* And then you really have not a living rela- tive in the world?” ‘* Not one.” ‘* How strange! It is my own case exactly.” sé Yes?’ ‘‘ Not a soul in the world to claim kindred with me,as far as I know. Now, if I werea believer in the science of attraction, I might think that the fact that we were both so situ- ated was what attracted me to you.” The girl did not reply; she wasstill staring at the hand as if there were some fascination in the lustrous diamond, the light from which was not half as brilliant as that which sparkled from her eyes. ‘‘ Now that I know who you are itis only fit that I should return the compliment and let you know who I am,” he continued, finding that she was not inclined to speak, ‘‘My name you know, Adolph Lescant, and that gentleman of fortune and position, as I assured you when I first bad the honor of addressin you, by this time you are probably pee since you have me acquainted with my surroundings. I own, frankly, that I am rather inclined to be a little odd and eccentric in my ways; if I were not so, L, in all human probabil- ity would never have had the pleasure of be- coming acquainted with you. Just yf Samy I met ies in that obscure quarter of the city in which you resided—I will not say in which you found your home, for the place from which I resc ou was certainly not a home in any sense of that sometimes much abused word. You are a beautiful girl; I do not say it to flatter you, for to simply speak the truth ought not to atter any one; ides, you know it, for you are a sensible woman. Although you were poorly clad, and lacked all the aids which go to make even beauty attractive, you attracted me. I was seized with a whim to follow you; I am and always was a slave to impulse, and so I obeyed the whim. From your neighbors I easily learned who you were and how you were situated, and then I determined to act—as I have acted. I came to gen frankly told you that you were the most charming woman that I had ever encountered, and that | would gladl pay my addresses to you if you would it it.” ‘* And I, rendered desperate by of my mother, and not c ‘what became of myself, agreed to sell myself to you! You see, I, too, speak frankly. For the money to pe er, condition chase medicine and necessities for my mo whereby I imagined her life might be pro- ElNOO| KS 4 (EO) SOLU