Beadle's Dime Library No. 230 — page 23: what you’re looking at

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

—- = a AR TT a pretended to like music, but it was of a low order, and be made odious slang remarks, even in the old days, whenever I played anything classic, and used to prefer ‘‘ The or ‘Nancy Lee” to the gems of Wagner or Liszt. It was a terrible blow, my losing the doctor: but dear Captain Denyse was so, so kind and gentle, I could not help loving bim for it, and he was one of those once inveigled by that art- ful little thing, and so it came about. I hope we shall be happy. Certainly there is less disparity of age than there was between me and the poor doctor. I am twenty-five and Clarence is thirty, and Clarence is such an casthetic name. Mary Bruce and her grandfather arrived in New York, after I was over the first grief of my widowhood, and she came to see me soon after. I was surprised to see how changed she was. All her baby beauty had gone, and she was pale and serious, trying the Madonna style, which does not become these washed-out blondes. She was in deep mourning, as she told me, for her cousin; but I could hardly believe that, when I remembered how she to treat him on the Spindrift. can’t deny that black became her; but I think the airs she put on were too hypocritical for anything. I took occasion to tell her bow — Captain Denyse had been to me, and she ““Poor Denyse! Ah, Mrs. Peters! how_his name calls back the terrible, terrible past! Was he well, poor fellow, and happy? h, how I hope so!” | felt enough provoked tosay: — ‘Yes, he was! He is a captain now, and, wher he returns from his next voyage, I have promised to marry him.” She started, and looked at me earnestly, and then said: ‘*Oh, Mrs. Peters!. how thankful to be! He is @ good, noble man. will be happy!” I knew she must be bursting with envy, and trying to hide it under a show of kindness—so I said: ‘*I don’t know about being thankful, Miss Bruce. 1 su e you might think so, to be sure, My Clarence is well enough. He adores me, and | don't intend to let him know whether I care for him too much.” She replied slightly, and said, in a thoughtful ‘ ou ought hope you way: } a How strange things come round! I’m so lad he is going to be happy!” Oe And you,” I said—‘' | suppose you have had hundreds of adorers, since you flirted so hard on the Spindrift. It’s time you were thinking of getting married.” Her eyes filled with hypocritical tears, as she pis Mrs. Peters! I shall never get mar- ‘Oh, nonsense!” Isaid. ‘‘They all say that. Let a nice fellow come along, and you'll jump at him—like all the rest.” ‘*Do they all do that?” she asked, looking in- nocenut. “Oh, Mrs. Peters! don’t talk ill of our own sex. I’m sure you didn’t jump at Den se, did you?” “Of course not,” said I, and [ felt my color rising at her impudence. ‘But then I’m notin the same category with young girls now. I’m an old woman, I suppose you think.” ‘‘Oh surely not,” she answered. ‘‘ Your nephew told me that you were not thirty, when you married the poor doctor.” “No, nor yet, I thank you, Miss Bruce. I was twenty-five on my last ome My nephew by marriage has a great deal of assur- wey to my age. When did he tell you * Oh, a long time ago, in Batavia,” she said absently. ‘“‘l was very ill there, you know; | and he saved my life. Ah, heisa tor, Mrs. Peters; so kind, so ski ntle and considerate. Tons Doctor Sam.” “ Hem,” I said, “I wonder you don’t marry him.” She shook ber head sadly. ‘No, no, I shall never marry. My heart is in the deep, deep sea, where he lies sleeping for- ever. Ah, had I only known then what | know now!” And her ot oe filled with tears again, so that I n to think the little thing had some real feeling in her, even if it was perverted. So I said to comfort her: ‘* Well, well, my dear, you'll get over that. First loves are never deep ones. Some day you'll marry Sam Peters, very likely, and it will be all right. Have you heard from him lately? He never condescends to write to me.” She looked up at me in her artfully innocent lendid doc- ful, and so I shall never forget way. why, hasn’t he ee to you? He is com- me in a few weeks.” , ue How do you know?” J asked; for I began to shake inwardly, when 1. remembered what odious beings lawyers are, and how hateful Sam could be, if he wanted. “Why, he wrote to grandpa, saying he was _ The lue Danube,” everywhere, and I had to tell him I wanted a rivate interview, before she took the hint and -_ ae ee - ~ — —_— oor—— coming to attend to his uncle’s estate, and that he was coming by way of, Yokehama and Sao Francisco in Captain Denyse’s ship,” she an- swered, opening her eyes wide. ‘‘I thought | you knew. Th | route, and grandpa says they ought to be here in about two or three weeks, at furthest, _ There was something about lawyers in the let- ter too, though grandpa wonldn’t tell me what. | | But it bad your address in it, and I was very ' glad to find you out.” Here was nice news to come to me from that | | little chit! I could have slapped her, when she | talked of being glad to find me out. As if I didn’t know she came to spy out the land for | Sam, with an eye to him, now he was the doc- _tor’s heir. I managed to keep my control till | she’d gone, and then I went down to my own | lawyer, and took his advice. He had not known; the doctor and I had never told him about Sam being a nephew. I had simply administered my husband’s estate, as he would have wished me, I know, had he not put off making a will, like the careless old man he was, hen my lawyer heard the facts, he put on a very grave face, and told me I should have to give up all the landed estate but a life interest on one-third and he recommended me not to fight Sam, but give up all, and trust to his goneroey, I was inclined to do this from one thing. Sam was coming bome with Clarence, and I had no doubt they were fast friends. I knew I had my sailor boy fast enough, and Lexpected he would soften down Sam, before they got here. I had told Clarence all sorts of fibs about writing to Sam, and I resolved to stick to it. What’s the use of a fib, if you don’t stick to it? I was uneasy enough, however, as the time drew near for them to come, and I don’t think I could have stood it much longer, if I bad not thought of going to Mr. Bruce’s, to find out what Sam had written him about me and a lawyer. I went, and asked for the old gentleman, who received me with great civility, and began to talk about the doctor at once. He seemed to remember him very kindly, and talked of him with interest. The old man looked a good deal aged since I saw bim last, and it was plain that iss Mary—I never would call her Mamie— ruled him with a rod of iron, though she pieyed gentle to perfection. His eyes followed her eft us. CHAPTER II. CYRIL ADOLPHUS. I troup Mr. Bruce bow much hurt I was at an of 1880. e letter came by the other | ne eet 23 his ignorant old mother sat by and listened, | with a look of intense pride and satisfaction on | her fat face, showing what a wonder she thought ae ee ' bim, I took an opportunity to ask him if he still remembered ue raft, after the wreck of the ship; and the puppy positively grinned, asif he bad any cause to be proud of the memory. ‘‘Oh, yaas,” be said, with his ultra English _draw!, ‘‘I wemember it vewy well, Mrs, Peters. By-the-by, you wemember young Johnston, don’t you, the wed-beaded fellow that went off _ after that queer ship?” I confess 1 was shocked. I didn’t like Mary Bruce; but I knew she had a real feeling for her cousin, and she was a woman after all. So I said, as slow and distinct as 1 could make it ‘‘Mr, Hyatt, you seem to forget that you are talking of Miss Bruce’s cousin, for whom she is in mourning.” The young man turned red, but seemed to be g with a feeling of astonishment, more than shame, for he stammered out: ‘‘T__|’m sure—I beg your pardon. Wouldn’t hurt Miss Bruce’s feelings for the world: but— ah—did you say in mourning ?” , ‘Yes; can’t you see it?’ said I, angrily. ‘* You ought to know better than to talk so rashly.” yatt’s color faded away into white, and he rose from his chair, the picture of terror ‘Did you say mourning?” he repeated. “Do you weally mean to say he’s dead? Are you sure?” ) “Of course we are,” said I, passively. ** Didn’t he go off; and wouldn’t he have come back if he had been alive? Of course the poor follow’s dead.” Hyatt uttered a low groan, echoed by his mo- ther, and the worthy lady cried out—screamed I mean: “Oh, my good lands, Cyril Adolphus, the man wasright. You seen a ghost, so you did. coals a doomed boy. It’s a warnin’! Oh, my ands!” Old Bruce had started up in his chair, and now he said sharply, more sharply than ever I heard him speak, to Mrs, Hyatt: ‘Tot, tut, woman! haud yer claver. Are ther folks daft? ye daft, or wad ye drive “oung mon, tell me what ye mean. Hae ye seen Mungo Johnston, and where?” Cyril Adclphus pulled himself up enough to say: | ‘In Paris, sir, with Lord Teviot. At least I eae it washe. He is very much, Here Mamie Bruce—yes I will call her Mamie —uttered a low cry, and was sinking from her Samuel's silence, after all my letters, and how | chair, when I ran and caught her, saying: very anxious I was to get rid of the terrible reponaeiy of the poor doctor’s estate. he old gentleman fell into the trap at once, and made aclean breast of everything. Sam had sent him a letter, asking him to employ a lawyer, and Mr. Bruce was hesitating what to do when I came in tosee him. He seemed to be delighted to get it off his mind, when I told him lawyers were not needed in the matter, and he agreed to recommend an amicable settlement as soon as he saw Sam. “And he’ll no be hard on ye, Mistress Peters,” be said. ‘ Doctor Sam’s a gude lad, a very ude lad, and he’s unco fond of my Mamie, God less her! Time was I didn’t troost him; but the East bas made a mon of him, and I'd be glad if I thought Mamie wad tak’ kindly till him.” “No fear of that,” said I. and they say like goes to like. lm sure,” *D’ye think sae, do yef’ the poor old man said. ‘‘ Ah, I’d be blithe to thinkit; but I fear me it canna be. The lassie thinks of puir Mungo Jobnston, and aye she thinks, aye she weeps. No, no, I fear me, it wunna be. Puir lad, puir lad, We'll ne’er see him mair, I fear me.” ‘‘ Of course not, if he’s dead,” I couldn’t help saying. ‘‘Do you doubt bis death, sir?’ He sighed heavily and rambled on: ‘ Times I think it, times I doot it. "Tis a hard warld, Mistress Peters. Ye ken it, as I do. We're both nae sae young as we were, though I dinna ken. is “ He’s rich now, Mary likes him, you’re a mere bairn to me. all Il can say about it.” I came away feeling better. really in love with Mary Bruce, and I kept on the ¥ iy side of the girl’s grapdfather, Sam would have to be reasonable and generous to me, After all, I could put him to considerable trouble, as ali the doctor’s property was in a, end the rents were being paid regularly me, Icalled again next dav and made myself as charming asI could to Mary, without talking If Sam. was er. Iwas determined to make the best of my time while I had it. It seemed asif all our old Spindrift people were coming together very soon; for, the very next day, who should turn up but the Hyatts, with that cub, Cyril Adolphus, changed by travel into the most insufferable puppy I ever saw. He was full of Paris and Rome, and’ all.sorts of places, and he interlarded his talk with little scraps of bad French and Italian, while The words recalled her to herself, in anxiety ae * Look up, child, look up! He's not dead, I tell you. Look at your grandfather.” for the old man. He was trembling violently, and looking at Aer, murmuring: ‘“My bairn, my bairn, be thanked! I can tell ye allnow. The Jad’s free frae the ser- vice of that cauld, cruel de’il. He was na dead when ye thocht him sae; but God anely kens how he’s fared since. Eh, Mungo, my puir, uir laddie! Gin I could see ye but once mair, could close my auld eyes in peace.” And, Mamie, with a wild scream, rushed to the old man’s arms and cowered there, sobbing violently, and repeating: ** Alive! alive! and you never told me. Oh, my God, how can I bear it?” was crying myself like a baby. I couldn’t help it. I didn’t like the girl. I thougbt her art- ful, designing, everything bad; but 1 conldn’t feeling for her at that moment. It made me think of Clarence, and I forgot all about every- thing else. I even think I could have offered ee and to Samuel, if he had come in just en. Poor Mamie sobbed awhile, and Cyril Adol- phus looked more like a fool than ever, till I made a sign to his mother to go away with him, for one doesn’t like a young man. to be prvirg about, and I thought the child was going into hysterics, But as they were with more tact than for, old Mr. Bruce said to me, hurriedly: ‘‘Dinna send them away, Mistress Peters, not yet. The lassie weel be better in a minute, and we bae some questions to speer, ye ken,” Then he began to soothe his granddaughter, etting out of the room, had given them credit as if she were a baby, and got her calmed down » at last, That we placed her ina chair, and she Ww . “Ask im all,..dts. Peters, please. I kmow you don’t like me—I was very rude to you once | —but you’re a woman—forgiveme. Ask bim.” any business. I staid to dinner, and made upa | y to visit the art galleries next day with | girl had conquered me. I gave her a little bug. Yes, I own'it, The I felt as if I could al- most dike her, after a time. Isaw Mr. Bruce was too much agitated to ask any questions, and it certainly was necessary to ask them. So I said to Cyril Adolphus: ‘Tell me, please, as near as you can, how you saw Mr. Mungo Johuston.” He seemed relieved at being asked to talk, and in bis earnestness be dropped his insufferable English twang and e more like a man than lever heard him, while his mother kept inter- ebooks com (E(@) 4= SS me Te ae ae Be 7 . . ee iinet 3 = . C ee eee } ’ — — ae __— ~v