Beadle's Dime Library No. 260: The Masked Mystery; or, The Black Crescent — page 29: what you’re looking at

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

re) a good way back, in which naught but purest love combined in joys of life. But the dark, sad years that bave been like a somber pall up- on our lives—these shall be buried forever !” Forde now, for the first time, observed Austin and Eola. As he marked the fondness with which they clung to each otber, a shadow of pain fell upon his face. ‘Kola, my child,’—he began, approvingly, but Bertba, who noted his glance, interrupted: ‘No, busband, no—-why tear asunder two hearts already molded into one? Why sunder them when, it would seem, Heaven bas brought them together?’ ‘Bertha, Bertha; you know not what you say. Austin Burns is our own child!” ‘“No—impossible! He is not our child, Harn- den,” Eola listened in the suspense of long pent eagerness. Bertha’s words were like rays from heaven to her hopes. “Not our child!” exclaimed Forde, buskily. ‘* Yes—he is—he must be!” ‘No, We have but two; Eola is one—here is the other,” pointing to Ora. “Father!” murmured the lovely girl, as if earning for his caresses; and Forde, after one ong, joyous glance at her face—so like Eola’s— embraced ber as bis own, ‘‘ Sister!” The voice was Eola’s, and in a second the two sisters were locked in a fond caress. Christopher Crewly and Wat Blake were silent witnesses, Austin felt his heart ppl with threefold delight, for he had heard enoug to know that he had recovered Eola, and that Bertha must know of his parents. But the scene of the night was not yet en- acted, ‘ ‘* Harnden Forde, I, too, forgive you,” said lake, ‘* God bless you, then!” cried Forde, grasping the speaker’s hard, brown hands, ‘* But there is one thing yet undone.” ** One thing— what?” ‘““We feel assured you will not hesitate to complete the happiness of all, by performing one more act of duty.” “Name it.” ‘Restore the Black Crescent!” _ . Forde hesitated; he trembled slightly; his cyes were fixed in their old look of fear. ‘* No—no—no,” he stammered, ‘‘I—I can not do that. Do not ask me. I can not part with it,” and Bertha, who held bis hands, felt tucse hands turn cold as ice. ‘‘ But, father, have you got it?’ Hola’s eyes twinkled strangely assbe put the question, He cried at once: ‘‘ You know—you know, Eola, where it is!” ‘‘ Yes, Impelled by a curiosity I could no longer restrain, I searched your trunk, hoping to find it—feeling that you could not have left it behind you, in Baltimore. I found it there, carried it to my room, and feasted my eyes long and wonderingly on its beauty. Since I took it, I have had no opportunity to return it to its hiding-place. Wait a moment,” She left them for a few moments, When she rejoined them, she brought the crescent, Its ewels sparkled like a mine of wealth beneath he bright jets of the chandelier. Forde snatched it from her, ; “Give it to them, father,” she said. store it to its rightful owner.” ‘* No—I can not.” ‘But, Harnden, hear us,” began Bertha, “ Re- quickly. ‘‘No—l can not hear you, I must not part with it!” “Then hear ME!” screamed a voice in the doorway. The tone was sharp and shrill; the words pierced through and through their ears. Turning, they beheld the bent form and with- ered visage of an aged hag, whose eyes burned, glittered, danced as she confronted them. ‘‘Hear me!” she cried again; ‘and maybe Vl tell you something, Harnden Forde, that will make you open your eyes,” It was the old woman who had come upon the scene in the street on Carnival day, and that old woman was Mother Bret. As this new and unexpected actor came for- ward, two faces, red with rage, that gazed in through the front windows, were withdrawn from their place of observation; two figures started hurriedly down the steps and made off in the darkness, ‘‘By all the fiends of earth, Gil Bret!” ex- claimed one, “I believe our game is lost.” Y-e-8, Haxy; we'll dig out. Beat, by thun- der!” ; Haxon did not know Mother Bret, and his conclusions were deduced from the general aspect of the situation. But the bruiser knew her; he heard her loud, shrill words, and it required no great effort to comprehend that she meant to make a disclos- ure—that disclosure ruinous to bimself and associate. it is here that we part with the two scoun- drels. We can not trace them further in their career: but it will be safe to infer that Gil Bret devised some Villainous means for their mutual support, he Le “~) cA * | The Masked Mystery. Whether Harold Haxon ever learned bis true identity, is a question we must leave unan- swered—and it is no matter. The hag contemplated the assembled parties for a few seconds; a peculiar grin which added to her ugliness spread upon her seamed and wrinkled face; then stepping forward sbe spoke again: Bel tell you, Harnden Forde, you can part with the crescent. Look at me—take a good look. Don’t you know me? Is there nothing familiar remaiping in my crooked, shriveled face? Speak.” For a moment he gazed steadfastly upon the aeoagy gas jineaments, then a whisper escaped is lips. ‘* You—you are—Madame Fernandez—” he hesitated. ‘* Yes,” she assented slowly, her dark eyes fixed piercingly upon,bim, ‘‘ Yes, am she, It is I who have helped make your life miserable. It was I who aided Louise Ternor in her schemes of ill and violence. But, I am no more a for- tune-teller than you are! Do you hear that? I did it for gold!—gold! I helped to ruin you! The letter that you got from me was written by Louise Ternor herself! It was to frighten you—to keep your child from marrying, until her child came old enough; and my son, Gil Bret, was only waiting for somebody to come first—according to the letter—when he’d push in Harold Haxon, and have him marry her—” ‘* Harold Haxon!” cried Forde, the perspira- tion standing in great beads on bis forehead, as he listened to her speech, ‘*Tg Harold Haxon Louise Ternor’s child? 4 Yes.” He groaned aloud. Mother Bret continued: ‘‘T’ll swear to ail ve said. You needn't be afraid to give up the crescent; Louise Ternor made that tale up, to further cut her rival and enemy, whom sbe hated! It was her—” point- ing to Bertha. ‘* You needn’t be afraid to give your child to this young man” (glancing at Austin); ‘ he’s n t your flesh and blood, that I know, ’cause I’ve kept track of you pretty close, and I know you’ve only got two children—there they are.” She raised a skinny finger and pointed toward Eola and Ora. Ora shrunk before thea light of those snaky eyes, as she had been wont to do, in trembling, ofttimes during that portion of her life passed with the bag, ‘* And what am I doing all this for?” she ad- ded, without a pause. “ oh What ar I say- ing all this for, now? Tl tell you. I’m getting old—very old—too old. I’m going to die soon— we've all got to die! I thought [d fix things straight before I went; and I guess I’v done it. We have used you pretty hard, in years back. But you know me?—then you know that | needn’t want to lie about it. That's all. Now be happy, if you can; you've seen the last of me—the last! Ha! ba! ha! ha!” ‘‘ Woman! woman!” Harnden Forde leaped forward, as if to detain her, Christopher Crewly made a like movement, in which he tripped over his umbrella, fell against a chair, uttered a squeal—then stopped short, made a noise with his lips, as one will who en- joys the juice of a peach, at the same time rub- ing his shins with vehement a ian Mother Bret bad disappeared. As she con- cluded with that low laugh of sepulchral strain, she vanished, and was seen nevermore thereaf- ter by those with whom she had been so strange- ly connected, ‘¢ Here isa paper, Harnden Forde,” said Blake, ‘‘which Harold Haxon held over you to bind you to his will—” ‘*Give it to me—give—” ‘* No—I will do this,” and, as be spoke, the document so dreaded by the penitent man was scattered in fragments on the carpet, What more? The hag’s explanation satisfied Forde. His bonds were broken; the Black Crescent was re- stored. Eola and Ora are happy in their father’s love, Bertha now looks back with a shudder on those years of trial. She and her busband live ina renewal of that affection which the machina- tions of an evil woman had, for a time, de- stroyed, inter had faded in the genial warmth of spring; the blooming flowers are not brighter than the joys which cluster round Austin Burns and his lovely bride. To all our characters we say farewell—ex- cepting one, Christopher Crewly has not yet seen bis share of adventure, and is destined to figure again in a strange story. The lawyer was only partially satisfied with the turn things had taken; he had hoped for a grand denouement of police and law cases. But the gentle Ora soon smoothed even this, and when the old lawyer bade them adieu, to return to Richmond, he stood bis umbrella against the wall, while he grasped the young girl’s hands and said: ‘It’s all right. "Yours forever—much!” THE END. The Best Weekly of Popular, Entertain= ing and Useful Literature Pub- lished in America! Its Unrivaled Corps of Contributors, almost all of” whom write erclusively for its publishers —embraces: the following authors of world wide repute— Colonel Prentiss Ingraham, Albert W. Aiken, Capt. Fred. Whittaker, Capt. Mayne Reid, Joseph E. Badger, Jr., Edward L. Wheeler, Charles Morris,. Oil Coomes, C. Dunning Clark, Buffalo Bill, White Beaver, Buckskin Sam, Major Dangerfield Burr, T. C. Harbaugh, Philip 8. Warne, William R. Eyster,. Anthony P. Morris, Launce Poyntz. 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