Beadle's Dime Library No. 27 — page 11: what you’re looking at

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

demanded O’Shane... ‘‘Spake out, and it wilk be pl’ased I'll be to tell ye, if I can.” “Why, how can it be possible that, Alexander Blackie can be a suitor for the hand of this wealthy heiress? I am sure that I have heard Elbert Van Tromp say that she would come into possession of an enormous fortune whén she came of age.” * And so she will—a half-million at the laste.” *“ And Blackie, when L knew him—and it’s not many years ago—was a wild, reckless fellow, without a penuy that he could cal), his own, and half the time under the influence of liquor,” “ He’s the same now,” replied O’Shane; “it’s a born divil he is, sure; he nearly bruck my back an hour or so ago, when he threw me over a sofa with a grip like a playful elephant, bad ’eess to him!" and the ishiees rubbed his back, a rueful expression upon his face. “ And yet he is the accepted. suitor for this girl’s hand?” she exclaimed in wonder. ‘*True for ye.” “By what strange chance?” ‘ “Elbert Van Tromp introduced him to her, and the little gurl fell in love wid the fascinating blaggard, wid his aisy ways in a twinkling.” A sigh came from the lips of the young woman. She remembered only too well how great been her love for the wild, reckless young soldier, as the memory of the old time came back to her. The love was still strong in her heart, and she ground her teeth fiercely together as she twought of the man she had once adored as the pup htee husband of another. “The lady of course does not know what his past life has been,”’ she said, ow **She little dreams that the golden idol her love has set wp for worship is but common clay, scarred by many a flaw.” “Paix! she doesn’t!” answered O'Shane quickly ; “she’s devoted to him, the deluding divil that he is. | believe she’d marry him, too, even if she knew that he was fond of a drop of the ‘crathur.’ She’d be after thinking that she could, reform him, maybe. That’s a wakeness that you she-angels have when you fall in love.” ‘Yes, I thought so once,” said the other, bitterly, “but I have seen more of the world now, and know better. A man who does not reform before marriage will very seldom do so afterward. That delusion has wrecked the happiness of many a woman.” “True for ye, Rosie dear; but I_say, me colleen sure ye’ll not be after making trouble in this affair?’ queried the Irishman, persuasively. “If I was youl wouldn't set eyes on the blaggard ag*in.” But O’Shane in this speech had overshot the mark. He had said entirely too much. The girl looked at him just a moment with her full, clear eyes in such a way that the man felt decidedly uncomfortable; then a scornful smile came over the beautiful face as she noticed the uneasiness of the Irishman. His gaze sunk to the ground, unable to endure the steady glance of the gray-blue eyes. The girl’s lip curled in contempt, and with an ex- pression of annoyance, she threw herself into the chair which she had occupied. é “Sure, you're angry with me now, darlint,” O’Shane said, very humbly, raising his eyes to the girl's face. ‘“Yes, Iam!” she said, abruptly. “And why? What have I done?” asked the Irish- man in profound humility. ' ‘You are acting against and not for me,” she re- plied, imperiously. ‘“Bekase I want to keep you away from that thafe of the world.” “And why do you want to do that?” she demand- oe abruptly. ‘“‘Toserve me? Is that your only mo- tive?” ‘*Why, yis, of course.” “You can’t deceive me, O’Shane! I know you too well. You have some other motive. What can it matter to you whether I see this man or not? Why should you wish me not to interfere with his. mar- riage with this lady? What possible interest can you have in the matter at all?” “That’s what I say!’ he exclaimed, with an ap- pearance of frank unconcern; ‘‘ what is it to me?” “T']l find that out before I sleep to-night!’ she cried, in a tone which struck terror to the heart of the Irishman. ‘ You said that if I wished a service you would gladly perform it.” : “ And Tit stick to that, me darlint!’ replied O’- Shane, with an appearance of warmth which he was far from feeling. “TlH put your truth to the test,” she continued, and there was a look in her dark eyes which O’Shane did not like at all. } * Do, if it will laze ye,” he answered; ‘‘ ’mready and willing, ine tere]. : “Go and find Alexander Blackie and bring him here to me,” she commanded, with, emphasis. O’Shane rose in alarm. ' . “Oh, me jewel, don’t ax me to do such a foolish thing as that!” “Do you want me to go and find him myself?” The tone of the woman p y showed that she was in earnest. ‘Sure! you wouldn’t be after doing that, Rosie, darlint?” he questioned, persuasively. ‘*O’Shane, you knew me pretty well in the old time; did te ever know me to turn back from the accomplishment of a purpose when I had once set my heart upon it?” she demanded. ‘Never!” replied the Irishman, decidedly. “Well, will you do as I request?” “Sure, there’s no use going for Blackie; I'll tell you the whole thing from beginning to end!” ex- Claimed O’Shane, coming to the conclusion that fur- ther deception was useless, and resuming his seat. “The little gurl Ernéstine is to have her money when she gets to be twenty-one; that'll be in three or four mouths. She’s never had a lover in her life, so Van Tromp he got me to hunt out Blackie; then he dressed him up like a gintleman, and introduced him to the wax beauty as an old friend of his, and invited him to stop with them while he was in the city. So th» little gurl fell in love with Blackie; and that’s all of ..” ' “But the motive!” exclaimed Rosaline, who knew that O’Shane was concealing something. Vh should Van Tromp wish Blackie to marry the girl? and why is it.,aat you, too, are anxious about the matter?” ~~ ; “'There’s no ( ceiving you, me jewel, Isee. Wel, I'll make a clean breast of it, Blackie has agreed to vive Van Tromp fifty thousand dollars of his wife’s | r mm 4 . i he; Spotter-Detective. fort’: .~ after he marries her, and I’m to have a hun- dred, (lars for my trouble in finding Blackie.” * A gundred dollars!’ and the girl's proud lip curl- ed, “and you weighted your friendship for me against. hundred dollars! Why didn’t you speak out? I would have given you the hundred willing- O’Shane rose to his feet as if he had beon moved by a spring and drew himself up with dignity. “Take your money!” he cried; ‘‘ bad ‘cess to the take! Sure it-would. have, choked me if I had put a cint in my pocket.” Rosaline smiled, then rose to her feet and extend- ed her hand to him. “You are the same faithful friend as ever. Now go tell Captain Blackie that Rosaline Ameston, for- merly of Nashville, Tennessee, wishes to see him,” “T'll do it, bedad!”’ he cried. ‘‘ But I say, Rosie, is it to bruck the marriage off that ye’ll be after?” “Wait and see; now go at once,”’ she replied. And in five minutes’ time O’Shane was on his way to the Van Tromp mansion. CHAPTER XVI. A LOVER'S FAITH. Stewart looked at the white face of the fair young girl, who was held so tightly to his breast, in deep astonishment. He could hardly believe the evidence of his ears. The face of Mary was as white as the face of the dead; not.a trace of color was there in the cheeks; even the full, pouting lips, which were wont to be so rich in their scarlet beauty, had now faded to a ee dull pink; the eyes were closed, and the long, ark lashes were crystaled by tear-drops., The breath of thegirl was coming quick and fast and the convulsive heaving of her bosom plainly told of the anguish which swelled in the heart beneath. “A stain upon you?” murmured Stewart, unable and unwilling to believe that he had he aright. “Not worthy to be my wife? Why, Mary, what do you, mean by such dreadful words? For heaven's sake, explain!’’ But the girl replied not; she only nestled closer and closer to her lover, and sighed as if her heart would break. “Mary, won’t you speak?”’ he asked, and the deep tone of his voice betrayed that in part he shared in the girl's emotion. ““What can I say?” she sept slowly, her voice broken by half-suppressed sobs. ‘*Tell me that my ears deceived me—that you have not said that you were not worthy to be mine.” “*T can not,’’ she said, slowly. A moment. Stewart at. the pale face, his brows knitted in deep thought, then, with a sudden movement, he bent his head until the stray locks of his jet-black hair mingled with the brown tresses of the girl, and gently he kissed away the tear-drops, which were slowly stealing from under the long dark lashes down over the pallid cl 1eeks, “Mary, you are the first girl that I have ever ask- ed to be my wife in all my life,’’ he said, slowly, be- tween the fond, tender kisses. ‘‘ You are the first irl that I have ever really loved. I will frankly con- ess to you that I have tried not to love you, I fought against the passion, which I was conscious was growing up in my heart, with all my power. The struggle ended when I took youin my arms to-night; the first touch of your soft, sweet lips sealed my fate. I felt that hereafter the world to me would be a blank unless you. choose to share it with me, Your flushed face, humid eyes and the touch of pour loving lips all told me that you were mine in eart, that you loved me. And now, that I put the sweet question, you utter words in reply which aay FAere and make me wish that we had never me ” “Oh, I know how you must suffer by the anguish that is in my heart,” moaned the girl, winding her soft arms still tighter and tighter around him. ‘I have been so weak and foolish. I knew from the first that it could not be, and yet, I could not find it in my heart to repulse you. I knew that you loved me; your eyes told me that. I knew that I loved you in return; my heart wasso full of you that there was no room left for any thing else. Ever since the night when we first met, sleeping or wak- ing cone image has ever been before me. At first I viel ed to the hopeless love and did not try to crush t from my heart. Ilet you put yourarm around my waist when we stood look at the plants the last time you were here. I let your cheek touch mine. It was madness, but I could not. resist it. And to-night I let you kiss my lips, Lam so weak. By a single word, a look even, I might have stopped you. I have been so foolish, but now my p - ment has come. I would not murmur, would not utter a single word, but my foolish weakness will cause youto suffer. IT shall never forgive myself.” Stewart listened aA to the girl’s disjointed sentences, only bending head now and then as ~ pauseds to kiss away a tear trickling down the pale cheek, | ‘“* Mary, you have not pet told me why our love is hopeless,’ he said, softly. ‘“‘ You have bitterly ac- cused yourself, but you have not yet given me proof that the accusation is just.” ‘‘Am I not the best judge of that?” she asked, slowly, never once raising her tear-swollen eyes to his face. ‘‘ The love that is in my heart is so strong that I would willingly give half my life to enjoy the at yout t really the best. judg $9 “No; perhaps you arc not re ie best judge, he said, pr r, “Co,ne, confide in me. Surely my love may ask for more than this of you and yet not be refused.” “No, no, I cannot tell Yous she answered, hur- riedly, and, as she spoke, Stewart noticed that she trembled within his arms like an aspen leaf, Slowly he withdrew his arms from their clasp around the slight form, She wgee’ i the reason, but did not aitempt to prevent the action—rather, she shrunk from him, “So you are willing that we should part at once and never see each other again?’ he asked, slowly. “Yes,” she murmured, faintly, and the wo cost her a flood of noiseless tears, which wet the fresh young cheeks like fine rain. j ceradn rer sobs, she despairingly hid her face in her ANUS. A single instant only Stewart looked upon the | | single kiss upon his cheek, and then as quie ly again form of the girl he loved so well, quivering with emotion, and then again he wound hie arms around Unable to re- ; ae her and clasped her tightly to him, imprinting a hundred tender, loving kisses upon the cold, an- guish-stricken face. She did not resist the action; his arms were an earthly heaven to her. Soon the convulsive sobs ceased, the wildly heaving bosom calmed into a jen- tle and regular rise and fall, and again the head, so perfect in tts beauty, rested npon the broad, manly shoulder of her lover. Within the shelter of his embrace was peace and rest for her, and yet she knew that it was but for the moment; that hours of misery would surely follow the minutes of hap siness. “Can you refuse to answer the question that my love asked?” he said, softly, yet earnestly, as, with a light and gentle touch, he smoothed back the silken brown locks from the white forehead, “There are more reasons than one,” she mur- mured; she was stooping to evasion to spare him pain, “ What are they?” “You are very rich—”’ ‘How do you know that?” he asked, quickly, in- terrupting her. “ Peter, the porter of the store where Mary works, knows both you and Mr, Weathers. He used to work for your father. He lives down-stairs, and saw you and Mr. Weathers when you went out the other night, and the next day he told Chocolate all about you.” “Mary, would my riches keep you from marrying me if there was no other obstacle in the way?” The girl was silent. “ Answer me, please,”’ he said, pleadingly. “* No,” she replied, softly. She could not tell him a deliberate falsehood. ‘*My own dear little girl,’’ he said, fondly, “I was sure of that before I asked the question. Confess now, there is only one obstacle between us; is not that the truth?” “Yes,” she replied, slowly. While the pressure of his arms was about her, she could not have told ary ‘5 untruth to have saved herself from instant eath. *‘Only one obstacle!” he repeated; “and the na- ture of that obstacle you will not tell me?” “T have alre told you that,” she replied; “I am not worthy to be your wife.” “* Ah, yes!” he exclaimed, a peculiar smile coming over his proud face, which hitherto had worn such a dark cloud. ‘“ You said, too, that there was a stain upon you.”’ “Yes, yes... The word seemed to come with a pang. And does that stain come from act of yours or from another?’ he asked, slowly, and he watched narrowly the pale face that lay so trustin ly upon his shoulder. Ag he saw the convulsive shudder shake the slight form nestled with such confiding love in his warm embrace. ‘*Do not ask me,’ she murmured, in deep agita- tion, *‘ but believe that what I say isthe truth, Oh! a would spurn me from you in horror, if rou only ew what a wretched creature you hold within your arms.’ ‘*T do not think so,” he replied, quietly, and, as he spoke, again he kissed the white forehead. “ if you had committed any act to stain your fair, young wo- manhood, you would not rest so quietly within my arms. The red flush of shame does not crimson your cheek when you say that you are unworthy to be my wife. I am sure that the stain which may be upon your life was not stam there by any act of yours, on. 1 kano ee hes feel sure that | press the li of a good, pure girl, one who would not deceive the man she loves, and one who would never have let that man touch her lips if she had been in h unworthy of him.” Like one in a trance, Mary had listened to the im- passioned words of Stewart. The man of ice possessed a heart of fire. With a desperate effort, she strove to free her senses from the spell of love which he had woven around them. ’ ‘No, no; think me unworthy of you in every way!” she said, hurriedly, and in great agitation. *‘ Learn to despise me, and then you will soon be able to for- get. rn, contempt, will conquer love.”’ “No, Mary!” he replied, firmly, “that I can never do. lam sure of your love, and I will not-.resign you without a struggle, and, since you will not tell me what I wish to know, I will find it out for myself if it takes me all the rest of my life!” CHAPTER XVIII. WEATHERS'S WOOING. For full five minutes there was silence in the little room. ‘The girl still rested her head upon Stewart's shoulder; her eyes shut, she seemed like one ina trance, Stewart still watched the pale face, so sweet in its fresh young beauty, and wondered from whence aor come the htw ch had fallen upon her young e. At last, with a long-drawn sigh, Mary raised her passed head her hand wearily across her forehead and down her cheek 7 a mot on without a ey and yet one plainly of intense mental pain. Stewart watched her closely, and on his sober face painful anxiety was visibly stamped. The eyes of the girl sought the ground, and again she sighed deeply. ‘‘Mary, why not confide your sorraw to me?” he . ar ee es “can you not trust me with your secre She shook her head slowly, but did not reply, “Mary, 1am rich,” he seid, a sudden ides Hashing across his mind. ‘In this world money will some- times accomplish wonders, almost work miracles, Few things in this life that money will not. buy. Tell me then the nature of the obstacle between us, aan perhaps with money I may be able to sweep ib aside.” ‘*No, no,” she responded, *‘‘that is impossible, Oh, you make me love you somuch when 1 hear you ape so nobly! But you must forget me. You will 1d some one else to love some day, Some woman whom you may be able to love as sonaly as you now love me; who may loye you as well as I do now, but love you better she ean not!” . , Slowly the girl had raised her eyes to his while she spoke, and then, with a sudden, impulsive motion, as the last word came from hev trembling lips, she threw her arms around his neck and impressed a retreated frour Lim, m € gs) (Efe) JOOKS. CO