Beadle's Dime Library, Vol. III, No. 29 — page 28: what you’re looking at

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| ee 28 “Stop! stop!’ she cried, ‘‘ You know that such a dream can never be realized. The touch of your old would be like fire. If I could accept it, I should eserve the terrible fate you depict. But you will not overwhelm me with shame and yourself with in- famy. You will release me—say it!” “Never! never! I will bind you to me, and heaven nor hell shall come between us!” He sat erect, as he gave himself over to the devil in those words. A look of immovable resolve came into the steely glitter of his eyes and settled about his white, set lips. : She threw herself upon her knees before him, and with clasped hands and eyes streaming tears made a last appeal. “Wait! wait!’ she cried. ‘Do not you see? You can only make me hate you—loathe you—abhor the very sight of you! You can only crush me—make life to me a burden insupportable! If you love me, as you say you do, every moment of your life will be imbittered by an agony of remorse and _ self-re- proach, and you will end by hating yourself and me as the helpless cause of your misery! See! you need not return with me. You can vet out and go to the new life that is before you, and the cabman will take me home; or you can set me down and I will find my way back alone, Spare mo—spare yourself this lifelons wretchednuess—”’ He cut her short with a wild laugh of abandonment and recklessness: “ Wretchedness?” he repeated. “Oh, no! every moment at your side shall be one of bliss!” And he snatched her to his breast with passionate exultation. With a shriek of horror and loathing, terror and despair, she tore herself from his embrace, and shrunk cowering om the back seat of the carriage. Then, with a sudden revulsion of feeling, he covered his face with his hands and groaned: ““My God! what a devil Iam!” From that moment, Florence Goldthorp spoke not another werd, but sat shivering in her corner; and any one looking at her cowering, terror-struck at- titude and wild eyes might well have believed her a maniac. Half an hour latér, just as the sun was appearin above the horizon, the carriage was driven out o sight behind a deserted log-house that stood a little back from the road. Then Cecil, Florence, and the driver went into the house, to await the fall of night before Watinuing their journey. CHAPTER IX, A TERRIBLE SITUATION. Tre state of mind of a pure and noble woman in the situation in which orence Goldthrop now found hersel? may be better imagined than described. But wita the failure of all earthly aid, she had yet a resource in God, without whom not a sparrow falls to the ground. It matters not what view we may take of religion; the mere placing herself in an attt- tude of prayer—the fixing her dependence on ag whom she believed beneficent as well as omnipoten —must of necessity have a tranquilizing effect; and such was its influence pe her in this trying mo- ment. She could not believe that a God of justice and of love would permit the consummation of so fiendish an act. f With her calmer mood came connected reflection. She saw that with her abduction Cecil Beaumont had thrown off the mask, and had no longer any motive for dissimulation. Amid all the perturbation of her soul at the danger that threatened her, the strong current of her love for Frederick Powell asserted itself. Whatever might befall herself she would not lose this opportunity to gain Vag apt of facts which might enable her at some future day to lace him fairly before the world—to establish his fanosence of the crimes imputed to him, With this in view, she conquered her repugnance to address her persecutor, and said: “Mr, Beaumont, it might perhaps be deemed ex- cusable curiosity, should I ask how it came about that the world thinks you dead, while in reality you are alive and well?” . ‘ “ Florence, { will hide nothing from you; since if you escape me I shall not live to receive the punish- ment that the world would inflict for my crimes, You cannot but know that I purposely let the im- pression prevail that Frederick Powell had murdered me, in order to secure his death, both to gratify my hatred of him, and to cut him off from the posses- sion of yourself, and you already hate me for it, Therefore I have not even this motive for conceal- ing anything from you,” ith this beginning he told her all. During the pro- ress of the cold-blooded narrative, she sat shudder- . from head to foot, regarding him with a look in which incredulity almost mastered horror, Her mind could not compass such a depth of villainy. ‘‘Am I not a devil?’’ he asked, in conclusion, “And ae there is something of good in my love for you. Behold the evidence of it in what it has cost me to wrong you as Lam Se He stood before her the wreck of his former self. His gaunt and bl cheeks, his sunken eyes with leaden rings about them, his trembling frame, all attested the flery struggle that had been going on within, and would have excited her pity, but for his persistency in sin. “I gave him over to death as I would shoot a cur; but it is wronging the woman I love that has wrought this change in me.” Florence looked at him now without the manifes- tation of any kind of emotion. ~ “There is one other point upon which you may be willing to poner with equal frankness, since there is no motive tor reserve. Do you deny plotting to betray Mr. Powell into drunkenness and gambling?” ‘Do you still persist in the assertion that he made out a draft in his father’s name?” “‘T never made such an assertion.” — “We will not quibble upon words, if you please. Did he, or did he not, sign that draft? “He never saw it until the day when he was ac- cused of having forged it.” Florence's heart gave a great leap. Something of the old color came into her cheeks and the old sparkle into her eyes. ’ ‘* He did not make the copies of his father's signa- nature—he did not put them into his desk?” ‘*T made them aud placed them in the desk.” “*T knew it.” Beadle’s Dime Libra She spoke with unswerving directness, looking a se into his eyes. He smiled faintly, and re- plied: ““T knew that you knew it.”’ ‘**But so long as I could not convince others of it, you did not care?” ** Exactly.” “One other peint. Billy Saunderson stole Mr. Powell’s keys and gave them into the possession of Tiger Dick?” » “ Undoubtedly.” ‘** Billy Saunderson and Tiger Dick are your tools, subservient to your will?” “Not entirely. There you are a little at fault; but, as you have proved yourself so able a detective I will not deny you the pleasure of solving tha Pad pa also, at any future opportunity you may ave,"’ Florence snatched it from him, She read it—it was cattle SERS EE natn seer | = —_—— + -~ - -_-—— - Si only a few lines—aund then turned to Mrs. Jones with horror in her eyes. ‘“ Does he mean to say that I am crazy?” she asked | —“that lama Mrs. Hawkins?” her eyes. With these words he rose and left the room, to | communicate with the cabman, who was spreading out their dinner under the shade of a tree at the back of the house. He had hardly gone from her presence when a sound of wheels approaching the road reached Cecil also detected it; and she heard him coming round the house to the door, which was in front, to intercept any meditated flight on ber part, and to take precautions against her screaming to apprise the travelers of her distress, With a bound Florence was out of the house and running toward the road with all her strength screaming at the top of her voice. with an oath, but checked his pace as the carriage came in sight. It was an old man, who was evident- ly a clergyman, and his wife. He drew rein in no little perturbation, as he saw a woman running to ward him with wild eyes and streaming hair. “Oh, save me, sir—save me!" she cried, striving | Cecil followed ! her. . to get into the carriage; but then detecting his office | by his dress she drew back, and, looking at him sus- git asked: ** Are you come to marry us?” ‘My daughter, from what do you wish me to save you, and whom are you about to marry?” Instantly she saw from his b’nign looks and from his gentle voice that he couiu not be the wretch of whom Cecil had spoken; and then there was the woman with him, her face expressing motherly anx- iety. At sight of her Florence ran round to the oth- er side of the carriage, and seizing her hand and . kissing it, began to pour forth her troubles in a con- fused stream. “Oh, dear madam, you will not let him keep me will you? He has stolen me from my home— thought it was Fred; but it was he—he wrote the Mrs, Jones kissed her, with tears of sympathy in “My poor darling!’ she murmured. “Stop! stop! Does he say that Iam crazy? Is he going to take me to this mad-house?”’ : “Do not fear. Come, he will take you home.” And she drew her gently toward the side of the carriage. But Florence clasped her about the neck again with frantic energy. “Oh! you believe him-you believe him! You are going to give me back to him! I will never go! will die first! I should die with terror if he touched meagain! Oh! listen to me! Indeed, indeed, I am not his wife! My name is not Mary Hawkins! Oh! take me home! They will all tell you! Everybody knows me! I live with ny uncle! My name is Flor- aa See! see! here is my handker- chief!” The thought had come to her like a flash. She snatched the handkerchief from her pocket and held it up in triumph. She thought to annihilate him by that one blow. While she extended it with one hand to Mrs. Jones, she turned upon Cecil with the look of a Res and shaking her finger at him, said: you villain! I’ve got you now!” She saw a gleam of malignant triumph for one in- stant light his eyes with its lurid flame. and then the mask dropped again. . ** We have been married only a year!” he said, in a tone as if his heart was breaking, She heard Mrs, Jones say: “Poor child!” Then she turned and saw the unchanged look of compassion on the lady’s face, She was thunderstruck. Then slowly there crept into her mind a terrible suspicion, Was this, after all, the minister whom Cecil had employed; and had they been only playing with her With a sinking heart and a quivering lip she took the handkerchief by the corner, and held the mark before Mrs, Jones's eyes, *Do not you see?” she asked, piteously—‘ Flor- ence Goldthorp,”” “Yes, dear,”’ replied Mrs, Jones, soothingly, in that tone in which we humor the fancies of sick people; and a tear trickled down the good woman’s cheeks -asshe thought to herself; ‘ So young and so beauti- note in red’s name—poor, dear Fred! and he pre- | tended that he had forged his father’s name! And when I got the note I went to him, and it was this vile wretch! And he says that he is going to marry me with a villain of a minister whom he has bought with his gold— Oh! Oh! Save mefrom him! Do pia him touch me! Oh! dear lady, save me! save me eB And in an agony of terror she leaped into the car- bey. and clasped the frightened lady about the neck, for Cecil was coming around the carriage to the side on which she stood. ‘Poor Mrs. Jones’s mind was in a whirl, She looked from the terrified girl in her arms to Cecil. He stood before her with a look of unutterable sor- row in his face, and unshed tears in his eyes. She saw that he was the more composed of the two, and addressed him, as more likely to get a coherent re- ply from him, ‘My dear sir, lam frightened. What can be the meaning of this?”’ ‘*Madam,” said the arch-hypocrite, with well-sim- ulsted grief, ‘‘ you see in me a man most sorely af- flicted. My wife—” “T am not his wife! Oh! do not believe him! He has not married me yet—indeed he has not! He said that he was going to; and such a wretch! he has bfibed him to perform the ceremony whether 4 ee not—and I never would! Oh, I hate ! ce “Hush! Hush, my child!’’ said Mrs. Jones, sooth- ingly; and again turning to Cecil: ‘Will you please to proceed, sir?’ ‘*But do not believe him! Do not listen to him! It is all false! I was engaged to Fred—and he let us all think that he had murdered him; and they tried to hang him; and then he stoleme away! Oh, do not let him get me again! Take me home with you! My name is Florence Goldthorp, and I live at C—. Will you take me home? Say that you will, and that you will not give me back to him—he is a murderer!” And shuddering she buried her face in good Mrs, Jones’s motherly bosom, ‘Hush! my child; I will do what is right by you, If you will not let this gentleman speak, how can I tell what to think?” ‘*But I have told you the truth! Oh! believe me! —I have told you the truth! He stole me away from home, and is going to marry me against my will! And I never would marry him! Iloathe him!”’ lowed by her name and residence, Cec had turned fairly livid, and his heart had stood still; but a glance satisfied him that the minister was ig- norant of the occurrence, and he breathed more freely. Now he found opportunity to say: “as She has been that way for a week, madam. She wrings my heart constantly by her wild vagaries, She thinks that I have abducted her, and intend to a their feet, | force her intoa marriage repugnant to her feelings, | I wanted to keep her at home, but have at last yielded to the painful necessity. You will see by this letter of introduction.” He drew a letter from his pocket and handed it to Mr, Jones. It dressed to the keeper of a mad-house. The patient named in it was Mrs. Mary Hawkins. ‘Ah! poor thing!” said the clergyman, sympa- thetically, and turned it so that his wife could see. Florence had listened to Cecil in bewilderment, She saw him hand the letter to Mr. Jones, with eyes slowly distending with some unknown terror, She heard the minister’s tone of regret, and saw the sor- rowful look that came into his wife’s eyes as she feelingly stroked her hair. ‘“ What does he mean?” she asked in a voice sup- pressed byefear. see it?” “What is that letter? Let me | urported to be from a doctor, ad- | muttered. At her reference to the murder and lynching, fol- | Beaumont | ful! What a terrible affliction! With a quivering moan of despair, Florence me- chanically looked at the mark that had failed to af- fect them, There was something unfamiliar about it, seen even through her blinding tears. She dashed them away, and read: “Mrs, Mary Hawkins!" She stared at it wildly, She doubted the evidence of her senses. Was she indeed gone mad? She rub- bed her eyes and looked again, There it was, un- doubtedly, Then, with a sensation as if the earth was falling away from her, she gazed at the clergy- man, at his wife, at Cecil,and again at the hand- 5 kerchief ; and without a sign of warning, she drop- ped lifeless in the bottom of the carriage. CHAPTER X. MARRIAGE WITH A MANIAC, ‘Ox! catch her! She has fainted!” eried Mrs. Jones, but too late, Florence lay limp and lifeless at With the help of Mrs. Jones, Cecil lifted her in his arms, and as her head rested on his shoulder, kissed her ag a hopeless grief that seemed too deep for words, Tears streamed from good Mrs, Jones's eyes as.she murmured: ‘* Poor thing! poor thing!” : Cecil lifted his eyes tear-dim and blood-shot, from Florence to the clergyman’s kindly wife, “IT thank you, madam, for your indulgence toward my wife and me. Be assured that your kindness of heart will not be without its reward. Are you goin far? Have you yet had dinner? We were jus enreading our repast under te rege at the back of e house as you approached. ill partaice with is I i you stop and ‘Thank you, Mr. Hawkins. We had arrange take our dinner a little further on. Perhaps oa a sence might agitate pour poor wife, when she returns to consciousness, We leave you, sir, with heartfelt commiseration for your affliction, Good-afternoon.” Then they drove on, and Cecil Beaumont bore his unconscious burden back to the house. But-there was no triumph in his look now; it had given place to gloomy despondency. He laid her down on a bank of turf, and gazed up- on her long and sorrowfully, As he sat beside her, his hands resting listlessly in his lap, his head bowed, and that longing, famished look in his eyes, he was a picture of utter wretchedness. Oh, God! what a curse is this love of mine!’ he “Why do I not restore her to her home? But when I would give her up, then comes that burn- ing, insane determination to cling to her though m heart endures the tortures of hell at the mise inflict upon her. It almost seems like a visitation from Godin punishment of my perfidy toward Ma —poor girl! bow she loves me!—and that He wi thwart mein the end. Well, nothing can be worse than what I now suffer. I shall be glad if He takes it out of my hands.” What pen can describe the emotions of Florence Guldthorp, when she awoke from her trance to the realization of her terrible situation? That one glimpse of hope made the night that followed it a rayless void of black despondency. She seemed deserted of God and man. She lay as white, as stil} as a corpse, in the stupefaction of despair, With the fall of night, the horses were tached to the carriage, and Cecil came to her and would have lifted her in his arms; but, shuddering with abhorrence of his touch, she sprung to her feet and entered the carriage unaided, She saw the futility of resistance then, and would not give him an excuse for taking hold of her; but ee ain at- | when near midnight they stopped at another desert- ed house in the depths of the woods, and she saw _ by the light of a lantern, the form of a man standing | ery of that aifected by the clergy The minister was about to return it to Cecil but | x eee in the doorway, whose dress was a disgusting mock- ( I then she clung to the carriage, with a voiceless, agonized prayer to JOO SnGom —GOMmIc