Beadle's Dime Library No. 316 — page 12: what you’re looking at

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

—_— of active life where your courage, your talents, our person are sure to open before you a road ‘0 distinction. But you must not leave us yer. The five years repose you have had with me will hardly balance the ten years of constant service in which you remained wita my brother from the time he took you up at sea, until the day he fell upon his own deck, alas, by my hand. You must remain with me another year, and in the mean time I will see what can be done for you in the American navy.” ‘‘T am not an American, count,” said Theo- dore, with emphasis. ‘‘Dearly as I love the country which you have adopted, for which Hn, my benefactor, fought, I feel an irresistible at- tachment toward the land which I know to be that in which Iwas born—perbaps where at this moment I have dwelling a mother—a sister—a father! Toward this land my heart ever turns instinctively when my thoughts dwell upon my parents, If I serve at sea, it will be beneath the flag of that country which memory and in- stinct tell me is my home!’ ‘*T have not asked you, dear Theodore, why you suppose you were of English rather than of American birth; for, as you have said, of one or the other you must have been since you spoke the language of both countries?” “My memory is of the past like a dream, monsieur, I was hardly seven years of age when I was rescned by Lafitte, and although J doubt- less remembered at that time events of my life, they have now and for some years wholly faded from my mind, save certain vague impres- sions, that may be either rational or dreams, and imperfect recollections of my childhood.” ‘“And what are these dreams, Theodore?” asked the countess, who had approached and listened to him with interest. ‘*I remember once you told me that you bad positive recollec- tion of being surrounded by splendor.” ** And yet now, dear Countess, Iam uncertain whether to refer these ideas to dreams or to memory, All is uncertain, misty, vague, pain- fully indefinite.” And he pressed his hand upon his brow with a sad expression of disappoint- ment that told how much he had suffered his thoughts to dwell upon the past. “You did not say, Theodore, why you thought yon were English instead of American?” said he count, repeating bis inquiry with the desire to divert bis mind from its momentary depres- sion. “This belief is founded upon the fact that Captain Lafitte thought the fragment of wreck upon which be found me, to be a portion of an English vessel-of-war, and oye Mh No my re- collections (or dreams they may be,) of having in my childhood seen London with its palaces and grandeur. I have a_ perfect impression upon my mind of the interior and exterior of princely edifices that have no counterpart in America. lI remember, in particular, one scene of great splendor which I cannot deseribe, but which I am satisfied I bave seen in another land than this, All this is very indefinite; and 1 do not draw from it any conelusion as to my hav- ing been nurtured in such scenes, for I may have been a laborer’s son, and yet seen them and been thus.impressed by them. But I draw from it with great eonfidence the assurance that I am a native of the land in which I beheld them. Now all that I know of myself you know of me, my friends, I have sometimes indulged in the hope that I should be able to discover who were my parents, In these dreams—these memories! for 1 wil! call them such—I have also the most tender idea of a mother and a sister who tender- pi loved me. And Captain Lafitte has said that or the first few days after 1 was rescued | often called upon them.” *“ And by what name on your sister?” asked the countess, with deep interest. “GRACE; so he told me, for I do not remem- ber it; GracB—a name that I bave treasured in my heart, and the sound of which 1 have almost worshiped.” ‘“‘And your mother?’ continued the countess, ‘| called upon her only by the maternal ap- pellation common to all mothers,” ‘* And your own name you recollected?’ ‘““Yes—‘ Theodore,’ and no more. At times this uncertainty almost makes me wild with in- tense, burning euriosity.” ’ “This feeling is netural but unwise, dear Theodore,” said the Countess Constanza, affec- tionately, ‘‘Perbaps your parents no longer live. But we are your parents and we live to make you happy.” The young man pressed with respeetful ten- derness the band of the countess to his lips and turned away to bide his emotion. Ina moment after, he spoke: ‘* You are right, dear countess—dear mother, if I may thus denominate you! I will no more regret what may not be remedied. I will think of no other parents than you both, of no other sister than of the dear little Gertrude.” Heartag bet name spoken by him, the lovely girl clambered from her dpa’s knees and ran toward him with her dimpled arms extended. Theodore raised ber upin his arms and kissed her, and she bugged him about the neck and called bim her “‘ good brother Teedy.” ‘This little prattler has sealed the compact, dear mother, From this day 1 am your sen, Lafitte’s Lieutenant. a eee _——+— — —-— =. a . and if it will make you and the count happy I will forego all my idle visions of the future.” ‘“You are generous, Theodore,” said the countess. you a great sacrifice. But rest assured in the end you will be more trarquil for it.” | | us. We have the bonor of addressing the Count D'Oyley?” he inquired interrogativelv. ‘Yes, gentlemen, and it affords me pleasure “f know this resolution will cost | to see you beneath my roof, Be seated. You have not taken coffee?” *“'You are very kind,” said the military gen- ‘* Perhaps,” said the count, “in the course of | tleman, a tall fine-looking man, advancing a Divine Providence you may yet be placed in the way of discovering your parentage. Next spring I contemplate visiting France, On our route we will take England; there I will assist you in making such inquiries as will serve to unfold the secret of your birth. Advertise- ments in the London Gazettes stating the facts, the date, the names of yourself and Grace, may possibly lead to a discovery.” “Your words have awakened in me new hope, and aroused once more all my impa- tience,” said Theodore, with animation, yet with a smile, ‘I shall look forward to the spring with anxiety.” ‘* And yet, dear Theodore, you may be dis- appointed at Jast,” said the countess. ‘* Hope —expect nothing.” ‘*] will be as passive, dearest mother, as an infant,” he said, pressing ber band, and looking eheerfully. ‘** See how beautifully the brig sits there bo sits the tide, everything furled as snug asa lady’s curls done up for a ball,” said the count, ‘What say you, my Theodore, shall we order the boat out and pull down to her? In courtesy we ought to extend some civility to her com- mander, as the brig lays abreast of my sugar fields, though half a mile below the house. I have some curiosity to know who she is and her business up the river. Nay then, Constanza, if you object, I will stay here and Theodore shall go.” ‘T will take the boat and pull down to her, monsieur,” said Theodore, *‘and obtain all the information you desire.” ‘Do not, Theodore,” said the countess, with singular earnestness. ‘‘I have a strange pre- sentiment of evil associated with that vessel.” ‘““And with all vessels, I believe,” said the count, laughing, while be gave to her a look of gentle sympathy with her feelings. ‘*T will not go thes, if you desire me to re- main,” said Theodore, who had already reached ee steps of the veranda to descend into the awn, ‘* 16 may be foolish in me, Theodore, but I beg you will let the vessel remain unvisited. If there be evil connected with ber presence here les us not court it,” “T fear, Constanza,” said the count, kindly, “that you will never conquer your feelings with regard to vessels. But your past suffer- ings on board by capture and shipwreck are a sufficient reason for these fears. But there is really nothing to fear in the present instance, The brig is a national vessel of the British na- tion, and can inflict on us no evil in this time a peace, Her presence here is pacific at the east.” ‘* Vet I should rather not that you or Theo- dore should go on board,” ** Tt shall be as you wish,” answered the count, putting his glass to his eye. ‘‘ Take your spy- glass, Theodore, and look with me and see if you do not discern «a boat putting off from her on the larboard side, It has got so dark I can- not distinctly make it out,” ‘Tt is a boat, monsieur,” said Theodore, after a moment’s inspection. ‘It has dropped astern of the brig, and now is concealed.” ‘‘They will probably pay us a visit by and by, wife,” said the count, ‘‘and then our ouriosity will be gratified without the risk you fear.” At this moment a slave appeared on the veranda and announced tea, and they all re- tired together to a central saloon in the man- sion, in which this meal was usually served, They had just finished their repast, and in listening to the prattle and merry laughter of Gertrude, who was amusing herself and them with ber godpa’s spectacles on the tranquil and majestic countenance of the venerable dog Leon, they had quite forgot the brig-of-war, when a slave, dressed in white, with a yellow scarf tied apon his bead like a turban, save that it had the addition of a huge rosette, entered, and announced the arrival of guests, ‘“Who?” demanded the count, rising. Before the servant could reply the guests, who had followed him in from the lawn, made their appearance in the entrance of the hall. The count advanced and hospitably saluted them, while the countess and Theodore rose from their seats, They were three in number. One of them, the nautical eye of the eount at once recognized to be a post-captain in the Brit- ish navy; one of the other two was an officer of the army in undress uniform, but evidently of high rank; the third was a sergeant of marines, who remained behind them. ‘* Messieurs, you are welcome,” said the Count D’Oyley, with a courtesy and bearing that at once convineed the two they stood in the pres- ence of a man of rank equal to their own. “We beg your pardon for this intrusion,” said the naval captain, who was shorter an considerably stouter than his military com- panion, “ but your servant bade us follow him without eeremony as he proeeeded te announce | a step and speaking with the air and ease of a fin- ished gentleman; ‘* but we must first introduce ourselves, This is Captain Stewart of his Bri- tannic majesty’s frigate the Minerva, now ly- ing at the mouth of the river, and 1 am General McDonald of the British army.” The count bowed iow to both gentlemen, and then presented them to the countess and introduced to them Theodore. Coffee was handed to them, and after a few general re- marks, General McDonald made known his business. “The unfortunate field on whieh Genera) Packenbam fell,” he remarked, ‘‘ is, 1 learn, less than a league above your estate.” The count bowed, ‘: By the side of that officer fell my brother, his near relation, a colonel of Hussars,” continued General McDonald; *‘and I have come hither in this armed brig, which you have probably seen drop her anchor in the river below, for the purpose of removing bis remains to Westmin- ster Abbey. Coptain Stewart’s frigate will take them on board at the mouth of the river, in which I shall accompany them to England, Ascertaining that the grave in which he js in- terred, to be on your estate, I bave first visited you, Monsieur Count, to ask permission to re- move the remains,” “Such a request I assure you, general, was wholly unnecessary, even were you correct in supposing it was in my power to comply with it,” answered Count D’Oyley with respectful sympathy for the sacred errand on which he had come. ‘‘ My estate does not extend to the ante por nearer than a mile and a alf. “The grave of my brother I am told is not on the ground where be fell, but what is now your property, monsieur. He was borne from the fleld and at his own request buried beneath a sycamore tree, which a guide I bave brought with me will designate, he having been one of the party who committed him to the grave.” “Every facility in my power shall be afford- ed you in your sad tribute to your brother’s memory,” said the Count D’'Oyley with emo- tion, bis thought reverting to the remains of his own brother which he bad secretly buried after the conflict in which he bad fajlJen, ina retired spot outside of the walls of Havena, in sight of the sea on which he had passed and ended bis adventurous career. ‘The sycamore I remember, sir, and also the grave beneath it,” said Theodore, addressing General McDonald, speaking with animetion and yet with that tender regard for the feelings of the strangers, which became the time. “I stood bv it to day when I was abroad bunting.” The English general, while Theodore spoke, fixed upon him a look of extraordinary Inten- sity, that attracted the attention both of Count D’Oyley and the countess. It was a look that seemed to be called up by emotions wholly independent of any that the words of Theodore in reference to the grave might have caused. It seemed to be an expression of mingled curi- osity and surprise, and a half-recognition. His earnest scrutiny embarrassed the object of it, and being recalled to himself by bis bhightened color, General McDonald merely said: ‘* Pardon me, sir, 1 was a moment Jost in thought. What said you of my brother’s grave?” “That grave is still to be seen beneath a sye- amore tree, balf a league above, near the bank of the river.” answered Theodore. ‘It must be Lord Edwerd’s grave,” answered the general, and again he rested his ful) gaze upon the form and features of the young man, till embarrassed, and bardly knowing whether to be offended or not, Theodore rose and retired from the saloon to the veranda. CHAPTER X. THE RECOGNITION. Tux eye of General McDonald followed the re- tiring form of the young man with an expres- sion of singular interest; he then, as if aware of having been drawn into an infringement of courtesy, turned and addressed Connt D'Ovlev upon the subject of the removal of the body of Lord Clarence. ‘The moon will soon be up, Monsieur Connt,” he said to him, ‘*‘ and as [ am desirous of eeono- mizing every bour of time, as the brig of- war is commissioned for otber services after taking the body down to the Minerva frigate, I shall with your permission proeeed at once to the grave.” ; “Tt will give me great pleasure to accom- ny you, gentlemen,” answered the count, ‘* As the wind is gone, perhaps it will be best to pull up to the spot in our boats,” said Cap- tain Stewart; ‘‘and at onee take up the bod and convey it on board the brig, without bawl- ing the vessel up to the ground.” ‘That is our plan, captain,” ‘*Gentlemen,” said Count D’Ovley, TI beg you will allow me to take you there as seon as GoOmicdooks (E(0)