Beadle's New York Dime Library, No. 332 — page 19: what you’re looking at

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

a — Tt he meant ewe ee -lC though all the courtiers had seen it, and had begun to whisper together about it. {e excused himself from the group, on the ground that he had to see to his guard, and went the round of the sentries, seeing that they were on the alert, and had their guns loaded, for the possible visit of the monster that had alarmed the palace once before. Then he went to the simple quarters he | Spring-Heel J ack. te ee —_— “The reason was a good one, according to your English notions of honor—I think that is What you call it,” began the Hindoo grave- ly, when George interrupted: “And what should you call it?” The Hindoo smiled, ‘‘T should call it—but never mind what. Let me tell you the story first.” Then he went on in the same quiet, unim- _passioned way as before: occupied when he first came to the palace, | and sat down to reflect on his singular fate. It seemed as if the very mockery of mis- fortune had come on him. Had he been simple George Howard and a beggar, it would have been no more than he had been expecting; but to have the first title in Eng- land thrust on him, with the knowledge that he could never assume it in public, without humiliation, was a bitter thing tor him to bear. He could think of no way in which the humiliation could be avoided. The law had mace him what he was, and that could not be undon’. Then the thought of the way in which Lady Balcarras and Rose had just treated him came to him, and he groaned to himself, as he leaned his head on his hand: “‘[ might have known it. They all turn against me. The unfortunate have no friends, and surely I am _ unfortunate enough.” ‘* There ts no misfortune that a brave man can not turn to good,” said a voice close be- hind him, and the young officer, with a vio- lent. start, turned round, and saw the Hin- doo adept, who had come to visit him in such a mysterious way once before, seated on a chair close by him. Ram Mandana licked at him as calmly as if his coming had been the most common- place thing in the world. George had been quite alone in his quarters. The room in which he was sitting was in a remote part of the palace, and only to be approached by coming through several others; but there was Ram Wandaen: looking at him, with his mild eyes and grave, solemn face, How had he got there? The thought was in his mind, but unutter- ed, when Ram Mandana said, just as if he had asked the question foabh ‘‘Itis no use toask. lambhere. Let that suffice. If I had not felt friendly toward you, I should not have come.” George gazed at him with wonder. ‘* Strange, mysterious man that you are!” he exclaimed; ‘‘ what gives you an interest in me, and what power is it that enables you to appear to me, when and where you please?” Ram Mandana smiled. **T have told you once, that it is useless to ask that of me. I came to aid you once be- fore, but you would not be aided. I told you that the will which did you an injustice was in a place where you could have laid hands on it; and yet you allowed another to take it from you, and rob you of your rights, Why did you do such a thing?” George colored slightly. ‘‘Since you are able to read my thoughts, you ought to be able to tell that yourself,” he said rather stiffly. He remarked that Ram Mandana no longer wore the dress of a gentleman of the time, in which he had made his appearance before. The Hindoo was attired in a long Oriental robe, of some dark, rich stuff, that looked like a Cashmere shawl, and was ot round the waist with a heavy cord of gold. He remarked, further, that there was some- thing hazy and undefined about the whole figure, in the dim light of the room, that re- minded him of the stories he had heard of ghosts. He almost thought that his visitor must be a ghost, from the way he had come, Ram Mandana bowed his head slowly at the remark he made, and answered: ‘It is true that 1 am able to read the thoughts of men, when I can see them, face to face, and imspect their inward parts; but I was not there when you did that foolish thing. Therefore I ask you, wherefore you let the prize that was in your hands eseape?” George drew himself up. *“*The reason I gave up the will to my brother was that I knew the old duke had a right to do what he would with his own; and it was not for me to commit a dishonor- able action, to enrich myself.” ‘“There was once a king reigned in my country who was a great warrior in his day; ' but, as he grew old he lost his senses and be- ‘came as a beast of the field. | ' ' His lawful heir was a young prince, who had the love of all the people, and he wasa great warrior. But he had an enemy in the palace, who took the old king, when he saw that he had lost his senses, and breathed lies into his ears, till the king, being in his dotage, gave away to the bad man who had his ear, all his king- dom. And when the old king died, and the people thought that they would have for king one who could lead them to battle, they found that they were given in his place a thief, who had stolen what did not belon to him, And the people rose up and sai that the thief should not reign over them, and they killed him, and took the young prince, who was the rightful heir, to be in his place. That is the way they do things in my country; but, in yours, it seems the peo- _ ple are such fools they do not know what to do, while the young prince has not courage : | ; | enough to do it for them.” George had been growing red while the other spoke; but he rejoined sharply: ‘‘ Your story is at fault. This is no mat- ter of a kingdom, but an estate; and, had I destroyed the will, as you insinuate I should have done, I should have been liable to have been scouted as a dishonorable man for the rest of my days.” ‘* Whereas, now you will be called a fool,” was the concise reply of the Hindoo, at which the young officer colored more deeply than before, as he retorted: ‘‘I would rather be called a fool than a knave, any day; and this country is not ndia.”’ Ram Mandana shrugged his shoulders. ‘‘You are incorrigible,” he said quietly; ‘‘but you will come to your senses some day. You have for a long time suspected that the man, called your brother, is no relation to you, and yet you have let him rob you of your inheritance,’’ ‘‘It is true that I thought so once,” said the beggar duke, flushing again; ‘‘ but I am convinced that I must have done him a wrong. After all, I have no evidence save the fact that we are not like each other in face or feature; but the old duke, my kins- man, must have known, and he would never have given away the estates to one not of our blood. In the end they must go with the title to the same man, am but one, and it is better that I should give way.” Ram Mandana eyed him with an air as if he had been some strange animal. *‘| have heard, Mr. Howard,’ he said, ‘‘ that there are lunatics among you English- men, on account of the fogs that envelop your island for so many months in the year; but I never expected to find the story cor-' roborated. The old duke, as you ought to know, was a bad man, who would stick at nothing to have his revenge, and you had in- sulted him once. The keenest revenge he could take was what he has taken. He knew well enough that nothing could sting you, like being a pauper and a duke, at the same time. But he also had his revenge to get on others, and especially on the nobles of the court that he disliked most. What revenge could there be, like that of, one day, having & nameless man, come out of a wayside ditch, put over them all?” George stared at him. ‘I fail to understand you,” he said. ‘‘I do not hope that you will understand all I say. But remember this, Wiothin three days more, the titles and estates of the Duke of Norfolk will come into the same man ; and it depends on you who the man shall be. Who is that coming in at the door?” George turned to see, and, beholding noth- ing, turned again to his guest, when Ram Mandana had vanished, as if he had never existed! , Full of wonder and awe at the mysteries that seemed to surround him, the young duke 19 ——EE7~ e —_——e esses -—iCS—SC# Ce hastily caught up a lamp. and searched the premises, to discover the way his visitor had escaped. There was not a trace that any one had been there at all, and George came to the re- luctant conclusion that he must have been dreaming. To clear his brain of the whirling ideas that filled it, he went out into the garden, to visit the posts of the sentries. He found that all had been quiet, and that the clocks had just struck eleven. The new guard went on at midnight, and he retired to his room to wait for the hour. There was a strange sense of uneasiness about him as he came forth again, and found the new relief going on. The night was darker than usual, and a heayy thunder-cloud hung over the palace, As the clocks rung out the stroke of twelve, he heard a shot, at the other extremity of the palace garden. CHAPTER XXYIII. ALARMS. | THE shot came from a lonely post, not far from the river, where the grounds of the palace join the expanse of Bushey Park.’ The report startled, the soldiers who were parading for the guard, and there was a slight movement in the ranks, which their officer checked with the stern order: ‘Steady there! Right face! Forward, at the double-quick, march!” Then the whole guard started out at a slow run toward the place where they had heard the shot, George running ahead of them, and peering eagerly through the darkmess, in hopes of seeing something. But when a second shot came to enliven the monotony, the trot became a run, and the whole of the soldiers dashed on, muskets clutched tightly, their eyes searching the darkness, ready to fire at anything they me see. he men were excited and angry, for they had been teased most unmercifully about the ghost that had scared them all, and they were anxious to make up for the disgrace, They traversed the grounds hastily, and, as they came to the place whence the shot had proceeded, they saw a third flash, and distinguished, by the light, the figure of one of the sentries, who had his musket at his shoulder, and was firing right out toward Bushey Park. What he was firing at, remained a a ge till they got near him, when Howard, who saw nothing, called out angrily: ‘* What are you firing at, sentry?” The answer came in an unexpected form, for the man shouted out: ‘“*Halt or I fire! Who goes there?” It was evident that he had not recognized the voice of his officer, or was determined to take all the privilege of a sentry at night, by pretending not to know it. ¥ “Who goes there?” he called out again, as Ene sergeant of the guard gave the order to t. The reply was given: ‘* Relief!” ; ‘‘ Halt, relief! Advance one, with the countersign!” cried the sentry; and the ser- geen went forward, and, after a short col- oquy with the man, called out angrily: ‘* Advance, relief! Only a confounded re- cruit, scared at nothing.” Howard, who had remained behind with the guard, went forward here and asked: ““Who is this man that is alarming the place by firing at nothing?” And then, when the sergeant flashed the light of his dark-lantern.on the delinquent sentry, he was surprised to see the dark face, and black, gleaming eyes of the Gypsy Spring, whom he thought safe in his rooms, as his pee | ‘What do you mean by being here, Spring?’ he demanded angrily. Spring saluted. ‘‘One of the men was sick, your honor, and the sergeant took me out of my bed to take his place. I ain’t never stood guard in no sich place as this afore; and there's things goin’ on ’ere, that ain’t what they ought to be.” | ‘What did you fire at?” asked George. He felt very angry with the man, and yet did not want to treat him with injustice, if he had seen anythin ‘* | don't eco with I fired at; but I know <SiGo Ebhoo com ore a ee _ 2 St eet . ee ee eee eee