Beadle's New York Dime Library No. 436 — page 12: what you’re looking at

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

aw i 7 ~ + oe LL eS EL ce on OO o ae ee + <P" oe SE EE omnes 7 - a — J > 7 a a ee a ee ee — Se SS Pwuesee or Se ne a a Sr a See Se ee 7233 <2 12 trembling girl asked in low, sorrowful tones. ** Who can prove who I am?” “* By heavens! you are the heir!’ Colonel Dal- las fairly thundered, adding instantly: ‘1 do not not see how any one can for a moment doubt it.” ** No, nor I,” echoed Minnie. ‘* Whether you are or not,” Charles declared, ‘the mystery of your identity shall be dis- lied. But, like father and Minnie, I feel con- dent that you are the child of the persons named in this certificate. In my mind there does not exist the shadow of a doubt; and you shall be restored to your name and rights. Again I swear it.” ‘* But this Gardner Gernett,” Colonel Dallas commented, ‘‘what are his intentions? Does he mean to rob the rightful heir if he can? or is he fighting the case simply to wrest the prop- erty from the mining company, in order to be- stow it where it rightfully belongs? This is a question of no little importance.” ‘‘ Doubtful if it is the latter,” the young man insinuated. *T do not «xnow that,” the colonel debated, ‘* This advertising for other heirs seems to point that way.” ‘Well, you may be right. The way to find out, though, is to correspond with Dobson & Blake; and the sooner the better.” ‘* You are right.” For some time longer the conversation was carried on, as the case was reviewed in every - eapene light and debated on all sides, and then he girls left the room. Some time later Charles went out, and Colonel Dallas was left alone. ‘* After all these years,”’ he mused, as he paced to and fro, ‘‘ this old case comes again to light, It has come and burst like a very bomb. What is to come of it? Alas! I wish I could tell. Oh! if I could but recall the past and undo the wrong — Butitcan never be. The die is cast, and Delwin Mourton is dead—dead.” And let- ting his head drop forward until his chin rested upon his breast, he paced to and fro, to and fro, until the shades of night began to settle down and he was called to tea, In the mean time Blue-eyed Belle had gone home, eager to tell Aunt Dinah—and Rube, when he came—of what she had learned, Ar- riving there, her first care was to lay away the certificate of marriage; but when she put her hand into her pocket to get it, it was gone. alarm did she search for it, but it was not to be found. Nor did she find it, though she retraced her steps to a point where she remembered as- suring herself it was safe after leaving the Dal- las residence. The certificate was lost. i ee — —_ oo — i CHAPTER XIII. A STRANGE WOMAN, SoMEWHERE along in the preceding columns, mention has been made of one Euphemia Wig- gins, a fair young widow of thirty-nine, who owned a house and lot, and had a goodly num- ber of paying mining shares, left her by the late lamented, etc. It is now our pleasure to bring this lady for- ward and introduce her. She was, as stated, crowding along to forty ears of age, but still retained much of her youthful attractiveness, and was as plump and fair as could be expected. Her home was a neat little cottage in a quiet are the town, and was all that any lone, orn widow could desire. But Euphemia Wiggins did not live quite alone. Aboutfifteen years prior to the time of our story, when she and her busband were emigrat- ing to the West from one of the Eastern States, with a number of other families, their little camp was startled one morning to find a party of Indians in the vicinity. Preparations were made at once to repel an attack, if one was intended, but the guide soon ascertained that the Indians were inclined to be After a little while two of them rode for- ward, and it was seen that one of their horses bore a double burden; and when they came near, it was found that the third personage was a woman. She did not seem to be a day over twenty-five or six, but her hair was as white as snow. The two Indians stopped at a little distance from the camp and asked if they might enter, and being told to do so, came on. When they drew rein again they dismounted and lifted the woman to the ground, and then it was noticed at once that she was insane. There was a wild and vacant expressionin her eyes be accounted for in no other way. ‘One of the Indians made a few remarks in the most meager English imaginable, touching his forehead with his finger, then pointing to the woman, and then waving his hand toward the camp; and then he and his companion mounted again and rode leisurely back to their party, leaving the woman behind, and soon the whole In | longing to their tribe, many months previously; and that they desired to restore her to her own race, as she was a burden on their hands. He called her the ** child-woman.” The woman was clad in Indian dress, and from what tbe Indian had said, the guide es- timated that she had been with the tribe at least two or three years. But that was of little importance to the emi- grants, The question with them was—what were they to do with her? And that question was easily answered, since there was but one course open, and that was—to take her with them. This was the necessity of the case. The next question was—what was to be done with her eventually? That question was decided by Euphemia Wig- gins. The woman’s features, she said, remind- ed her of a dead and gone aunt, and she felt that she had been sent to her for care and protection, She felt that an all-seeing Provi- dence had called upon her to do an act of charity by taking the forlorn creature into her heart and home, and, with her busband’s con- sent, she would do her duty, Mr. Wiggins, he whom we now speak of as the ‘Slate lament- ed,” was willing to acknowledge that Provi- dence was a great fellow, but he doubted his having any especial grudge against bim, and therefore could not quite accept his wife’s view of the matter; but, if she insisted, why— Well, he was willing. So, to the great relief of all the other emi- grants, the fate of the ‘‘ child-woman” was de- cided. She was to be taken care of by Eu- phemia Wiggins—with the consent of Mr. Wig- gins, because Providence had so ordered it, And this woman was with the fair young widow still, and to her we allude in saying that Euphemia did not live quite alone. When she was delivered up by the Indiars, as ‘explained, she knew absolutely no language save the Indian tongue, and but little of that. She was like a child, and the Indians had not mis- named her in calling her the ‘*‘ child-woman.” She knew no more than a child. After a time, however, she began to observe and imitate; began to pick up words and form sentences in English: and by degrees the wild and vacant expression left ber eyes, and she be- came sane, But her knowledge of herself dated from the time she was delivered to the emigrants by the Indians, She remembered that; but beyond that point her life was a blank. Who she was, where she came from, what her name was—nobeody knew. Euphemia Wiggins called her ‘‘ Belinda,” after the ‘‘dead and gone” aunt whom she fancied she resembled, and as ‘‘ Aunt Belinda” she was known; and if any one was curious enough to inquire her last name, then the name of the aforesaid aunt (who was “‘ dead and gone”) was given in full—‘‘ Belinda Dix.” But, few ever inquired. | Aunt Belinda grew to be a strange woman. It could no longer be said that she was insane, for she was sane. It could not be said that she was foolish, for she was not. Still there wasa cer- tain something wanting, though what that some- thing was, it was not easy todefine. Full a quarter of a century of ber life was a blank, as of course she knew now, and it may have been this fact constantly preying upon her mind that made her seem unlike other people. Be that as it might, there was something lacking somewhere. And of late she had become still more of a mystery than ever to her protectress, She bad fallen into a habit of sitting for hours with her eyes fixed, gazing into vacancy, seeing nothing —hearing nothing; and at such times Euphemia found it necessary to shake her before she could arouse her to her surroundings. On several occasions Euphemia had allowed her to sit in her dream as long as she would, and at such times she would always come back to her sense of being with a sudden start, and pers witha cry. Once she had sprung to ier feet, her face a very picture of terror, utter- ed a piercing scream, and fell fainting to the floor. And since then Euphemia had never al- lowed her to fall into one of her spells of stupor if she could hinder it, which was not always possible, for the spells were becoming more and more frequent every year, On the evening in which occurred the events recorded in our opening chapters, and about the time when the “little fracas” between Ken- tucky Jean and Jared Kenneth was taking place in the Everybody’s Home, Euphemia and Aunt Belinda were seated in the sitting-room of the little cottage, talking pleasantly and sewing. Their conversation was concerning the mys- tery of Aunt Belinda, which had been discussed between them thousands of times. ‘‘ No,” the strange woman remarked, after a ause in their talk, “tit will never be known. y life up to that time is a blank, and will always remain a blank.” ‘*Tt certainly seemsso,” Enuphemia responded. * Still, it may all come back to vousome time.” which obscures my past, and that I am better off to be ignorant of it.” ‘* Do you believe that?” *§ da” ** And why?” ‘*T will tell you why. At times, when I sit and dream—dream, striving to force my mem- ory back to other years and other scenes, there comes a momentary gleam of the past. But it is only a gleam, like a single ray of sunshine through a rift in the black clouds of a stormy day, and the moment I glance up to catcha glimpse of the sun from which it is emitted, the black clouds shut down again, and the darkness is as profound as before. ‘* In that one brief moment, though, the recol- lection of some awful event flashes upon my memory, just at the moment when the vail is lifting, and the shock it gives me is so sudden— so terrible—that | am instantly aroused to my surroundings, and all is lost again. ‘‘ This is why 1 dread—why I fear the truth of the past. I believe, as I said, there is some ter- rible event just beyond these dark clouds, and it may be that I have been guilty of some heinous crime.” Had Euphemia Wiggins been a close observer, she would have long since discovered the fact that this strange woman’s language was indica- tive of her having been in the past a woman of education. She, Euphemia, had taught ber to read and write, ‘tis true; but she had not been able to teach her grammar to any extent, much less to inculeate by example such figures as she frequently employed iff speaking. Nor had the strange woman’s reading or companionship been of a nature to guide her to such a degree of perfection, Clearly she had been, as remarked, a woman of education, and ber gift of language had come to her vuconsciously from out the mystic past. Nor was this all, as Euphemia might have found, had she been of a philosophi- calturn. The woman not intrequently sung snatches of old airs, and now and then in con- versation let falla word of Latin or French. Slowly but surely, whatever the past was, the memory of it was dawning upon Aunt Belinda’s mind, “Oh! I can’t believe that!” Euphemia ex- claimed instantly. ‘‘I am sure you have never wronged any one.” ‘* Who can tell?” ‘*No one can tell, of course; but your nature is not evil. You are goodness itself.” ‘‘ My nature may have changed, though, I may have been a wicked woman—a very fiend, Oh! if Icould but know. And yet I dread the truth—I fear the revelation.” ‘Tt may be as you say,” Euphemia admitted, ‘* but I do not believe it. You a wicked woman —never!” ‘‘T certainly hope I have not been such, and that I bave never harmed any one, I should Zo mad indeed to learn that my hand is stained with crime.” ‘Tt is not, it is not!” ‘ ‘Well, I shall never know. As I said, the past is a blank, and as such it will ever re- main.” ‘It may, but who can tell? But, whatever the secret of the past may be, if 1t ever comes to. light, believe me I shall still be your friend. Providence ser.t you to me, and I shall do my duty. Not only that, dear, but I have learned. to Jove you, and you shall never leave me.” ‘*So you have fold me many times before, and I believe you. Some time inthe future I may need your love and friendship more than ever im the past.” , ‘“ And when that time comes I will prove my words, Come what may, you may depend onme, As I told dear Abram (the late lament- ed), you were sent to me by Providence, and I shall be true to my trust. All I ask in return is your love and confidence.” * And you have both. If the shadow is ever dispelled, no matter how terrible be the truth it discloses, you sball know all.” ‘You may freely trust me,” ‘‘Oh! if there were only some proof of my identity—some clew to this dark mystery. But there is nothing—nothing.” ‘‘No, there is nothing. When you came to us you were clad in Indian dress, and did not wear even a ring. The only mark of any kind. was—”’ ‘* This blood-red star on my arm?” cs Yes,” As she spoke, the strange woman pulled up the loose sleeve of her house dress, and there on her arm, near the shoulder, was a small birth- mark in the form of a star. ‘** Yes,” she mused, this is all. It is, beyond doubt, a birth-mark, and wasof course known to my parents, and to my brothers and sisters, per- haps, if I had any; but so many years have passed that it is useless now as a clew, even bad I the means and courage to begin inquiry, and I have neither. Besides, all my relatives may now be dead. Oh! would to God that I bad died when this awful change came over me.” The poor creature burst into a flood of tears, and Euphemia clasped her in her arms at once. So ended the conversation every time the sub- | } ‘ ‘ : ve & tly: ow ae ee “7 a was galloping away across the plains. “True, it may. And do you know—or can 9 aS at the Indian had’ said, was to the effect | you believe—that 1 am in dread of it? I believe | ject was brought up. [twas a mystery toodeep f eS Bx that the oman was not sound in her mind; ! there is some terrible event just behind this veil for penetration. -