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HOME.

BY HERMAN KARPLES.

 

 

The world is all before me,
, To choose where‘er I will—

The blue sk , bending o‘er me,
Lights va ey. lain and hill.

Oh! man a noo enchanted,
In vir in beauty drest—

With E on freshness haunted,
ls wooing in the West.

But, oh! to me far dearer
And lovelier each morn,
The homely landscape nearer
The spot where I was torn.
And were I like the swallow,
The wide world doomed to roan,
My heart unchanged would follow
he path that points to home.

lanthe’s Riches.

BY MARY REED CROWELL.

 

 

 

 

SUCH a name! I never heard the like of it
outside of a novel. And such a girl to be
Mary Elizabeth’s daughter! But then, she’s
her father all over again, with her yellow hair
and blue eyes, and the dimple in her chin!
Oscar Cressy all over again, with his shiftless—
ness and his airishness and his lord-high-might—
iness. Thank heaven there’s none of the Blunt
blood in her—none to speak of—for all she’s
my sister Mary Elizabeth’s child.”

And Ianthe Cressy’s maiden aunt, Miss
Judith Blunt, compressed her thin lips, and
looked out of her sharp little greenish gray
eyes with an expression that expressed posi-
tive triumph that her niece was not Blunt, but
Cressy all over.

I anthe stood beside the open window, where
the cool September wind stole in and lifted
her luxuriant hair—such lazy, rippling, yellow-
gold hair, so full of incarnate sunshine, so
magnificent in its wealth of glorious beauty,
that, arrange it as she would, was always
wonderfully becoming. ,

She was a charmingly beautiful girl, truly
“ a Cressy all over,” and the Cressys had been
noted far and wide for their heritage of
beauty, that was only equaled by their heri-
tage of wildness, and, as aunt Judith had suc-
cinctly expressed it, “airishness, and shiftless-
ness, and lord—high—mightiness.” Oscar Cressy
had been no exception to the rule—handsome
as a god, fascinating, lazy, romantic, he had
imagined he was in love with demure little
brown~eyed, brown-haired Bessie Blunt, whose
worshiping awe and adoration delighted him
into the foolishness of a marriage which his
family utterly refused to acknowledge.

Then the handsome young face had been
laid to rest under the coffin-lid before Ianthe
was born, and when she came, the startling
resemblance she bore to her dead father made
her the idol of her young mother’s widowed
heart, who named her Ianthe because she had
heard her husband say often how he liked the
name, only, neither she nor any one she knew
could give the name the peculiarly melodious
intonation he had done.

Until the girl herself had grown old enough
to pronounce her own name, which she did
precisely as her father had done before her—
with a little soft lingering accent, and a ten—
der little liberty with the vowels.

She had always ruled her mother—her little,
gentle mother, who was born to be ivy, and
could not have existed without the oak to
cling to; and as she had worshiped her hand-
some young husband, so she now adored her
fair young daughter, who was always so ten-
der and sweetly tyrannical.

Now, this violet-eyed young beauty, who
had just enough of her father’s haughty grace
to make her an eyesore in the sight of her
prim, angular aunt, stood in the fresh morning
sunshine, her cheeks glowing, her lovely lips
half smiling with a cool indifference, that made
aunt Judith know how less than nothing her
expressed opinion was to the subject under
consideration.

“If it wasn’t that mamma was a. Blunt, I
should most heartily echo your thanksgiving,
auntie. As it is, I cannot see what all this ex-
traneous talk has to do with the subject under
consideration—my going to New York to cam
my living, which even you, aunt Judith, will
admit has come to be stern necessity.”

“Of course you have got to earn your own
living, but it’s a downright shame, a disgrace,
to talk of going to New York—you, a girl of
your appearance and independenCe and high-
strung ways. There’s chance enough at home
~—you know that, Mary Elizabeth.”

Little Mrs. Cressy looked timidly up from
her knitting—with her pale, quiet face hear—
ing the marks of her great sorrow, while her
brown eyes were full of loving pride for her
darling.

“I know Ianthe cannot get the village
Sbhool, Judith, because it’s been promised long
a o.”

gMiss Blunt's head gave a vehement toss.

“ The village school! As if there was noth-
ing but teaching fit for our fine Ianthe! There’s
a place she can get in Westervelt’s factory, or
in Dorcas Dwight’s millinery store, for I took
the trouble to inquire.”

Mrs. Cressy looked at Ianthe, and Ianthe

looked at Miss Judith with her frank, beautiful
e es.
“ The idea! You know I would never ac-
cept such positions. Let people go in fac-
tories and millinery stores whose mental capa-
cities are fitted for nothing higher. I shall go
to New Yorke—you agreed I should, little mo-
ther Bessie. I shall earn money there, and
then I’ll come and get you, mamma, and we’ll
live just as happily as two birds in one cage.”

And despite the light, airy manner and tone,
both the women knew Ianthe meant just what
she said. And in less than a month they bade
her adieu at the village depot, as the train
came rushing in to carry her to New York—so
full of joyous hope and, eager determination
and brave courage.

 

“You really think I had better then, Felix?”

Ianthe Cressy‘s exquisite violet-blue eyes
were raised pleadingly to Mr. Felix Dare’s
face—a pale, aristocratic face, with dark, sen—
timental eyes under heavy brows; a refined,
well-bred face whose mouth was shaded by a
drooping mustache of flossy blackness -alto.
gether, the very dearest, best in all the world
to Ianthe—her betrothed lover whom she had
known almost ever since she came to the city,
to be so unusually fortunate as to procure a
situation in a large sewing-machine establish-
ment on Broadway.

She had had a good salary, and she had been
prudent and economical, and by the time two
years had gone by, she had laid aside the snug
little sum of three hundred dollars; and very,
very soon she was to have her little mother
come to New York, and live with her, and—Mr.
Dare, who would be her husband then.

Life was promising very fair to her, and
just now there was a subject her lover had
proposed that made it seem fairer still, be-
cause, according to his judgment and opinion,
it would be the easiest matter in the world for

nificent new scheme just offered, and thereby,
by doubling, trebling, yes, quadrupling her
three hundred dollars in a short time, all that
they were looking forward to would be accel—
erated.

Mr. Felix Dare had been explaining it all to
her—how an inexhaustible source of riches had
been discovered in a certain place away out
West, and how a select company had been
formed and shares issued at a low price to a
few favored ones who were friends of the en-
terprise; how the shares were dead sure to go
up in value, and how, if Ianthe would only in-
vest her little treasured hoard—and a great,
very great favor she should esteem it that he
could get her a share when people were crazy
about them—she would make a neat little for-
tune before long.

And Ianthe had been quite dazzled ,by the
exciting prospect of being a shareholder in this
grand new company of which her lover was
secretary. Quite dazzled, and yet, not quite
certain, she would be wise to risk her money.
“ Are you sure-sure, Felix?”

And the lovely eyes were so eager that Mr.
Dare could not reprove her with the impa—
tience he felt, although some of it cropped out
in his tones.

“ Of course I am sure, Ianthe. Do you sup-
pose I would want to see you lose what you
have? Don’t you know I am a thousand times
more anxious than you are to hasten the time
when we shall be married, and have our own
little fireside '5”

And Ianthe nestled nearer his side so lov-
ingly and tenderly.

“You must be right, dear. Our interests
are one; I will do just as you say—only, I
want you to give me till to—morrow to get used
to it. You will, won’t you?”

He frowned his handsome, thick eyebrows,
and looked a little cross, but he yielded to her
sweet coaxing.

“ Very well then, Ianthe—to—morrow you
may send the money or the check to me, and
I’ll see that you get a share in the Quarrying
and Mining Co.”

And after he had whispered some low words
that were very sweet to her, he bade her good-
night, and Ianthe went to her room, and filled
out a blank check for the even three hundred
dollars in the bank.

“ It will be all ready to send when Mr.
Stonington goes down-town in the morning—
and I’ll tell him, and see what he says about
it. ”

And so, next morning after breakfast, Ianthe
asked her fellow-boarder—Mr. Stonington, a
genial, fatherly old gentleman who was Ianthe’s
firm friend, and who well deserved to be—
what he thought about it.

“I don’t think well of it at all,” he said,
promptly and emphatically, after Ianthe had
told her little story, check in hand, with her
pretty violet-blue eyes full of interest.

“ You don’t? And why, Mr. Stonington?
It’s safe, and if I increase my investment,
surely it will be good for me.”

He shook his wise old gray head.

“ Of course, if you increase it. But the risk
is too much for a girl like you by take. Don’t
do it, Miss Cressy. Stick by the old bank, and
draw your legal interest—slow but sure. I Tear
that check up, and let me tell Mr. Dare you’ve
concluded not to risk it.”

Ianthe’s face was puzzled, and there was a
look of bewildered disappointment in her eyes.
Mr. Stonington saw she was not more than
half anxious to follow his advice.

“ I would so like to have five or six hundred
dollars. Mr. Stonington—I—think—I—will—
do it. Please draw out my money for me and
take it to Mr. Dare.”

“ Very well. Perhaps the experience will be
worth something if you should lose it all.
Maybe you’ll be lucky—nobody knows. ”

“ But, Felix—Mr. Dare says I’m sure to sell
my share at a great advance, if no more. Any-
how. I'll risk it.”

And she gave him the check payable to his
own order, with her eyes glowing and her
cheeks flushing at the delightful anticipation
ahead of her!

Then, when Mr. Stonington came back and
said it was all done, he had arranged every-
thing for her, little Ianthe began to feel that
she was on the highway to fortune; and her
excitement made her feverish, and she had a
violent headache and general nervous exalte-
tion that kept her home from her business
several days.

And while she was yet a prisoner in her
room, an evening paper was handed her, that
had a column marked conspicuously; and the
news in that column was, that the “ Quarrying
and Mining Co.” had proved to be a scheme con-
cocted by the vilest sort of adventurous specu-
lators, and that of them all, the chief rogue
and rascal, Mr. Felix Dare, had decamped,
carrying off several thousand dollars— his
whereabouts a mystery as yet. That was a
fearful blow to the girl, who sat reading it,
with her little pale hands grasping at the
paper, her eyes deepening in their agony, her
heart almost breaking beneath the sudden
shock. _

“ It isn’t true! It isn’t true! He wasn’t a
rascal—oh! Mr. Stonington, he wasn’t.”

And poor little stricken Ianthe fell back
among the pillows of the lounge, senseless and
white as marble.

But the waking wine—oh, the bitter, bitter
waking, when she had to endure the knowledge
that her young love had been so cruelly
wasted, when she looked face to face with the
pitiful fact that all capacity for active happi-
ness had died within her.

“If I only might die! oh, why don’t I die?”

She moaned out her sad complaint to dear,
motherly Mrs. Barham, her landlady, and to
her good old friend, Mr. Stonington.

“Die? Not a bit of it! See here, Miss
Cressy; it’s never so bad but it might be
worse. To be sure, that fellow was a rascal,
and you’re well rid of him, and there’s no two
ways about it. But, then, what a blessing
you didn’t take his advice and invest your last
dollar, for him to run off wit .”

Ianthe looked pitifully at the kind old face.

“ What a blessing I didn’t, Mr. Stoningtonl
But I did. And now mamma and I will have
no home—”

“Nonsense! Yes, you will, because I tore
that check up, you know, and the money’s safe
and sound just where it ought to be, in the
bank. Get well, and forget that dandy—whis-
kered chap, and bring your mother up, and be
happy again.”

And although she could hardly believe the
good news, still, later, she had ample evidence
of the delightful truth of it. And Mrs. Cressy
“ came up ” to the city, and she and her daugh-
ter lived quietly together, and will do so, as
long as they live. '

But, somehow, all the glory and sparkle has
died out of Ianthe’s life, and she has convinced
others, as she long ago convinced herself, that
when one’s sweet trust and confiding love is
thrown cruelly back in one’s face, it is hard to
recover from the woe of it.

While aunt Judith is satisfied there is
“ something grand about Mary Elizabeth’s

    

BETTER FOR BOTH.

BY A. W. BELLAW.

 

 

I have thought as I lay on my pillow
In the night’s immemorial gloom,
While my bitterness beat like the billow,
Of the olden-time beauty and bloom.

And then as the far-away dove-thoughts
Came back with their olives of peace,

I have felt the lost music of love-thoughts
Fill my soul like a summer of bees.

We were proud—we were long ago broken;
What might we have been is a theme

Which comes with a 'udgment and token

‘ From that islande kingdom and dream.

In default we have now but to smother
The hopes which spring bitter in growth,

But had we been just to each other ,
It would have been better for both.

The Scarlet Captain:

The Prisoner of the Tower.
A STORY OF HEROISII.

 

BY COL. DELLE SARA,

AUTHOR or “THE CAPTAIN OF THE LEGION,”

“THE PRIDE or BAYOU SARA,” “SILVER
SAM,” ETC.

 

CHAPTER XVII.
THE RENEGADE’S ESCAPE.

SATAN always favors his own, they say, and
if what men said was true——if the stories told
of the dark deeds of the renegade were not all
lies, then the Author of all Evil never had a
more devoted subject.

And so, aided by his Satanic majesty, for
Heaven surely would never have stooped to aid
one so lost to virtue and honor as the false
Montenegrean, the dark-brewed renegade es—
caped from the trap so cunnineg arranged by
the Scarlet Captain in the wild mountain pass,
which in its spring had caught the entire Mos-
lem detachment from gallant Osman Pasha
down to the meanest varlet in the ranks, the
chief, Ismail Bey, alone excepted.

The renegade had not forgotten his early
training amid the hills of Montenegro, and so
he had taken advantage of the diversion of all
eyes from him, while the details of the surren-
der were being arranged, to slip into the shel-
ter of the wooded ravine, through which the
guide had escaped, and from that wild spot
fled over the backward track.

Twenty minutes after the time, when like a
midnight murderer with the brand of Cain
upon him, conquered, beaten Ismail had crept
into the thicket, his absence was discovered,
and instant chase given.

Too late!

As good a mountaineer as any man in the
victorious band, although it was long years
since his feet had trodden the rude and rough
defiles, the baflied renegade had doubled upon
his track like a hunted fox; while as fiercc,
truly, as the savage hounds who run the fox to
earth. were the agile—limbed mountain-men
who followed so close upon the track of the
fugitive.

But, the pursuit was all in vain; Ismail gain-
ed the plain in safety, after night set in.

From his covert on the hillside he had watch-
ed the closing hour of the bloody fight which
had brought such disaster to gray Mukhtar
Pasha and his well-trained legions.

With many a curse and frown the Turkish
general had witnessed the sudden assault of
the Montenegreans upon the Turkish artiller
—saw the guns belch forth their leaden ha
upon his own mom-beheld the crimson tide of
battle turn and run counter to the fortune of
the Turkish host.

And when the sun sunk slowly down to its
bed in the bosom of the swelling Adriatic, the
well-appointed, well-trained host whom he had
led forth that morn, flushed with the consci-
ousness of an easy triumph over the simple foe
whom they despised, was a beaten rabble,
fleeing for life, all semblance even of an army

one.

g No wonder that the swarthy renegade cursed
in wild despair, and that in his heart grew up
a fierce desire for the blood of the man who
had accomplished all this.

And that man Was the Slasher of Scutari—
the Scarlet Captain!

Away with the thin device that the school-
boy—Prince Nicholas of Montenegro, com-
manded the mountain host!

No, this unknown adventurer—this Scarlet
Captain—was the man whose genius had plan-
ned, and whose skillful right arm had struck
the blow.

What Russian prince—what mighty man of
war was he, who disguised his name and pur-
pose under so fanciful a. title?

The renegade could not solve the riddle for
all his guessing, and his only consolation was
to shake his clenched fist at the now-shadowed
plain where the conquerors were preparing to
go into camp, and cry aloud to the silent night,
his only Witness.

“ Your turn now, accursed adventurer, but
mine will come! Some day my star will be in
the ascendent and you will be in my hands,
and then a long rope and a short prayer to
you, even though you be the RuSSian Alexan-
der’s son!”

After night had darkened earth and sky the
renegade, descending from his mountain perch,
easily managed to evade the encampment of the
victorious mountaineers, and make his way to
the old tower. ,

Even the strongly-fortified tower had not
given confidence to Mukhtar Pasha and his
beaten legions, for, instead of halting by the
shadow of the protecting walls, they. had hur-
ried straight on and had never tarried until
they had put many miles of Albanian soil be—
tween themselves and the victorious Montene-
groan.

For a time the pursuit of the beaten army
had been close and fierce, but the Montene-
greans leader had his army well in hand, and
when fully satisfied that the victory was com-
plete and that the Turkish host had lost all
semblance of an army, he gave the word to
halt.

Perhaps, like a wise man, he believed in the
old Spanih proverb, “ Build a bridge of silver
for a flying enemy!”

The tower was strongly fortified, well gar—
risoned, provisioned, and able to stand a siege.
As the Turkish commander, stern Mukhtar,
rode past, not disdaining to fly in hot haste
from the scene of his inglorious defeat, like the
meanest camp-follower in the host, he called
aloud to Hassan upon the wall:

“ Hold out for ten days and I’ll have a force
here that will sweep these fellows into the
sea!”

“ Fear not 1” bold Hassan had replied. “ Ten
days! I’ll hold the tower ten weeks!”

Old Mukhtar rode on and Hassan hurried to
prepare his guns.

He had expected an immediate attack, but
up to the coming on of the darkness, he had

 

 

Ianthe to invest her savings in a grand, mag-

  

 

daughter, after all.”

seen nothing of the mountain victors, except

that their skirmishers seemed to be lurking
within the corner of a wood just to the north
of the tower.

As the Turk had boasted, the old castle was
strong and might laugh a siege to scorn, but if
the Scarlet Captain was in command of the
Montcnegrean force, then for him the old tower
held a prize not to be purchased with a king’s
ransom, and the stronghold that might defy all
the efforts of a doughty foe, yet would not be
able to resist a lover’s devices.

What wall so high—what moat so deep, as to
defy young Cupid’s spring?

The appearance of the Turkish general took
every one by surprise.

From the wall Hassan had questioned some
of the fugitives, but one and all had disclaimed
any knowledge of the Turkish leader, and na~
turally, therefore, it was believed that the
renegade had fallen in the fight. But now
that it was plain that dark Ismail was still in
the flesh, it was no wonder that he chose to
shut himself up in the tower rather than fol-
low in the flight so swiftly led by beaten Mukh-
ar.

The Countess of Scutari was in the tower,
and fair Catherine was his prize, which rather
than lose, life itself would be freely parted with.

“Man your wall well and see that the watch
be diligent!” the renegade commanded. “ Be-
fore the night is over we shall hear from these
Montenegreans, or I am a false prophet.”

“ Do you think that they will dare to attack
the tower?”

“ By open attack, no; by secret and sudden
assault, yes,” Ismail Bey replied. “ Who,
think you, commands this insurgent army?
You would never guess, man! It is the Scar-
let Captain—this adventurer who married the
countess!”

“ He must have more lives than a cat!” the
Turk exclaimed, in astonishment.

“We shall hear from him ere the night is
over; so see that the sentinels are trusty.”
And then the renegade sought the apart-
ments of the countess, dark thoughts in his
mind.

The tower was strong, but it might be taken,
and then—his jewel wrested from him, per-
haps!

 

CHAPTER XVIII.
ISMAIL’S PURPOSE.

So sudden and abrupt the appearance of the
renegade that the two ladies were fairly start-
led, but, warned as they had been by Hassan,
of the evil fortune which had overtaken the
Ottoman arms, it was easy for them to guess
why the cloud rested on the face of the Turk-
ish leader.
Well known to them was the history of the
hey; that is, such history as had been made in
the open light of day and was the common
property of all the world; and well they un-
derstood what a terrible blow to the pride of
the soldier must be his complete and utter de-
feat at the hands of the insurgents—his own
people.
And Catherine, proud, haughty. full of the
iron will of the old mountain race, could not
repress a glance of exultation as she came eye
to eye with the baffled man.
Ismail saw the gleam of exultation upon the
beautiful face, and rage swelled within his
heart.

“You have returned,” Catherine at once
said. “Have the insurgents fled? Does the
banner of the Prophet reign supreme over the
hills of Montenegro?”

Concealing the anger which burned within
his veins under an icy mask, “ You know that
disaster and defeat have befallen the Turkish
arms,” he answered.

“Yes; from the roof of the tower I saw the
retreat of your beaten army; and never in all
my life saw I a more panic—stricken rabble.”

“You are right—it was a terrible defeat,”
the hey confessed. “The army which this
morning set out, filled with confidence, sure of
an easy victory over a foe whom they despis-
ed, as an army exists no longer. The insur-
gents have triumphed; they have not only re-
pulsed my attack, but they have utterly de-
stroyed my army, and all Albania is open to
their incursions if they choose to descend from
their mountain fastnesses. At any moment,
here in this tower, I may expect to receive no-
tice that I am surrounded by the victorious
foe, and prepare myself to answer the sum-
mons to surrender.”

Again the look of exultation on the face of
the countess. Assistance was near at hand,
and release from her captivity must soon
come!

The renegade noted this look, and a sinister
smile passed over his dark face.

“Already you see your prison doors swing
open, I presume,” he said, a mocking accent in
his voice. “Perhaps the prospect will be even
more cheering when I tell you that the adven-
turer you married yesternight still lives; he
escaped the sabers and bullets of my followers,
escaped the perils of the fearful leap from the
roof of the tower into the sea, and is now
holding a high command in the insurgent
force. To his cunningly-devised snare, into
which I was entrapped by a false guide, is to
be attributed the terrible disaster that has
come upon the Turkish arms to-day. At any
moment this Scarlet Captain may knock with
his mailed hand upon the gates of this tower
and demand his wife, backing his request with
the whole strength of the victorious Monte-
negrean army.”

Catherine understood full well that it was
for no good purpose the renegade had made
this revelation, and therefore she repressed
the joyous exclamation springing so freely
to her lips and waited to hear further.

“ And so great a dullard am I—so weak in
wit—so disheartened and dismayed by this
terrible defeat that has befallen me, that, in-
stead of fleeing in hot haste like the rest, I
wantonly throw myself into this old tower;
shut myself up here in order that the Scarlet
Captain may surround me with his conquering
army, so that when the tower surrenders, to
grace his triumph he may have Ismail Bey, a
helpless prisoner, in his hands.”

“Ah, but you do not intend to surrender!”
the countess exclaimed, quickly, not for a mo-
ment deceived by the speech of the wily rene-
gade. “ You intend to hold out. The tower
is strong; you know that, under your com-
mand, the garrison will resist to the last ex-
tremity. In time Mukhtar Pasha Will come to
your assistance, and then the MontenegreanS,
overwhelmed by superior numbers, will be
forced back again to the shelter of their moun-
tains.”

“ You are keen-witted, countess; a true wo-
man in guessing!” the officer exclaimed. “ You
are quite right; I have shut myself up in the
tower—like a rat in a trap, perhaps—for ex,
actly the same reason that your adventurer
husband, this Scarlet Captain, attacks it. You
are here! You, the ,Countess of Scutari, the
prize for which both he and I are striving.
He knows that you are here, and he will strain
every nerve to either take the tower or force
it to surrender, but I am here also, and while
life remains the tower shall hold out. Within

 

ten days I shall be relieved. Mukhtar Pasha

        
     
     
 
     
 
     
         
     
         
 
       
 
 
      
     

will return with an army large enough to
drive these insurgents through the Duga Pass,
even were they twice as strong as they are.”

“My fate then depends upon the strength of
the tower; you still design to make me your
victim if you can?" Catherine spoke calmly
if not with indifference. ’

“Yes!” retorted the renegade, fiercely. “It
is not in my nature to retreat from a task upon
which I have set my heart. Years ago. Cath—
erine, I determined that you should be, mine.
Your father drove me with hot curses and hard
blows from the Montenegrean land; in a for-
eign clime I found refuge, but your face lived
ever in my memory, and as I rose slowly from
rank to rank I joyed, for each step brought me
nearer to you. And now that the end is
gamed—that you are fairly in my power, is it
to be supposed that I will tamely yield you at
the first demand? Oh, no! Let this adven-
turer batter away at the tower; the walls are
strong and our artillery good, and even if the
worst comes to the worst—if the tower suc-
cumbs to the attack—if the walls crumble be-
neath my feet, and I find that the place is-
doomed to fall—why, then, Catherine, there is
a dagger in my belt, a strong arm to wield it,
and it will find a sheath in your heart. But
while life remains you are mine!”

The countess had listened with a hightened
color to this bloodthirsty speech. That it was
no idle boast the dark life—history of the rene~
gade fully proved, but the Montenegrean wo-
man quailed not. No! with an undauuted
mien she faced the false son of the old moun-
tain land.

“Ismail Bey, or John Belina, whichever you
may be pleased to term yourself, you are a
man used to deeds of blood. In time to come
the page of history will speak of you as one
who stained the renown of a gallant soldier by
fearful acts worthy only of a savage. I am
only a weak woman, yet you shall find that
the warrior heart of my -old race beats
within my breast. You have said that you
would sooner kill me than let me go free; I
behave you. I can readily understand from
your past career that you will not shrink from
any act, no matter how bloody. And now
listen to me; young as I am, with all the
bright, beautiful world before me, if the tower
holds out, rather than become your prey I
would scorn to live; death would be preferable
to life linked with you.”

The renegade listened in silence, and as he
was about to reply, the shrill blare of the
trumpets rung on the air without the tower.
Already the Scarlet. Captain knocked!

 

CHAPTER XIX.

THE MONTENEGREAN DEMAND.
CAREFUL watch and ward had the Turks
kept from the top of the old tower since the
last of the beaten legions fled by it. The sun
went down and the moon rose; great in all her
glorious beauty, the pale queen of night flood-
ed the heavens with her silver light. No bet-
ter protection against a surprise could the de-
fenders of the old tower have had than this.

Afar ofl" the dark line of the pine-clad moun-
tains rose, the forest trees looking black
against the hills; and where the forest swept
forward to embrace the winding road which
northward led, the Moslems felt sure the in-
surgent skirmishers lurked.

The old tower was very strong, and owing
to its commanding position was justly held to
be almost impregnable. There was no position
within cannon range where attacking guns
could be mounted that was not commanded by
the artillery of the tower.

Little wonder, then, that stern old Mukhtar,
in his hasty flight, had ordered Hassan El
Moola to hold the tower for ten days until he
could procure reinforcements, and had then
rode on, perfectly satisfied with the assurance
of the Turkish leader that he could hold the
tower ten times that number of days.

And wily Ismail Bey! no fool was he to
seek refuge in the old dark castle if he had not
felt perfectly satisfied that it was proof
against all the powsr that the insurgents could
bring to bear upon it.

The watch had been doubled and each and
every man instructed to give an alarm upon
the slightest sign of danger.

The Turks feared a sudden assault; they did
not believe that the Montenegreans would at-
tempt to take the tower by a regular siege.

But the evening was well advanced before
the insurgents gave the slightest sign that they
were in strong force right around the tower,
and then, all of a sudden, their trumpets
sounded; the clear-toned bugles answered each
other from point to point, from the sea—shore of
the .Adriatic far south of the tower to the
wooded defiles to the north, the entrance to
the Duga Pass.

It was plain that the castle was completely
surrounded.

And with the challenge of the trumpets,
forth from the woods north of the tower came
a small body of ghorsemen, bearing a flag of
truce.

Ismail Bey had hurried to the outer walls at
the first sign of alarm, and his dark brow
knitted as he beheld the flag of truce ride on.

“ Now by Allah and the Sacred Tomb at
Mecca!” he cried, “do these dogs of Christians
think with a word and a breath to frighten us
from our position? The intoxication of their
one single victory has turned their brains.
Train me a gun on yonder troop; first We’ll
hear their speech, but if they dare to be inso-
lent, and forget the respect due to us, their
masters, we’ll send them to their prophet, the
devil, in a storm of iron hail!”

And no empty boast this, for small respect
the ruthless renegade had for the courtesies of
war when dealing with the subjects of his au-
gust master, the sultan of Turkey.

The gunner trained the piece to bear full on
the little body of horsemen, and as they ad-
vanced moved it to correspond with their posi-
tions.

So clear the light of the moon that all the
scene was as light as by day, except that the
gun and cannoneer, hidden by the shadow cast
by the wall, were concealed from sight.

Steadily on rode the little band, bearing the
Montenegrean flag of truce, little dreaming of
the danger which threatened them, despite the
sacred nature of their mission, at the hands of
the barbarous foo.

A hundred feet or so from the wall the party
halted, and the trumpeter with a loud blast
signaled the attention of the defenders of the
tower.

The officer in command of the detachment
was well known to the renegade, for it was the
American adventurer, Robert Inuderdale.

Eagerly dark Ismail looked for the figure of
the Scarlet Captain amid the men of the little
detachment, and if the “Slasher of Scutari ”
had been there, to no word would the evil-
minded renegade have listened—no word would
he have spoken, save the single command to
the old gunner, “fire!”

But the man the renegade so fiercely hated,
was not with the flag of truce; and so, curbing
his anger as well as he could, Ismail prepared
himself to listen.

 

The renegade stood half in the shadow, so

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Q‘t‘I.-‘ -

 

  
 

   
      
  
  

-‘ w. a.
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