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THE

PRISONER OF LA VINTRESSE;

on,

THE FORTUN ES OF A CUBAN HEIRESS.

BY MRS. MARY A. DENISON,
AUTHOR or menu NOVEL No. 210, “mm BUMBLE’S CHARGE.”

 

NEW YORK:
I BEADLE AND ADAMS, PUBLISHERS,
No.98WILIJAMSTREET.

 

lama according to Act of Congress, in the I (A! I“). D)

XRWIN P. BEADLE & CU.,.
hm Clerk's omce of the District Court. of the United sun. I. U
Southern District of New You

 

,,back for it, then hasten to the ship.

THE PRISONER OF LA VINTRESSE -

on,
THE FORTUNES OF A CUBAN HEIRESS.

 

\

C H A P T E R. I.
seem: AND msarromrnenr.

Tm: moonlight streamed broadly down upon the “ Paseo De Ysabel
Segunda "—the grand avenue of the city of Havana. Its two
carriage-drives—its two walls for foot-passengers. glittered like silver
in the splendors of the night; and the tree-branches that lined its
sides were white with the glory of the full-orbed moon. The soft air
was loaded with the scents of flowers that came from near and distant
gardens. The blue field of stars glittered above, and the soft harm-
ony of a full band of music, playing perhaps before the Governor’l
house, their farewell march, came gently on the night-wind.

Two figures lightly but hurriedly crossed the lower end of the
beautitiil avenue.

" We did well with the guards, Minerva, now we have passed all
danger, and I shall soon put you on board—good heavens! ”

The lady looked up,hastily at this exclamation.

, “ Do you see, Minerva, in the hurry and excitement, I have quite
forgotten my portinanteau,oontaining all my papers—my drafls. In
hot, I could not go without it. How unfortunate! "

“ What will you do, dear Herman? ” It was the musical voice of
youn girl.

“ here is but one thing I can do: put you on board and Jams
Idon’t think the tide is up.
The boat that carries you will return with me, and it will not take
thirty minutes. I must feel that you are safe.”

“ 0 Herman! it seems as it‘I dare not stay alone, and I am so
fearful there may be trouble about your returning; ” she said, half
toart’ully. .

“ Don’t be afraid, dearest— —the captain of the Eagle is a thorough
gentleman, and I am well known here by most of the public authori-
ties. Come, yonder is the boat, they are punctual—don’t tremble

no, love.”

‘Plyfear—I hardly know what; ” was the low reply. /

" It is but natural; ” returned the manly voice, “ but you will
loan fieel safer when I am your protector. Here they are.”

 

   
    
   
  
 
 
  
   
 
 
 
    
  
 
 
 
 
 
   
 
   
   
 
 
 
    
  
  

   

,  THE PRISONER OF LA YINTRESBE.

A boat approached the landing, propelled hy two swurthy seamen
“If I could only remain here till you return; ” she murmured
Igain.
“ That would never do, Minerva I’ll see you to the vessel’s aide, ,
however. What time do you set sail, men '! ” fr
“ At twelve, to a second; ” said one of the men. ,
“ All right—I have an hour, then.” Herman had pulled out his
gold repeater—now he hastily put it back, secured Minerva in a com- r .
fortable seat, protecting her with lover-like energy against the up- ~
coming of the restless waters as the sailors pulled oars lustily. ’
They reached the side of the black bulk. The captain’s cheerful
voice was heard. ‘
“ You are in good time Mr. Goreham.” { _
“ Yes, sir; but I must ask the fewer to be pulled back and waited
for just ten minutes. By an unfortunate oversight I’ve left all my
valuables, and this young Indy, my cousin, of whom I spoke to you,
will remain in your safe keeping.” 
“ Ay, 3y,” responded the captain, “ but I must limit you. Thirty ‘
minutes is the very longest I can spare the men, as I wish to set sail
. at twelve. Think you can do it t ” \ ,
“I shnn’t be so long as that, captain, thank you. Now, be pa- '
tient, darling,” he whispered to the young girl as he helped her up l
the side. .
Another moment and the sailors were oll‘, Mr. Herman Gorehum 
keeping them company, while Minerva was conducted to the hand-
some cabin, and shown her own pretty state—room, by the steward- V g}
ess. .
Here she dismissed the woman and sat down, listening intently i
that she might catch the faintest flash of the ours on their quick re- 
turn. Stmngely enough, a drowsiness crept over her, and, giving ,
~ way to the sudden languor. she fell asleep. When she awoke, a mid. ‘I
‘ night darkness was around her, and for a moment she knew not
where she was. A sullen sound and uneasy motion convinced her l
all at once that the vessel was under way, and had been perhaps for
hours. A blank horror seized her—could she be alone? The clnl- i
tering of the doors, the trembling of the ship, convinced her that
she must be at see. and in a high wind. She tried the door of her (
state-room, standing up as best she could. A sudden lurch sent her L
out into the cabin where she caught at the long table and strove to in
ateme herself, that she might look about her. There was no sign i V
of life there. The lantern swung dismally, and the bolts and cos- ‘ w
ings ereaked and groomed. Overhead were sounds of tramping feet ~ In
and shouting voices. Totnlly unaequainted with a ship as she was. .
she gazed from end to end of the long cabin in utter dismay. Of 4 he
course Herman was on board. He had come at the appointed time, J
aupppsed her asleep and would not disturb her. Which of the state-
rooms, whose gilding looked so ghastly in the dim light, could be
his? And yet he might just have knocked at her door. Perhap

Inn—u

    
 
      

 

 

 

 

he did; she must have slept very soundly not to hear.

‘ened into a gale.

some token from Herman.
. she was in hers, but surely he could send a message by the steward-

  

’ am srcxsrss. 11

A feeling of
desolation came over her in spite of her hope, that sent the tears gush-
ing to her eyes. If she could only see one human face—if the captain
could come in, or the stewardess. But this horrible rolling—this
deathly faintness that now crept over her, shrouding as it were, soul
and body in its hideous mantle. At any rate, she must get bflk to
her state-room, and there listen for the captain. It could not be
very long till morning if the vessel started at twelve, and she had
probably slept some hours. The damp sea-wind chilled her, and an
undefinable fear weighed down her spirits. She returned to her
state-room and sunk uneasily on her narrow bed. Ill as she felt
herself growing, she did not call for assistance, but waited patiently.
It was evident that the calm wind of the previous night had fresh-
The ship leaped and plunged, and the ominous
clattering as of ten thousand dishes, became every moment louder,
while the shouts above, grew more hoarse and continuous.

Sad was that Weary watching till the dawn, and welcome the first
gray streak that slanted across the little state-room. Minerva at-
tempted in vain to rise. The fearful giddiness of sea—sickness was
upon her—the ominous sinking and depression that makes the mal-
ady seem tenfold more terrible. The gale had somewhat abated its
violence—but the ship yet plunged from one large wave-top to the
other.

Perplexing herself with wearying thought, she yet looked for
He might be as ill in his state-room as

egg, or if there were other passengers, of which she was doubtful, by
them or the captain. r

The savory smell of coffee saluted her senses. Breakfast was be-
ing prepared, then; some one might think of her. She was not mis.
taken. In a few moments the door of her state-room opened, and
the pleasant face of the stewardess appeared, shining through the
steam of the beverage she held in her hand.

Minerva greeted her with a smile.

It was good to see a human countenance, even that of a stranger.

“How are you, miss? ” the girl asked simpiy.

Minerva shook her head; her look was expressive.

“ Ah, you are not used to the sea,” said the girl—“ get all right
in good time. Take some strong cofl‘ee, that will make you better.
Very pretty; ” she added, nodding her head approvingly, as Miner-
va shook the long curling hair that had fallen from its fastenings,
and hung in glittering curls all over the pillow.

The young girl smiled languidly and tasted the coffee. It gave
her strength, for she lifted herself in the narrow bed, and her eyes
grew brighter.

“ The gentleman who came» with me.” she said, turning to the
stewar'less, who, with an admirable sea-gait, was placing the little
state-room in order——“ is he ill, do you think, this morning? He

   

  

12 m PRISONER or u vmnm.

said he was never sick at sea, but then we have had a terrible man.
have we not? ”

“ Very bad." replied the girl, who. though she was Spanish by
birth, spoke excellent English; “ but who do you mean, by the gen-
tleman ? You came alone; I saw no gentleman.”

“ Yes, I came over the vessel‘s side alone,” said Minerva, “ but
my cousin was in the boat. He had to go back to the shore after
some luggage he had forgotten, but he returned directly. If I had
my pencil, I would write a message to him, and the steward could
take it. It is strange that I have not heard from him before now."

The stewardess stood regarding the young girl with a glance of
perplexity.

“ Are you sure he came aboard ? ” she asked after a moment of
silence. '

Minerva trembled at her look—her heart gave a great bound as
Ihe spoke.

“ Sure, of course; he was to sail this voyage with me; his trunk!
are on board. Why do you ask such a question? ” she cried almost
wildly. “ Were you by when the boat came back ? ”

“ No, not exactly; ” said the stewardess; “ but I was up in the
cabin till long after the ship sailed, and I did See no one; but don’t
you be so pale and frightened, miss; I can very soon find out for
you—the captain can tell. He might have possibly staid out, you
see, to watch the ship getting under way; sometimes our passengers
do, in particular the first night. Do not be afraid—I will go see di-
rectly. What number is his state-room? ”

“ Seventeen; ” said Minerva, faintly, sinking back on her pillow,
for the bare thought of such a trouble sent all the blood to her heart
and made her sick with apprehension.

Meanwhile, Bandola, the stewardess, made her way to the state-
room designated by Minerva. It was locked—plainly the captain or
the person who had secured it, was in possession of the key. She
tried it, called through the key-hole, and managed to peak in under
the blinds that made the upper half of the door. There was nobody
there, that was very evident. ,

The captain came in, wet with salt-spray, pale and engrossed. He
had been hard at work since the gale sprang up. Bandola went to-
wards him; she was a great favorite with him. '

“ Well, Banda. we’re about through,” he said. “ Did the storm
frighten you? We had a fine taste of a tropical hurricane—one of
the worst I ever saw. What? ” be queried sharply, not hearing
what reply the stewardess made.

“ That young man, sir, who came with the young lady; is he any
where on board? ”
~ “ Young man—on board—why of course he is,” replied the cap-
tain. “ You mean Goreham—in his stateroom, likely.”

“ Oh! no, captain, I have looked.”
“ And what business have you to be looking after young men? ”
he asked, jocosely. r

  

  

 
 
 
  
 

      
 

 

[runs—ma...

  

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

    

     
  
 

A Pmrmxmo rnnmcsmxx'r. 13

 

' Why, she, the young lady, sir, feels very bad about it She
wanted me to, and I saw him not in the cabin, at all, last night.”

“ The dickens! ” said the captain, with energy. “ Caulkings,”
he continued, turning to the first mate, who had come in to his break- .
fast, “is Goreham on board ? ”

“ No, sir; " said the man.

i “ What! not on board? What do you mean, sir? "

“ The men staid nearly fifteen minutes after their time, against or-
ders, sir,” replied the mate, “ and came back without him. You
had turned in, and. you remember, given charge on no account to be
disturbed. I felt alittle uneasy when they came back and nobody
with them, but expected every moment to see him alongside in some
other boat, as he might very easily have done. Afterwards, in the
hurry and confusion of getting off, it did not occur to my mind,
sir ”

‘ ‘I‘ Well, well,” muttered the captain, his brow clouding; “ this is

' an unfortunate thing; a mighty unfortunate thing. Here we have

this young lady on our hands, and the poor thing will be in a pretty \
mess. She’ll fret herself to death, and who can wonder? There’s
certainly a mystery about it. Did he mean to stay ‘t” he asked
abruptly, as if questioning himself. “ No—Goreham’s the soul of
honor—at least I have always found him so. Well, well, this is a
pretty pickle, to be sure. Bandola, go to the lady and do what you
can to comfort her. Say that he was probably detained for some
trifling thing by some of those confounded custom-house people. It‘s
very unfortunate, I’m sure, but it can’t be helped, so l'll take break-
mt'!’ .

But the worthy captain’s spirits were low, that was easily to be
seen. He ate and drank in silence, scarcely peaking to his coin-
Damon.

CHAPTER I_I.

.
SAD NEWS.

BANDOLA went back to the state—room, with a slow atop. Miner-
va had managed to rise, and had nearly completed her toilet. .She
looked very pale, and her large, dark eyes were super-naturally bright
with excitement and expectation. She fully expectul to see Herman,
as the little door opened. A slight flash mantled her cheek—a smile
broke over her face. It was changed to a sudden. look of disap-
pointment—and that again to an expression of vague terror. for
there was that in the kind face of the stewardess that made her heart

wk.
“ What! has he not come ! ” she asked

 

    
 

14 Tim PRISONER or LA VINTBESSF.
“ Lady—~” the girl stopped there—not knowing how to communic
ate the rest V

" It can not be that he is not on board! ” cried Minerva, growing
every moment paler.

“ He will come in another ship; ” said Bandola, catching at the
vinaigrette that laid on the pillow; “ don’t faint, lady; I’m sure he
will come; he will take a vessel this very day; it will sail maybe,
quicker than this you will meet him there, perhaps in New York.”

“ No—no—you can never know what reasons I have for fear-
what terrible reasons; ” the poor young girl almost gasped.

“ But you will see him; you will certainly see him; ” said the
stewardess, the tears coming to her eyes. “ Don’t take on so, or you
will be sick, and that will spoil your beauty; ” she added, in the
hope that an appeal to her woman’s impulse might be successful.

“ Oh! I am unfortunate;" wailed the poor girl-“ they know thnt
I have gone; ” they will waylay him; they will kill him; I shall
never, never see him again. Is there no way for me to get back 'I—
no way ?——no returning ship? 011, in mercy ask the captain; tell
him I will pay him any price—and yet—it would be madness to re-
turn. Oh! why was I born to be the sport of fortune? ”

All this time the stewardess was looking on pityingly, but wonder-
mg.
“ Dear young lady,” she said again, in her soft, soothing voice.
" it can’t be helped; don’t weep so—you will be very ill.”

“ I think the captain is to blame; it was cruel, cruel in him not to
send the men back; I will never forgive him, never!” she cried,
the Spanish blood mantling her cheeks—her large eyes flashing an-
ger. -‘ Was it a conspiracy? Is your captain a gentleman? an hou-
est man? ”

“ What! Captain Wyllies? I will hear no word against him,”
cried the stewardess, almost angrily; " you have no right to blame
him. He was worn out, and had to sleep, everybody was busy—they
thought he would come in another boat, and it was all unfortunate
and unhappy. but not on purpose. No one thought of such a thing.
I am sorry for you, but you must say nothing against Captain
Wyllies, because he be. good man. He would not do wrong for the
whole world.” .

At that moment, the captain himself appeared. He looked quite
pale and troubled.

“ My dear young lady,” he said, “ this is very unfortunate; I as-
lure you, I would give a great deal, if I were back in the harbor of
Havana, this minute.”

His frank, honest face, and real concern of manner, banished any
lurking suspicion that had troubled her mind before.

“ O captain! I can hardly think how to do or act,” she said, her
hands working over each other uneasily, her lips quivering.

“ I think, under the circumstances, you had better let things take
their course,” he replied. “ There is no way for you to return, an‘

 

 
  
 
 
 
  

   

  

  

B?

.ks
m5

 

‘ Dome company for you.

usmxcnonr ronsncoxxas. 15

lo. I chance to speak a vessel bound to Cuba, and that is “extremely
improbable. If Ido, however, and you should desire it I will place
you on board. Very likely. Mr. Goreham was detained by some of
the custom—house oflicers, who had, or thought they had, some other
formalities to go through with, and he will take the first vessel bound
for home, so it will only make the diiference of a few days, perhaps
even hours. I advise you to look upon the bright side, and be as
cheerful as you can about it, every thing will come out right. There
were several vessels ready to sail to-day, and be assured, he will take
one of them. His anxiety will be almost equal to your own.”

“ ()h, but he knows where 1 am," said Minerva, piteously.

“ And for that reason, his mind will be so much the easier."

“ While I am deplorany in the dark, with reference to his fate,”
she added, the tears falling.

“I’ll trust Goreham,” said the captain, cheerily; “ he’s 9. won-
derfully keen young fellow, and not one of the sort to get into scrapes.
Don’t you worry, we shall have a splendid run, always do, with a
storm at the outset; and in a week, trust me, you will meet in the
good city of Manhattan.”

“ But—but—he has enemies,” sobbed the young girl brokenly.

A dim suspicion of the truth, forced its way into the mind of
Captain Wyllies.

This girl, though attired in thorough American costume, needed
only the veil, the coquettish fan, the rich full silks and mantle of the
Cubans, to transform her into a Spanish woman. llers were the won-
derful eyes of that race, the rich, black, luxuriant hair, the clear,
olive complexion, a shade lighter, perhaps, than the general line.
The cousinship was, after all, a ruse, the two were flying perhaps from
jealous rivals, this was the mystery. If so, there was certainly good
cause for the girl’s alarm. Those Spanish haters strike quick and
deep, and fly justice. His pity grew, as the sad consequences of the
whole affair flashed across him. Perhaps, the poor child was marri-
ed, if so, and if harm had befallen him, a sad prospect stretched be-
fore her. Helpless and delicate, she seemed entirely unfitted for sor—
row, or for labor. These thoughts, of course were his own, and

.mpid as lightning. They did not show on the surface, in troubled
glances. 0n the contrary, the captain consoled her so much the
more, as his own hopes fell. He assured her that he could look out
for her comfort, and interest himself in her future fortunes. Bar.-
dola, he would relinquish to her. “ She is a good girl.” he said, “ a

rouge of mine, and I'm going to educate her. She is not ignorant,
40w,” he added, laying his hand lightly on her head, “ so she maybe

Cheer up, young lady, I prophesy a renewal

of your happiness, on your return. I feel almost certain that
young Goreham will meet you there."

Unconsciously, the happy, earnest manner of the captain, infused
new hope into the sorrowful heart of Minerva, and, though she
could not quite divest herself of her melancholy forebodings, yet she
(lid not allow herself to give way to them.

 

TEE PRISONER OF LA VINTIIUI-

CHAPTER III.
THE GENERAL AND ms HOUSEHOLD.

GENERAL Lsmnnss nu Mosssnarn was one of the grandees of
Cuba. A little man, shrewd, and sharp of feature, with nothing
noticeable about his face, save a pair of magnificent black eyes, that,
when he was pleased, wore a soft beauty, rare in the eyes of man,
but when deepened by passion, their very repose was fearful. The
general prided himself upon belonging to the ancien regime, and the
scrupulous nieety of his white cravat and spotless dress-coat accord-
ed well with his polished manners... His dwelling, though one of the
handsomest and most spacious on the island, did not look pretentious
on the outside. It was within, that his ideas of magnificence all
centered. The sun and the stars, could he have brought them down,
could hardly have contented him with their brillianey. The softest
and most glittering fabrics, composed the hangings of his rooms,
every thing was elaborately gilt, and yet good taste was predominant.

His conservatories were miracles of beauty and profusion, in which
birds from every clime sported among rare, strange flowers, and.
fountains leaped in silvered spray to the crystal roof, keeping along
the margin of the water, a continuous musical vibration, that made
one hold the very breath to hear. The trees along the margins of

‘ his avenues glittered with golden fruit, and in front of the house
bloomed the Tahiti almond, the mango, and the cedar.

General De Mouserate, was literally the reigning head of his little
household. Even his sister, Maneha. an angular, little, black-eyed
woman, who would domineer over a kitten if she could find nothing
else, was a mere cipher in her brother’s presence. The rest of his
family consisted of a niece, partly of Spanish, partly of English
blood, a girl of Seventeen, and a young man. whose guardian the
general was, a, fiery, passionate, and extremely elegant personage,
slid possessing an immense fortune in sugar estates and slaves The
general, in his own right, was poor; but through the favors of awfl
in his possession, obtained money enough to gratify all his nefarious
and extravagant tastes. An old housekeeper, with drooping eye-
brows, served doggedly under Senora Manchu; a bright eyed octoroon
was the dressingvmaid of Senora Minerva. Don Carlos had his valet,

and four or five black attendants, and the old general was seldom
without his full complement of servants.

The house was generally

 

    

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‘9. uI—rv

PREPARATION! '03 A PARTY. 17

very guy. as the young senor-its. had not been long from one of the ' ’
best American schools, and played and sang charmingly, besides
possessing a variety of other accomplishments.

Preparations were evidently going on for a great party at the
general’s homestead. The servants were continually bearing hampers
to and fro from the kitchen (which was a separate building) to the
main residence. A happy set they seemed, showing huge ivories as
they cracked their jokes, although they sweated under the apparent
weight. The general’s beautiful volante was oftener brought round
than usual, sometimes occupied by the old gentleman himself, some-
times by the dashing Cuban, Don Carlos. Handsome as was this lat-
ter personage, an evil look permeated his countenance. His eyes,
black and lustrous, pierced like stilettos, and had all their murder-
ous keenness. A thick, black mustache covered his lips, save one
dark crimson line; his forehead was low but massively shaped, and
in bright black clusters, the curls grouped themselves about \it.
Every one has seen such men, men whose faces they at the same time
admired and detcsted, and from whose attentions, if of pure mind and
correct principles, they instinctively shrank. Once, as Don Carlos
drove out of the courtyard, he turned and lifted his hat, at the same
time smiling and bonding. The young senora sat in the window,
from which she had been throwing crumbs to a pair of Barbadian
doves. She returned the bow, but at the same moment turned back
with a pained look. Her maid, who was intelligent enough to make
somewhat of a companion, noticed the motion.

“ I wonder what wedding Signor Carlos is going to attend? ” she
laid smilingly.

“ Wedding! ” the young girl spoke with pained surprise.

“I heard them talking about it, the general and Don Carlos, when
they knew nothing of my being near. It is to take place to-night,
at twelve.”

“ Tonight at twelve,” murmured the senora, looking blankly at the
octoroon; “ to-night, at twelve, did you say? and my uncle? ”

“ Both of them,” replied the girl, with a strange glance, “ are to
take part.”
, “ They will never be so uncourteous as to leave their guests! ”
exclaimed Minerva, her color heightening.

“ No, they will not need do that," was the response.

“ What do you mean, Althea! ” asked the young girl, now thor
oughly roused, and not a little frightened. “There is something
you wish to tell me, but dare not. Don’t leave me in suspense. My

- uncle and that man have been plotting, I am sure of it; and oh,

Althea, you would not see me suffer, if by a word you could prevent

\

“ No, indeed, my dear mistress,” said the girl, “ you shall be lav-
ed, if any word of mine can do it. Tmnight, Padre Rouez is to be
here, and Heaven only knows how it could be done, but you would I
be married." ,

  

 

18 ‘ nu: PRISONER or LA rvm'rnrssl.
Trembling from head to foot, the girl sprang from her seat, and
began pacing the room. '

“It would be monstrous,” she muttered, “but they would not
sample, as Althea says, it would be done.—I believe it. Now there
is only one way to act, I muvt appear to acquiesce, or my doom is
sealed. Little they think that by twelve o’clock, I shall be passing
away from their hated influence. Althea, bring me pen and ink.”

The girl placed both before her. Stendying her hand. and controll-
ing the indignant impulse that almost shook her, so wronged did she
feel herself, she wrote, as follows:

“ Honoann UNCLE :

i‘ I have overheard that I am to be married to—night, atetwelve.
This anticipation of an event, which for some timeI have known you
to consider quite near, should not be approached without due reflec-
tion. I ask, therefore, that you will allow me to remain in the soli-
tude of my own room, until the hour of midnight, that I may more
fltly prepare for the solemn duties about to be put upon me. Be so
kind as to let me know by written word, whether or not, you comply
with my request. Your niece,

MiNnavA Moxsaurn.”

In a few moments the octoroon returned, and handed a note to her
mistress. The seal was hastily broken, and the senora. road :

" Basr or NIECEE :

You have my full consent to spend the evening as you
I will excuse you to our guests. I will send you a case of
Accept my kindest wishes for

choose.
jewels that belonged to your mother.
your happiness.
Your ever obliged, UNCLE.”

The senora tossed the letter from her, with a contemptuons ges-
ture. '

“ Nothing else could be done,” she murmured, below her breath.
Then she turned to her dressing-maid.

" I have obtained permission from my uncle to remain at home,

‘till the expiration of the time set for my wedding. You need not,

look so strangely, you see I am quite calm about it. Don Carlos will
make a noble bridegroom; ” the sneer was but half concealed.

“ He is not noble; there is nothing noble about him.” said the girl,
impulsively.

he w. 4._.__‘..,~.._‘.. ..

“ Well, well, noble or not, you see how the case stands. I am not i V

going down to this party—”
Althea started. “ Not going! ” she repeated.
“ No, I shall stay in the solitude of my chamber, the greater part
of, the time,” returned her mistress. v
“ And your beautiful bqlLdress! Ob, not to wear it at all! "

       
   

 
  
 

  

 

 

 

  

SUPPER .ron THREE. [0

-’ You forget i am to he marric ,” said Miner

“ Yes, but it will not he happy. You looli Vuxious and pale.
While you talk about it. Besides, it is mean in tnem to cajole you
into it.” '

“ Hush! Althea, rev ember you talk about my uncle. By the
way, is that sister of years still alone? ”

“ All alone," was the answer.

,“ And would you like to stop with her to-night? ”

“ What ! of all things ! to-night ! when you need me so much?
No, no, no, I can go just as well to-morrow. I shall want some-
thing then to take off the heartache, because, if you are married,
you will go away.”

“In any case, I shall,” replied the young girl. The octoroon
watched her mistress narrowly, as she said, “I wish you may carry
a happy heart, wherever you go.”

“Thank you, Althea. You shall hear from me,” murmured the
senorita; “ good-by, and God be with you.”

CHAPTER IV.

THE SEARCH AND THE ATTACK.

A BEAUTIFUL little supper—room, whose table of Indian letter-wood,
is spread for three. Enter Senora Mancha. brilliant in a head—dress,
composed of red roses, gold foil, and rich lace. Though her face is
sallow, her hair is ebon ns midnight, and her manners still those of
the Spanish nobility. The Senora moved to the little stand of mar-
ble on which stood an apparatus for boiling tea. In n few moments
the steam ascended in graceful curves, white as snow-wreaths. Pre-
sently, in come the general and Don Carlos. I’unctiliously placing
himself at the table, the old gentleman motioned for the rest to be
seated.

“ Yes, yes, I was never more surprised in my life," he said, as if
upon some continued subject. “ How could she have learned? I
am at a loss to know. I think I can trust my sister.”

“1 think you may; ” said the lady with no little emphasis.

“ I don’t care how it was found out, as long as it is known, and
she don’t object,” said Don Carlos, displaying a magnificent dia-
mond ring, as he helped himself to the delicate wafers near; “ but
the deuce is in it, too. How comes it that she makes no appeal, con—
fesses no disinclination. My dear friend, I fear there‘s treachery at
the bottom. Still, I am' vain enough to believe that her playing 03'
was only a girlish whim, for she well knows that I chose her from O

 

  

    

20 run museums or LA vrrmnssz.

legion who fain would be the mistress of my heart, to say nothing of
‘other attractions; ” he added with a sly smile. .

“ I am very glad the thing is settled at last,” said the general,
with a sigh of relief.

" Not. so fast, my dear friend,” spoke up Don Carlos, compressing
his lips. “I saw Goreham to—day. radiant in whiskers and white
linen. The presumptuous fool ! He was actually in conference with
the governor. We are not quite out of the woods yet, general.

1 There are vessels going out of the harbor every night—ay! and to-

' ni ht.” '

g.l‘he old Spaniard glanced up, alarmed. He met the wickedly

‘ smiling eye of his ward.

“ I am not in the least concerned,” said the latter. ” It takes a
great deal to disturb me. The senora’s reproaches, here, even fall
upon me with the soothing influence of balmy showers. If my wife
ever has hysterics, I shall study them.”

The general nodded his head approvingly.

“ As for El Americano, let him look out for himself, if he stands
in my way, that‘s all. But lam forgetting my pretty bird. Senora,
oblige me by filling a cup with this charming tea; and now, thank
you—ah! with what a grace it was done! Now may I ask a very
tremendous favor—that you yourself, with your own fair hands,
will take it up to my pretty bird, with my compliments. Do not be
frightened, my guardian," he added, as the old senora left the room
smiling (for she was not averse to compliments, even insincere ones,)
" I have only put in a little soothing powder; it will affect her voli—
tion, and perhaps her memory. Under ordinary circumstances, it
would but make one sleepy, or more vulgarly speaking, stupid. She
will not appear any the less interesting that she obeys implicitly. ' We
shall astonish our guests who do not dream they are coming to a
wedding.” ‘

The general’s sister returned with the empty cup.

“ How did you find her?” asked Don Carlos, wiping his mus-
tached mouth, leisurely, with a napkin of exquisite texture.

“ Apparently meditating,” replied the senora. “ She sat with her
prayer-book before her, and seemed much pleased with the proof of
your thoughtfulness ” '

1 “Ah! come round at last, like a good child,” muttered the young
man; and he opened his cigar case, offered it to the general, and
both strolled out on the open balcony for a loun .

Senora Mancha, however, after ringing in thge servants to carryout
the table, hurried from room to room to see that all the arrangements
were perfect. Flowers bloomed everywhere, and fresher was their
brilliant beauty, than the cold splendors of marble statuary grouped
here and there. It needed but the flashing of the lighted candolebra
to givea bewildering effect to the scene. An hour later and the rooms
were revealed in their full magnificence. Soon there was heard the
rattle of volantes—by couples came he gay beauties; diamond-.10.

\

“ From townight, I cease to hate America", »

“$4. ___.,__T._fi.__..

     

 

 

 

“mam ossasom mucus. ’ 21

\

mus drapings, bright eyes, nodding plumes, and airy scarfs, with
the fluttering of innumerable, gorgeous fans, gave a fatty-like bright—
ness to this vision of Cuban loveliness. Among these throngs, cel.
ebrated for their various attractions, moved the elegant Don Carlos,

‘ and the stately little general. 011 this hand and on that, beautiful,
eager eyes awaited them, for each was, in Yankee phrase, esteemed
a great catch. Many inquiries were made for the Senora Minerva,
I.“ of which were skillfully parried or answered. The lady had
begged to be excused till a late hour—she would soon make her ap-
pearance, etc, etc. Music abounded—the dance went on—the whist-
tables were full—singing sounded bird-like, from one of the distant
rooms—groups were partaking of ices in another. Suddenly ap-
peared upon the gay, human parterre, Senora Manchu, her yellow
time, puckered with wrinkles—her black eyes gleaming a desperate
dissatisfaction. Here and there her gay head-dress went bobbing,
and more than one remarked that there was trouble somewhere.

“Where was the general? ()h! where was Don Carlos? Had
any one seen either of them? ”

Yes, the general had been last soon going into the conservatory
with a countess, rich and distinguished. Possibly he might be found
there. Distractedly Senora Mancha hurried to the conservatory;
distractineg she looked about. No general. Then she plunged into
the crowd again—caught a glimpse of Don Carlos, and made straight
up to him.

He felt a pull at his coat-sleeve, and looked round frowningly.
Dismay fell upon him when he caught sight of the yellow Mancha,
working her toothless mouth.

“ In the name of all the saints, what is the matter? ” he asked.

“ Gone, gene," was the muttered response.

“ What! who?” exclaimed Don Carlos, who had not the most
distant suspicion of the truth.

“ Minerva, your bride.”

The Cuban started; turned as pale as death.

“ Do you mean that she has escaped! Was there not a watch near
the chamber? ” '

“ Yes, in the very next room, but she went from the window. The
lace curtain is dreadfully torn, one of the best sets, and how I am
ever to repair it—”

Don Carlos broke away, white with suppressed feeling. He soon
found the general, and electrified him by saying: “ Our plans are
thwarted, your niece has escaped us. \Do you still remain; I will
find her—or—” A gleam of fire shot from his wild eyes. The gen-
eral seemed struck with stupidity. v

Instantly a light traveling volante stood at the door. Don Carlos
drove rapidly to the custom-house pier. Springing out when arrived
there, he sought out the superior officers. They had seen Herman
Goreham only two hours before. He had taken passage in the Eagle,
an American packet ship. Yes, there was a lady, his cousin. The
Omen showed his teeth at this. .

 

    

22

THE PRISONER OF LA VIN’IRESSI.

" Then he has missed justice,” he hissed. “ He was a spy, the
tool of the Yankee fillibusters. It had come to his knowledge through
papers recently found, a dangerous enemy had been sufl'ered to leave
the country. Peace and order were threatened. He had been, this
American, the guest of the governor. He had insinuated himself
into private confidence; in short, he was a scheming, doul'le dyed
villain.” Don Carlos was furious. He frightened the othccrs thor-
oughly, and in less than ten minutes a private and concealed guard
was posted from the custom-house up along the Paseo, and along the
walls to the sea. It happened that Herman had landed but a few
moments before, and hurried unsuspectingly along for his carpet-
baxg. The boat lay concealed in the shadow, and the sailors, idly
waiting—two of them Spaniards—heard the conversation of the
guards posted on the pier, and drew elf silently where they could
not be seen. Meanwhile, where was the Eagle? There was no time
to be lost. A world of shipping lay in the harbor. The vessels all
head into the streets. A belt of thick forest—mast after mast

stretching away, and bayward, how close the vessels were! Screw
frigates, ships-of-the—line, and no telling which is the Eagle. Don

Carlos did not despair, however. A boat was in readiness, and slow-
ly and laboriously it was maneuvered between the unwieldly hulks.
He could find no boatinen at hand, and dared not waste time in hunt-
ing one up, therefore he seized a pair of ours himself. Just as he
passed under the side of a heavy Spanish sloop, a sudden flash, and a
heavy weight made his boat rock again. It was the body of some un-
fortunate sailor, dead, of the fever, and in the moonlight he watched
it sliding off with the current. Superstitions, as all Spaniards are,
he regarded this event as a poor omen,and bent his energies towards
finding the Eagle, with less hope for success than before. Batiled
rage tugged at his heart harder than his hands at the oars, and as he
glided from stern to stern, and at each attempt met with failure, he
cursed his own fate, and particularly cursed Los Americanos.

Meanwhile, the Eagle had been got under way, and was now ma-
jestically making for the sea. Don Carlos had missed the sailors in
their return to the vessel—had missed his bride and happiness, but
it alloyed somewhat the irritation of his mind to learn on his arrival
on the pier, that Herman Goreham was a prisoner, and in the cus-
tom house ready to be carried to the guard-house. It occurred to
Don Carlos that he would, if possible, make the young man a means
of conveying the Senora Minerva into his possession again.

Aooordingly, he sought him. The young man stood under guard,
looking sternly from face to face, as if still muter questioning his
captors. I

' “ So, I see it all,” he said, as Don Carlos came into his presence.
“ Villain, why have you deprived me of my liberty? ”

“That shall be shown,” said the Cuban, scowling hack athim.
“ It is no crime, I suppose, to steal a young lady from her home—-
from the arms of her aflinnced husband, on the very night of her ex-
pected wedding.”

  

/

 

 

l
l

 

  

 

 

 

 

DON CARLOS AND HERMAN SOREHAH. 

“ Thank God ‘. I have saved her; " said the young man, draw
lug a long breath.

Don Carlos sprang towards him, his hand under his vest, but in a
minute he bethought himself and forced his heated face into calm-
ness.

“ Young man,” he said, falling back, and commanding his tem-
per under the scornful glance of his rival, “I have the power to
place you in a dungeon where the light of day can never penetrate

- —-where the walls ooze dampness—where you will have but the soli-
tary crust and the jug of water—where your companions will be the
worms and the rats, instead of the birds and the flowers of this beau-
tiful land.”

“Very poetical,” said Herman, as the Cuban paused a second for
breath. The white lips of the latter trembled with rage, but still he
did not let his passion master him. '

“ Or I can give you liberty,” he added.

“ That is my right. To-morrow I shall see if a citizen of Amer-
ica is to be captured for no crime; ” detained against his will by a
jealous Spaniard.”

The Cuban drew a long, deep breath; his eyes glittered—his tin-
gers worked nervously against his vest.

“ You are free if you deliver Senora Minerva. into her uncle’s cus-
tod .”

‘yImpossible. The young lady is by this time on her way to Amer-
ica. The Eagle sailed at twelve. By consulting your watch you
will find it is somewhat more than a half hour past that period.”

“ Perdition! ’,’ muttered the Cuban, now growing furious. “ You
shall answer for this, fellow—you shall rot in prison, or be hung as
a spy, while I shall leave no Hlt'fllls untried to recover the young
lady. For your comfort, know that I shall take the fastest sailor in
port, and it will go hard if, with my resources,I do not find the
niece of General Monserate. Then, if she be not too much disgraced
by your favor, Ishall marry her.

It was Herman’s turn to repel now. He sprang like a tiger upon
Don Carlos, collared him, and before he could be reached, shook him
till he was black in the face, and flung him at arms length almost
senseless, and panting on the floor. At that moment, General Mon-
Ierate entered. Herman was struggling in the hold of a powerful
soldier. Don Carlos, his dress in disorder—his hair thrown wildly
from side to side, his face purple and haggard, for the young Amer-
ican'had held a choking grasp, was just rising with the aid cf two,
custom-house officers, from the floor, covered with dirt, and sheet-
white with passion. Blood had been shed, and Herman was much-
ed off by the authorities, and thus ended a day that promin so

much happiness at its dawning.

 

  

  

' at all events, shortly after.

:ml P113on 0! LA VINTRESI.

C H A P T E R V.
MINE}va 0N SHORE.

Miss-nu Mosssmrn, the young lady left so unexpectedly on
board the American vessel, was, as our readers have already seen, the
niece of an old Spanish grandee, and consequently of noble descent.
We have hinted before, that English and Spanish blood mingled in
her veins. Her father had married a young creature, Maria WellsI
the daughter of a poor minister of the church of England. Much
surprise was manifested at this unequal match, as it was called,
but Senor De Monserate, the younger, was by the mere force of his
character, as much feared as admired, and when he boldly returned
from his travels, bringing his pretty British flower, nobody demurred
in his presence, not even the domineering sister, Senora Manchu.
The young man seemed very much changed after his marriage— ut
on the harness of labor, and went to work amassing a fortune. 
whole heart and soul seemed absolutely given up to money-making.
A child was born—it made little difference; his wife died—there was
brief mourning; still he bought and sold, and people began to think
there would soon be no end to his wealth. He spent as freely as he
made. Though he never indulged in parties, hardly amusements of
any kind, he allowed his sister sufficient to cover all such expenses,
for in her young days, Senora. Manchu was very gay. At last, in
the midst of his processes for turning every thing he touched into
wealth, he died, but his property possessed such accumulative force,
that year by year houses, lands, and ships were added, so that his
child was the wealthiest heiress in all Cuba. But of that fact, she
was brought up in entire ignorance, as only her uncle, the lawyer
who drew up the will, and a very few witnesses knew its conditions
Of this, however, more hereafter. ,

Minerva. had become accustomed to the motion of the vessel which
she called her sea-cradle. Though often troubled with spells of long

~ and deep despondency, yet she endeavored to keep before her mind

the evident certainty of meeting Herman as soon as they landed, or.

be morefiworable to his voyaging, or that love might guide the helm

ID that both vessels should strikeishore at the same moment, I know‘

not; but the fact of the sudden storm having delayed the Eagle, and
indeed put her out of her course, gave her expectations 3 more san-

Whether she thought the winds would ’

 
   
  
   
   
  
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
   
  
   
 
    
  
   
 
    
  
 

  

 

 

 
 

I

’ \

u sonoor. in new Your; ‘26

 

guine coloring. ° On the day before the vessel came in sight of port, .
she sat on the deck, hex mantle thrown gracefully over her head so that
its folds fell in artistic lines over her form} She was knitting, while
very near her sat the stewardess, Bundola, reading aloud. l

Suddenly the girl paused—the flush of her red blood was faintly
visible under her dark' skin.

“ How I wish I was white, senorita, and had a lover like him. Ah!
it must be very pleasant.” ‘

“ Be contented with your lot, Bandola,” said Minerva; “ the
sweetest rose has thorns, and you might find more sorrow than joy
in the fate you covet. The captain says we shall sight New York in
a day or two,” she added, after some moments had elapsed.

“ Yes, you have been there before, haven’t you ‘I ”

“ 0h, yes—twice, and each time staid three years. I love New
York dearly, it is a great, glorious place.”

“ Tell me what you came here for?” pressed the stewardess.

“ For my fate," said Minerva, smiling and blushing ‘

“ Your fate,” queried the girl, wonderingly.

“ No, no; to go to school. Uidn t we have splendid times though,
at Madame N—s school ? There‘s where I first saw him.” she added
dreamily—then started, remembering who listened.

“ Ah! I hope he will be there. What pleasure to see him standing
on shore as the vessel goes in! Oh, I know he’ll be there.”

“ I hope he will,” said Minerva, her bright face clouding, as a
gloomy doubt shadowed her mind.

“ But were there no Spanish gentlemen who wanted you to marry
them 'I ”

“ Oh, yes,” said Minerva, smiling, “ one in particular; the richest
man in all Cuba.”

“ And why didn’t you? ”

“ Because I didn’t like him—because I detosted him," she added
' passionately. ‘

’ The shadow grew deeper on her brow; her work fell from her
hands. The malignant face of Don Carlos, with its dark, vengeful
eyes came before her. What if they had met, Carlos and Herman?
-—both quick, resolute men. Oh, the sickening apprehension that
crept into her heart as the possible result suggested itself. And she
alone in the world, poor and dependent, with but. the temporary re-
sort to her jewels to keep her from famine. Well, better even that
than the wife of that horrible man; better to earn her bread, though
how those helpless hands were to accomplish such wonders could not
even be imagined. ‘

“ There, now you are sad again,” said Bandola.

“ YesI was thinking.”

\ “ Why do you think ‘I I never think long enough to make me an
happy. The way to enjoy life, I believe, is to think as seldom as you
m ’I

‘

Llinerva made no reply to this sally. A dreadful foreboding ind

   

  

    

' 26 THE PRISONER 0’ LA VINTRESSE.

taken complete possession of her mind. She could not sit there
in the clear breeze, the pure sunshine—but gathering up her work
she went down into her state-room. There, fumbling about the pock-
et of her traveling dress, she found a little purse, through whom!
meshes glittered gold.

“ Poor, old uncle—he gave me this,” she murmured; “ he was
good, kind, and liberal in all but one thing. Why would he force
me, till I had nearly been sacrificed, to marry that dreadful man?
What was the fascination Don Carlos exerted over him? I cannot
think. Well, at least, I shall have sufficient to pay my passage, and
to keep me in some hotel until ”-—here she paused. She would have
added; “ until I meet Herman,” but her heart fell as heavy as lead
when she thought of it. Even the captain‘s cheerful face and jovial
language lacked their pleasant influence for her. She dreaded the
sight of the shore, for she had never been so far alone, and now she
had none but the captain and poor Bandola to depend upon.

Hearing the step of the former in the cabin, she lifted herself from
her painful reverie and went out. .

“ We shall soon near land,” said the captain, checrily—“ but see

. here, you are looking pale and ill again—I must not have this,” and
he shook his head.

With great eifort Minerva kept back the tears.

“ I suppose I must learn to transact my own business,” she said.
trying to smile, “ so I am going to pay you my passage-money.”
She emptied the contents of her purse upon the table. “ There,
will you please see if that is enough to cover the expense of my voy-
a e? ”

“ Tut, tut. Just put that money right back, my dear young
lady. I’m the owner of my ship and have no one to consult besides
myself—so you’ll please oblige me by keeping what little money you
have; you will need it all, yourself.”

“ Oh, I cannot, indeed I cannot be under such an obligation,” said
Minerva, the quick color coming. “I have other means.” She
faltered. “ You will oblige me infinitely by accepting the passage-
money.”

“ But Itell you my young friend, Ifully expect to see Herman
Goreham in the city of New York, and he agreed with me for the
passage, so I shall settle with him, and you must let me have my
way, forI generally do whenI set out for it.
mu, you see.” .

Minerva sat quite perplexed and undecided. The captain lifted
the purse and sweeping the gold into it, placed it in her hand.

“And now we must talk a little about the future," he said. " It
is possible when you land, our young friend may not be visi‘.'.e. In
that case where would you like to go‘! Have you friends or relatives
in New York? ”

“ Some acquaintances, but no relations.

I have made up my mind
90 m) to on hotel.”

I'm a very resolute

    

 

 

  

\

WHO IS THAT BEAUTIFUL GIRL. 

“ I know of an excellent private boarding-house,” said the captain;
but she exclaimed eagerly——

“ 0h, not there—among the many I shall be unnoticed. I prefer
an hotel; there I can be alone until I know my fate,” she added in
a lower tone, and with a quivering lip.

“ Just as you please, though it is my opinion that you would be
better suited in a pleasant family, but I will not nttemptto dictate,
you of course know best. Consult your own inclination, only re-
member to come to me as a friend in whatever circumstances of trial
you may find yourself.”

Two days after that Minerva was driven from the pier to the hotel
she had chosen. Almost a stranger in a great city, her heart sank
at times, though she strove to think that Herman would surely come
——she should not have to wait but a little while. But how should
she pass the time during that dreary waiting? Her little room. up
many flights of stairs, had a cheerful look-out, but it grew monoto-
nous to watch the ever—passing multitude. the same unvarying round
of faces. Her dresses were taken out again and again, but there
every thing was finished, and she dared not array herself in
other than the plainest habiliments for fear of attracting attention.
She little knew how often the question went the rounds, “ Who is
that beautiful girl dressed in gray, with the dark, Spanish eyes 'I ”

One day she had been unusually sad. Captain Wyllies had been
to inform her that as yet he had heard or seen nothing of Herman
Goreham. He seemed, himself, perplexed and unhappy about it,
and could no longer make excuses. He had come to consult with
Miss Minerva—would she return to Cuba? He was nearly ready
for the next trip, and he would see her safely back in the midst of
her family.

“ Never,” was her reply, with a paling cheek. “ Ishall never re-
turn to Cuba. Captain Wyllies, you will inquire into this mystery
—you will write me whether Herman be alive or—” she could not
speak the word. ‘

“ Be assured I will use every means in my power to learn of his
whereabouts. - If there has been foul play—mind, I say if—the mat-
ter shall be brought to light as far as I have means and influence.
I will not leave a stone unturned. Meanwhile if you find spies upon
your path, you had better avail yourself of the kindness of a friend \
of mine, a very estimable lady, who, if you give her this card, will,
(or my sake be like a mother to you. Do not scruple to use my name,
Dr to call upon me it‘ you are in need.”

When he had gone the young girl was more wretched than ever.
She passed the time in writing. Seldom went out, and for the lack
of exercise, began to grow thin and pale. ‘

One day she was inspired with a sudden impulse to walk to the
Battery. So arranging herself in her most unostentutious dress, she
Walked slowly along, her eyes looking straight forward as if she
never again expected to see any thing of sufficient interest to attmt

  

28 m PRISONER 01’ LA VINTEESSE,

their glances. The fresh air, blowing cooler as she neared the water,
revived her however, and brought a faint color to her cheek. A
German band disooursed sweet music, and children in bright dresses
running eagerly past her, made her heart beat faster with their hap-
py smiles and cheerful voices. But as she hurried by all these and

stood looking at the water, the old desolate, homesick feeling came‘

over her. Only to hear a voice that had once been familiar, how
‘ sweet it would be ! She sat down upon one of the benches, her pale
face bayward, and the past with its happiness and its sorrows came
over her in a tumultuous tide. She thought of her school-days—of
the pleasant iittle parties of Saturday night when some of the young
students who were well known by the principal, were allowed to
mingle socially with the pupils. The bright face of Herman with its
blue eyes and gold brown hair, seemed even now beside her as then.
How little in those happy days she thought of any coming darkness?
The merry girls in their bright dresses, all so eager to receive one
smile from Herman, the prince of the college, as he was playfully
dubbed, came tlironging by. Southern eyes and night black tresses
—Northern brows and fair golden hair, but he had turned from all
to her. She lived over again the happiness of hearing him call her
“ beloved ”—of listening to his voice that seemed to her of all mu
sic the sweetest. N oblest, bravest, most beautiful of all the sons of
men he was to her! Then he had followed her to the sunny land
of her birth. For two burning summers he had braved the pestix
lence to be near her. Shudderingly she recalled the first time,
that Don Carlos thrust his dark presence between her and happiness
—the evil hour when he grew jealous of El Americana, and became
more impetuous in his suit. His dark hints and wicked insinuations
sounded even now' in her ears. His black, lurid eyes scorched her
soul, and recalled the dreadful repugnance that had been sleeping in
her heart since childhood when he was her constant, tormentor. And
now what had he done with Herman? Had he fulfilled his fright-
ful threats? Did the golden hair lay matted in some foul corner,
while the eye, bluer than heaven, sent stony glances after that they
could never see? Before she knew it. the round tears were rolling
from her eyes, and hearing voices coming that way, she hastily threw
down her thick veil, and turned her face from the sea. Two young
men passed her. She could not forbear one glance, and that sent a
thrill of fear through brain and heart. The personage nearest her
~tall, straight and swarthy—was a foreigner. It needed but one
lance at his thick, curling mustache and piercing eyes to recognize
im. It. was Senor Abrates, a Cuban, and been companion of Don
Carlos. Why was he here, following so quickly upon her absence,
but as a spy sent by her uncle’s ward? The horrible apprehension
seized her that she was discovered—that Don Carlos had probably
taken the next vessel that sailed after the Eagle, and they were on
her track; they would hunt her down as the bound hunts the timid

/

hare. She grew sick and cold at the thcught, and gathered he:

    

    
    

 
  
 
  

 

     
 

w—uwww- mOWWOOIQEYKPo'

A sn'nnsu mooxxnox. 29

nil in thicker folds. She fancied that the young man half paused
as he neared her as if about to speak, and, as she hurried away with
trembling limbs it seemed to her that she was followed After I
long, quick walk, however, she ventured to look round. There was
no one in sight and she breathed more freely.

C H A P T E R VI.
AN OLD ACQUAINTANCE.

Eunnomo into the thoroughfare, she found that the streets wet
wholly unfamiliar to her, and a vague terror was added to he!
and anticipations. To be lost in this bewildering city was not one of
the least of evils, and to crown her confusion, she could not recall
the name of her hotel, or even of the street where it was located.
The sudden fright caused by the appearance of a familiar face, had
driven away every thing else from her mind. Stopping for a mo-
ment to collect herself, she took the path that seemed most likely to
lead to familiar signs, and hurried on. Street after street she
turned, and each seemed farther from her destination. Dizzy, faint,
and bewildered, she knew not which way to turn, nor how to ask for
directions homeward. Suddenly as she stepped upon a crossing,
there was a loud cry—the cluttering of horses’ hoofs—violent strug-
gling—a hot, moist breath fell on her cheek. She closed her eyes
and would have fallen, but some strong arm pulled her again upon
the sidewalk. Looking up a moment after, still dizzy and confused,
she saw seated in a splendid baroueho, two gentlemen and a lady,
and in one of the former recognized, and was recognized by Senor

,1 Abrates. Before she could move, he was on the pavement by her I

side, talking volul)ly in Spanish.

“ My dear Senora De Monserate, I am astonished, yet delighted.
Did you drop from the clouds that I should meet you just here?
Of all unfortunates that I should come near causing so dreadful an
accident ! Do me the honor to enter my barouche—indeed I must
insist; you can not walk, you are very pale.”

Really faint as she was with .the shock and the excitement, she
could invent no excuse.

“ My sister; my friend, Senor Velasquez.” The introduction!
were rapid-a pretty face bowed. Some one with a very peculiar
and forbidding eye bOWed also. Minerva. could scarcely take note,
for her soul was full of the most dismal apprehensions. They had
found her—they would leave no means untried to outrap her.
Where should she fly 7 How escape the doom that seemed nwsiting

 

  

30 THE PRISONER OF LA VINTRESSI.

her? Fortunately the name of her hotel recurred to her, and she
was driven there.

“ May I call?” asked the young man in a low voice, as he hand-
ed her out at the door of the hotel; “I have something of impor-
tance to communicate.”

Like lightning it flashed through her mind that if she made a con-
fidant of this young man, and appealed to his pity, his honor she
might find a surer means of escape from her persecutors. “ You
may call,” was the reply.

' Senor Abrates returned to his barouche in high spirits.

“ My dear Dora, I mean to make the most of this affair,” he said,
as he sat with his sister not long after their return, “ and I depend
a great deal on you to aid me.”

“ I don’t understand you,” said his sister, using her fan languid-
ly, and caressing with a little slipper-ed foot, the curly coat of a

‘ snowy lap—dog.

“ Is it possible you don’t know that this senora whom we come
near knocking down to-day, is the runaway niece of General Lein-
dres de Monserate ! Of course, though as you are fresh from
boarding—school, you can know but very little about it.

But the young lady had waked up.

“ What ! that girl with the plain, plum-colored merino, the great-
est heiress in Cuba? How came she here ? ”

“ That‘s what I’m going to tell you, but you must express no sur-
prise— she has run away.”

“ But with whom ? ” The md'y was now all attention.

“ With no one, unfortunately ; or fortunately the gentleman who
intended to give her the honor of his company, was arrested on the
way. She made her escape. You must know, a friend of mine who
confides in me wonderfully, is in love with the girl, and with her
fortune. undoubtedly. Now you see, whoever she marries she will
richly endow. The field is all clear—why should I not speak for
myself ‘1’ ” 

“Why, truly? But Manuel, why did not the senor, whoever
he is, come and attend to his own business. He is strangely short-
sighted, I think.”

“The fact is, he was slightly indisposed, and not very slightly
either,” was the reply. “ Between you and me I have a suspicion
that El Americana tried to throttle him. and nearly succeeded.

'At any rate I found him in bed just before I came away, banda‘ged

up and quite exhausted. Now, the young lady is a beautiful crea-
ture, as you must acknowledge, and it would not be amiss to win her
in spite of them all."

“ It would be delightful," said the senora, closing her eyes sleep-
ily, yet smiling as she spoke—“ to have so rich and handsome a
lister-in-luw. But it seems to me she has compromised herself some-
what to run away in this romantic fashion.” '

“ O. no—under the circumstances it is not at all singular, beside!

  
 
  
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
    
  
 
 
    
  
 
 
 
   
   
  
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
   
   

 

  

ms DINNER. 81

great heiresses can do much without provoking the world’s scan-
dal. She is an innocent, quiet little thing, I imagine, and yet she
has spirit,“ was the reply “ She is totally without acquaintances,
if I judge right, and will be glad of a friend, poor creature. Now
you must be that friend. She will confide in you—she will love you,
and possibly her lonely hmrt may reach out to your brother, and
with her for a sister you may do what you please, for I am sure she
'E liberal as well as romantic.” ‘

“i wonder if she has many jewels?” mused the senora. Her
brother smiled in a sarcastic way.

“ Of course; you women never forget your jewels. If a house was
on fire, I believe, and you were a mother, the first thought would be
the jewels, the next, the child. To be sure he has brought her
jewels in anticipation of reverses, may be, and a delightful time you
will have of it, comparing heir-looms. I fancy I see you spending
hours over the precious treasures. Besides you will suit each other
in other respects. She is not long from school—you have just left.
what a fund of entertaining conversation there is in store for you .'
What a pity I could not be behind the curtain ! I might then head
with what confoundedly poor but particularly clever American gen-
tleman you, too, had fitllen in love.”

“ You need never be afraid that I shall lovea poor man, Manuel."

“ No, on second thought,l don’t know as I need. Your tastes
are too much like my own, and you are-pardon me—too lazy to
leak a sensation.”

To this, the only reply was a small, low laugh.

0 H A P T E R V II.
ms NEW nnsmrscr.

anva reached her little room quite worn out with excitement.
and fell listlessly on the little silken lounge that shared most of her
rest. The maid came in with luncheon. She motioned her to set
it down, but it remained untasted. Her mind was in tumult, would
it ever be clear again ‘I She addressed herself with all her might to
frame a speech, a pretty, pathetic little appeal that might, as novel-
ists say, “ melt the stoniest heart; ” and by the time the gong
sounded for preparation for dinner, she had voted herself successful.
To-day, also, she Ventured upon a richer garment, and an antique
chain of gold and turquoise, of whose value she little dreamed. Hops
had awakened in her heavy heartyand touched her face with its
charmed hues. She had never looked more beautiful than when she

 

  

 

82 THE IBISONEB 0! LA VINTBESSB.

glided to her seat at the long table, and the homage of admiring eyes
greeted her, though she was too much preoccupied to notice it.

Glancing up, however, she perceived, fixedly gazing at her with
those strange unfathomable orbs, the senor to whom she had been
introduced in the barouche. He nodded, she returned the token of
recognition, though the matter of meeting him again, gave her “no
easiness.

“ I thought so,” went the rounds of the table; “ told you she was
Spanish. That gentleman, is an Havana planter. A lady of mark,
probably, or the contrary. Velasquez has the reputation of a. dissi-
pated roue.”

Meanwhile, Minerva awaited the coming of Don Carlos’ friend
with some trepidation, and when his card was sent up, could scarce-
ly summon the courage to meet him. He, however, did not seem to
notice her nervousness, but began in an otf-hand manner to speak of
the beauty of the day, and of several little things unimportant in
themselves, save as the hinges upon which greater topics hung.

“ You have come from Don Carlos,” at last Minerva found cour- '

age to exclaim, after a pause; “ I think that is what you would say."
‘ I left him ill,” he returned with a peculiar smile; “yes, senora,

I have received my orders from him, but it depends altogether upon _

you, whether I shall execute them.”

Minerva looked anxious.

‘f I promised to serve him to the best of my ability, but it would
be doing him an injustice to bring him an unwilling guest.”

“ Oh! how I thank you! ” she exclaimed, sincerely; his meaning
was becoming now more apparent. “ You would not use unjust
measures to force me home again."

"‘ Do I look like such a one? ” asked the young 'man, his brow
flushing.

No. indeed he did not; at that moment, self-deceived, animated as i

he thought by an entirely generous motive, he seemed too noble for
treachery. His dark eyes were beautifully sincere, his smile was born
of a generous impulse.

Then the “ might be,” was shadowed forth for a brief season, he
had put his real idle self in the background.

“ But you must not remain in this isolated situation,” he contin-
“ ued. “ It will not do in a place where envy and detraction abound.
I have taken a suite of rooms for my sister and myself in a private
house. We. have our own servants, live in fact entirely. by ourselves‘.
To ensure success to the plan by which I mean to delude (pardon
me, but there is no other way) Don Carlos, my friend, you had bet»
ter leave so public a place as this. Every day, almost, there are

Cubans stopping at the hotels; you would be recognized, and per- ‘

haps the victim of some conspiracy.”

“ What you say is true,” said Minerva; “ the Senor Velasquez to
them you presented me to—day, dined at the table-d’—hote.” '

“ He did i ” exclaimed Senor Abrates, a frown Settling on his hoe

r

  

  

.—

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' with instinctive delicacy.

I

AN INTICING INVITATION. a

v

" Ah! he is a dangerous man, but do not be alarmed, fair lady. I
have him under my thumb.”

" But where shall I go '1’ ” asked Minerva; the pathos in her oouu.
tenanoe transferred to her voice. “I do not wish to be recognized
by those I have known before.”

“ I was about to suggest,” continued the young man, “ that my
lister is very lonely (as I am away much of my time necessarily.)
and wishes often for a companion. She informed me privately, to.
day, that she had fallen in love with you, and that it would be charm-
ing if she might prevail upon you to share her society while we re-
main in New York, which will not be for long. Here is something \
she has written on the subject.”

Minerva. took the delicately worded note, her expressive face he-
traying the pleasure she felt that any one should be so interested in
her.

“ She is very kind,” she said thoughtfully.

“ And may I say that you will come 1* ” asked the young man ea-
gerly, gazing at her with new and delighted admiration, which she
would hardly have liked had she soon; “ there you can live in as
strict seclusion as you like, and together, we will, I think, manage
Don Carlos.” .

This last maneuver decided her. It seemed so pleasant to have
found friends, real friends; a woman who possibly might understand
her; a man who was too noble to recognize the claims of an usurper

' like Don Carlos.

“ Yes, if you think she will not weary of me, I will go.”

“ Or, rather that you will not weary of her,” said Senor Abrates;
an exultant fire lighting up his dark eye. “ She is the veriest little
ohatterbox, and will, I think, sometimes, jabber to martin.”

“ If you knew howI desire to have some one talk to me,” she said,
her fine eyes growing moist as she recalled the long, silent days pass-
ed in her little chamber; “ you would feel how grateful that chatter-
ing you talk of,‘ will be to me. Oh ! how I have longed even for a
little bird to have beside me, and sing to me sometimes.”

“ Here is the address, I will leave everything with you,” he said.
“ You have only to summon a waiter and
order him to call a carriage, then give this direction to the driver
and in fifteen minutes you will find Dora waiting for you, all expec-
tation.”

There was an embarrassing pause. Minerva longed to say a word
that would lead to some hint of Herman. But she could not. Even
the attempted question, whether Don Carlos were very ill, and what
was the matter with him, died upon her lips. " There will come a
time,” she thought to herself, struggling to keep up her courage till
the last, for the slightest depressing feeling with regard to Herman
always set her heart to aching. With a graceful hesitation, Senor
Abrates took his leave, and Minerva, somewhat lighter in spirit. I
to her room to make preparations. r

 

    

84 ml: ratsoxsn or LA vnv-msr.

To her extreme surprise, when she asked for her bill, the charges
set down to her, amounted to nearly all the gold she possessed. Un-
used to regulating expenses of any kind, she had ordered freely, lit-
tle knowing that even a look or a step must be paid for, especially if
the landlord sees indications of wealth in the manners, dress or habn
its of the stranger. However. she took the amount from her slender
store, then, having attended to her packing, she proceeded as her
new friend had directed.

, It was with a comparatively light heart that she ascended the mar.
ble steps leading to an elegant mansion in the upper part of the city.
Within could be heard the singing of a bird, the light, silvery chords
of some fairy music-box, while at the nearest window, the richest ex-
otics gleamed temptingly.

No sooner had the servant answered the ring, than coming steps
were heard. A beautiful girl attired in a cloud of India muslin, her

‘dark hair coquettishly dressed, the incomparable Spanish fan de-

pending from her wrist, her large eyes, bright with a beaming wel-
come, came hurriedly from a side room, and met Minerva with a
childlike caress.

“I am so glad you have come," she said, leading her into the
apartment she had just left, seating her on a magnificent lounge, and
then dropping herself beside her, as if she were a wee girl. “ There
is Coco, my maid; she will relieve you of your bonnet and mantle.
Do you like the music-box? I do, besides, it is so much exertion to

' play, hark, that is from one of the operas, I forgot which, but we
will go, you and I, and hear a whole one. I have never been yet,
but Manuel has promised, and he is very good. Arc you fatigued I
Will you go in your room and lie down? ”

“If you please, for a few moments,” said Minerva, anxious to be
alone with her new happiness. for it was a happiness to know again
that some one felt an interest in her.

Dora led her into an exquisite little room, hung with draperies of
blue silk. It seemed so much like home to be surrounded by these
luxuries, that Minerva could have cried for joy like a very child.
As it was, a few grateful tears fell quietly, but they were soon chas-
ed away by smiles. She lifted the curtain, the window led on a be].
cony, and looked out on a pleasant yard. bordered with flower-plats,
in the midst of a pretty fountain, springing from a shell in the hand
of a marble boy, whose bright l'ace shone through the spray with an
ever-beaming glance of wondering delight. Not far off, she could
see the iron railings of a park, and in the tall trees around her, the
birds sang gayly. Here, then, she had found rest; here she could
fi-eely tell all her griefs, and lay her plans for the discovery of Her-
man’s fate, for that he was dealt foully by, she never for an instant
doubted.

After a few moments of rest, she went again into the room when
Dora was. Her new friend lay nestling on a lounge, her eyes closed,

the fan hanging listless.

    

 
 

- — .-

“lib-Hillbil-

‘“7

AN ENGAGEMENT RING.

How graceful she is," thought Minerva, scanning the delicate
ise of the limbs, admiring the white, rounded arm. Dora opened
or eyes.

“ Oh, there you are,” she cried gleefully; “ I thought you were
never coming. Have you rested? Do you never have more color
than now? I should think that you had been ill. What pretty
bands! do let me see them.” Minerva, smiling and pleased, held
out her hands for inspection.

“ Smaller than mine, I do believe, and what a beautiful ring! [I
it an engagement ring? ”

Minerva’s heightened color answered her, she did not wait for
speech, but ran playfully on, amusing her companion vastly more
than any thing else could.

“ How entertaining she is,” was Minerva’s second thought, “ we
shall get along admirably together.”

“ Do you play? Yes, charming ! and sing, I suppose.
Manuel, he knew you in Cuba, did he not ‘! ”

“ Yes, he came sometimes to my uncle’s house,” was the reply.

" I have heard him talk of you and of a Don Carlos. Pray what
kind of a man is Don Carlos? Manuel dislikes him exceedingly, I
should think.”

“ He is pleasant, generally,” said Minerva, cautiously; “ but he
does not make many friends, I believe.”

“ Here comes Manuel; it must be supper-time.”

The young man came iii—with graeetul self—possession greeted Mi-
nerva, and presently the three were seated at an elegant little sup<
per table, on which glistened a silver service. Searcer had the meal
been tasted when the door-bell rang, and Senor Velasquez was ush--
ered in. Manuel’s face said how provoking! and the planter him-
self apologized with elegant suavity, but seemed none the less inclin-
ed to partake with them. His presence destroyed Minerva’s pleas-
ure; she was sure the man looked upon her with an evil eye, that he
was a spy of Don Carlos; she felt it every time he addressed her
with such elaborate politeness. The evening, however, passed pleas-
antly in spite of his presence. Manuel was a delightful singer, Senor
Velasquez played the flute, and even Minerva consented to sing a
few little ballads. By the time she retired to rest, the young girl

So does

had forgotten her vexatious forebodings, and when born, with ha.
childish grace, wound her arms about her neck, and whispered,
“ Don’t you think Manuel sings well,” she made the artless reply
“ I think your brother does everything well, my dear friend.”

  

 

m rumours or u vim

CHAPTER VIII.
HERMAN RELEASED.

Don Csnws stood before it looking-glass. Many were his mutter
ed imprecations as he met the gaze of u disfigured face. His right
eye rejoiced in numerous colors beside its original block. A. wound
upon his cheek had not improved the appearance of his countenance.
The Don was dressed in a. gay gown, and from his nibroidered cap
depended a. heavy tassel of gold. His dressing-case as a. model of
luxurious beituty. Bottles chased with silver and gold—little cush-
ions of satiny softness—brushes with handles of ivory—every thing
rich, expensive, and rare.

“ The scoundrel! he will pay dear for this," muttered Don Carlos
as he lifted a cane from its corner and limped out of the room.

“ Ah! welcome down-stairs, my dear Carlos," said the old general,
rising with nlncrity, while at a. look fiom him, withered Monehs,
who was embroidering on a. bit of yellow satin, brought a light foot-
stool for the invalid. “ And how are you this morning?”

“ A little stifi" in the joints," said Don Carlos with a. disagreeable
laugh. “ My good aunt, if you would be so kind as to leave gunrdy
and me alone a. few moments.” ~

The senora humbly picked up her work and left the room.

“ Now my good friend, what have you heard and what have you
been doing? ” asked Don Carlos, turningr to the general.

“ Wonders! wonders! ” exclaimed the general, rubbing his hands
with intense satisfaction. “ The consul has stirred himself in the
business, and finds our prisoner guiltless of all conspiracy. My deal
fellow, El Americana is to be pardoned instantly on condition of his
leaving the country.”

“ Well,” queried Don Forlos, impatiently, in a voice that betrayed
that he expected more news of importance.

“ Listen; this is my plan. I have bribed Salvetto, the keeper,
and he is to have a private carriage at the door of the jail. There
will be two strong men inside with ropes—you understand."

“ And they will strangle him,”—-—oried Don Carlos with fiendish
oy.
" Oh, no; not so bad as that. We would not commit murder, my
boy, because I am old, and the sin would weigh heavily on my con
science. You have heard me tell of La Vintresse.”

 

 
   

l

‘ A nor. I I 8.

Don Carlos nodded his head.

I “It was once the most magnificent estate in the environs of Ba-

~ vans. Ah! many a splendid party have I given there, but fire and

the cholera, and the hurricane have lent their united rigor to destroy

it. You have no idea- of the complete desolateness of the place.

The walls are demolished—the fields have no boundaries—the water

has overflowed, and only a part of the house stands, a melancholy

min, and a part of the negro quarters. In this last, there is a

9" strong room which on the plantation I used as a jail. Ah! you begin

to understand. The prospect looks out upon a few stunted palm-

trees, the distant hills, and an arid plain. There is not a creature

living within a mile, and nobody passes there, for the place has the

reputation of being haunted. It is haunted by the spirit of desola-

tion. There is where, at night, I shall have this insulting American

; conveyed, and he shall learn that he can not annoy a gentleman

v with impunity here, as in his own land. Old Jose who is cruel

L enough for any duty, shall live there and take care of him. Jose

| has a love for the old place, and is just lazy enough to covet such a

life. He was born at La Vintresse, and l have had a room prepared

for him. A dreary time it will be for El Americano. He will have

no books, no papers, no amusement, little exercise; in fine, he will

probably go mad, for I shall take an opportunity to supply him with
news, and of no very cheerful kind.”

“ Guardian, that is a magnificent plan and worthy of your gen.
ius," cried Don Carlos, his green and black eyes kindling. “ But,”
his face grew grave again—“ we are no nearer to finding Senora
Minerva. She has escaped us. Signor Abrates writes me nothing
encouraging.’ ’

“ Have no fear on that score—we shall find her. But I tell you
it will not do to trust to others; we must go for ourselves.”

“ Do not I know that Y ” cried the Cuban vehemently. “ Should
I not have been there ere this, but for the vile clutches of that
Yankee ? ”

“ Patience, patience,” said the general, “you will go there yet.
You are nearly well. A sea-voyage will refresh you, and fully re-
pair all damages. I have engaged our passage.”

“ What!” Don Carlos started from his chair—“ and I this fig-

“ are it ’ ’

“ I tell you, you will be well enough by the time we land in New
York. We will set out immediately to Saratoga, and it will go hard
filth me but we will find her.”

H To Sarntogar—Zounds! no, not there, above all places.”

“I tell you, yes; here is a letter found in the pocket of that in
triguing Yankee; it is directed to his parents who, I should presume.
are vulgar farming-people in that same village of Saratoga. What
more likely than that she should he found there? Once let me get
her in my possession—the renegade child. I’ll teach her that she can
not lose old friends so readily." /

' 11 2

 

 

THE PBIFOIC'fll (3F LA VINTRESSE.

” She

Don Carlos mused. “ There is something in that he said
may have known of the fact that his people lived there.”

“ To be sure, and there‘s where she is...‘::\ug and cozy, setting them
wild about him. We will make their ears burn, my Don! We will
make her glad to gain once more the protection of a home. As soon
as the sun sets, Jose will be here with the carriage. Our volanle
will also be ready and we can drive immmfiately after to the Grand
Carcel.”

The evening Was dark and the streets 04' H avanu illy lighted or
not at all. It was late into night when tle general and his ward
took their seats in the volante, and were -lriven rapidly after the
clumsy carriage that was to convey the p: isoner from his dreary
confinement to one as much more cruel as it was monotonous. The
great building loomed up darkly, standing net r the foot of the Punta.
Palace-like it reared its regal front, and the d. m starlight made it an
imposing object. At that moment, llerma! Goreham stood at the
grated window of his cell looking forth and l nging for liberty. In
the two months and more of his confinement, he had changed from
the self-reliant, dignified man, to the pale, bows l-down captive. His
check was thin, his beard and hair were grown, and in his eye glitter-
ed the restlessness of his soul. Captivity was not his only nor his
greatest trouble—he mourned over the unknm'n fate of Minerva.
His elforts to see the captain of the Eagle had all been fruitless.
Some unseen influence 'outside his prison-walls, with more money
and more power than he, was working him injury. He had attempt-
ed to obtain justice by sending a statement if his case to the
American consul, but whether it had reached hiii he did not know.
He had been able in this loathsome place, where punishment was reg-
ulated by the ability of the prisoners, to obtain a better apartment
than the common cells where the sights he saw and the sounds he
heard, offended his moral nature. But he was by no means placed
in congenial society. Ilis room-motes were. a military man who spent

[his hours in cursing and gaming, and a planter incarcerated for some
political offence, who jonied his comrade heart and soul in these ele—
vating amusements. The room was large but not over cleanly.
Great webs. black with age and dust, dangled from the cornices.
The walls were disfigured with rude drawings and ruder scrawls. in
Spanish poetry. The floor was dirty and the ceiling obscure. The
two prisoners were men of flirhidding exterior, who when they found
.Hermun averse to joining in their immoral practices. assailed him
with vituperation albeit it was guarded by eloquent and elegant
Spanish. He understood it all, for though unable to converse wfih
’lluency in the language, he could read it and translate with case.

To-night the image of Minerva had been more then usually present
and distinct. He had fretted himself nearly into a fever in his vain
attempts to imagine what she possibly might do, or where 5‘3 In
the captain of the Eagle he lied unbounded coufidenee— he knew

that she would be placed in a good home. But what if, Mug her

     

 
   

 

_n

float-Vanna

 

 

 
 

rm: nor EXECUTED. 89

lonely and unprotected state, she should return 7 The thought gave
him anguish. Suppose she was already the wife of that intriguing
Cuban? It was horror to think. He tried to shut all such images
from his mind, but they would return with redoubled \‘ividness. He
walked back and forth rapidly, and envied the two sleepers who had
thrown themselves upon their cloaks and snored soundly.

Suddenly he heard the key turn in the lock of his cell door. A
jiiler entered with a capitan 11c partido, or local magistrate. The
former held a small paper lantern in his hand and moved with a. slow
step, as if in the capacity he was, he desired not to be the bearer of
good news.

The man came forward with his usual greeting, “ Do you confeal
your fault? ”

“ I have nothing to confess,” was the answer.

“ It makes no difference,” replied the jailer, calmly—“ you are
at liberty. A carri-I'rs awaits you at the door."

“ At liberty! ” (Li mined \voi- lS—-lill‘ _‘.‘Ull!l"_’; man‘s face brighten- ‘
ed—he straightened himself. “ At liberiyi ” he repeated incredu-
lously.

“ You will walk this way if you please, senor,” said the man.

Herman followed incredulously. lle took down his hat, his linen
oversack, and put them on as one in u. dream. He moved out into the
great black passage-way and hit the wind from the sea strike damp
against his forehead. ’l'he jailer held up his lamp in the wide en-
trance. It flashed full in the faces of the general and Don Carlos ;—
evil omen! For a moment llerman drew back—he feared conspiracy,
else why those two of all men, and here at such an hour, close upon
midnight? The c u-rfage stood just beyond.

.  You are to go immediately from the country, senor,” said the
Jan er.
“ Am I to be driven to the pier i,” asked Herman.
“I know nothing about it, senor, except that by order of the
' consul you are at liberty,” was the reply, somewhat impatiently.
Herman drew a long breath and stepped out. The carriage door
, was flung open. He hesitated—placed his foot upon the step—there
i was a scuflling noise. His worst fears were verified—he was a pris-
oner gagged and bound.
Don Carlos and the general laughed out loud and long, then drown
home to confer tcvether

 

 

 

  

  

C H A P T E R I X-
A NEW Exrx-zamxor.

1'! Wu settled that the general, his sister, and ward, were to travel
with any number of servants, and any unmnnt of luggage. The de.
cision threw Senora Manchu. into alternate eostnsies of rupture and
despair. Rupture, for, the genernl gave her an unlimited purse; des-
pair, that she was old, and not quite mythic of‘ plying the coquette,
as it had been her pride und pleasure to do in fornn’sr years. How-
ever, she could display her wardrobe, and hill mmehwly with envy
if she could. Such ln-xni-dres,~::s us she. mount to have! and such
fabrics for dresses; :L1)U\ e ;rll,sn.:h Variety! She could have not only
ninety-nine, but the liltin.i;'e-'ltli, :xnd she lie' :1 Winning up the need-
ed trunks, and sending for more. Very \eious she was to Althea,
Minervn‘s dressing—initial, for the girl Unuhi lit :11er in:th dresses to
a charm, oven upon her withered figure.

“ I‘ll tell you, what, Althea," said the. old senorn, sitting in her
rocking-chair, and lunguidly thinning; “ I didn’t think of it, but if
you’ll try your best to please me, l will take you to the American
Samtoga.”

“ What! and shall Isee my mistress 1'” asked the girl. “Oh!
that will be delightful.”

The senom’s brow clnmleal. Miner-uni. had never been a favorite
with her, for she inherited some English tastes and traits, one of
which was absolute truth-telling, nnd nothing troubles the old and
vain so much.

   

 

 

“ It is no treat to me,” she 2; 1H, “ to expect to meet her; the girl ‘ ‘

has disgraced herself and us. I care not ii‘ 1 never see her again.”
“ She will find friends enough,“ 8‘!“ the outoroon, musingly;

“ everybody udxnired her. Do you think if she came h:LCk,Don Cant
‘ 108 would marry her? ” .

“ I don’t know; all I cm my is. that 1' Would not, if Iwcre himx"
said the Manchu, shortly.

“ Nor I him, if I were her," multemd Althea.

“ What is that? No insoleuco, miss,” cried the old vimgo h"
black eyes flushing.

“ You should not speak so sharply,” said the girl, giving a short,
impatient movement. ‘ ‘ I don’t know but I have ruined this ulqu
you startled me so.”

   
  
 
 

   

   

 

11‘ ms onus. u

“ Well, well; I will be more careful,” replied the old woman,
anxiously, surveying the threatened trouble. “Remember thatis
something I cannot match; I would not have it spoiled for the world.
But as for Senora. Minerva, she is a very gtraceless girl. Only think
of it, to run away—to bring scandal upon a family like ours. I
shall not be unhappy if we never see her again, though the general
will leave no means untried to find her.”

While the senora and the dressing—maid were talking thus, Miner-
“; was unwillingly arrsying herself for the opera. Dora had urged
her into compliance with her request that she would accompany her
there. But, though yielding. and taking no little pains to disguise
herself, she was very unwilling to go. She had been already three
times, and on each occasion her pleasure had been dumped by the
presence of Senor Velasquez, whose bearing had gradually assumed
the complexion of an ardent admiration. llis attentions were not
only annoying to Minerva, but Senor Abrates looked upon him with
a lowering brow, and began in attitude at least to question his mo»
tives. On this particular night, Senor Velasquez was seen as usual,
moving toward the box where Dora and Minerva. were seated. Man-
uel cast: an inquiring glance toward his protege. Her face was
clouded by anxiety. ‘

“ I wish he would not come,” broke impulsively from her lips;
“ he annoys me.”

“ You shall not be trwbled by his attentions; I will speak to him
-—there is no other way.” A moment after Senor Abrates came
back, pale and much excited, while Senor Velasquez was no where
to be seen.

During the evening the young man devoted himself more closely
to Minerva than ever before. He seemed to watch her every motion,
and anticipate her slightest wish. This was not wholly agreeable to
her. There was not a spice of eoquetry in her nature, and come
quently any attentions of such a character from one for whom she
had no answering emotions were in a high degree repulsive. At
the close of the entertainment, he applied himself with assiduity to
assist her, in fact, he confused her by the closeness of his attention,
and this confusion was by him attributed to a possibly growing ten-
derness for himself. Minerva had on one or two occasions been
samewhat surprised by his demeanor toward her, now there was no
mistaking his manner, and it gave her heart a new and regretful
pang. The next day and the next. his gentleness of manner re-
mained and increased. Manuel was often in the house, he seemed
.to find his greatest pleasure in sitting beside Minerva, in listening
while she sang, in doing any little trivial service for her, inhis mute
but expressive admiration. Dora. seemed also to feel a great sympa-
thy for her brother. She was always telling of his goodness, hil
little points of amisbility, and sometimes she left them alone togeth‘
er. Thus, the poor girl’s situation was becoming every day mam
unpleasant. Not even the gilding about her pretty cage, the Inn

 

  

  

 

42 THE rmsoxm or LA vm’rnrssn.

ries, Dora’s little affectionate ways, could compensate for this miser-
Bble certainty, for a certainty it speedily became. At last, Manuel
declared his love in the most passionate language, and entrented he!
to become his wife. In no other way, he protested, would she be
longer safe, for Senora Velasquez had set sail for Cuba, and would

robably before long meet Don Carlos, and then his search would be
mdefatigahle. His sister came to his help. Tears and smiles were
tried, great oifers, and patient persistence. At last, Minerva. coin-
promised. They must give her a week to decide, by that time she
should have fully made up her mind. Under this arrangement, she
was to be entirely free for a short space, and it was a relief to have
gained that advantage. Dora, meantime, used her liberty. She had
made some new aetluaintama-s, and finding that her once pleasant
wmpauion had grown somber, and even dull, she did not court so
much the pleasure of her society. The freedom of American ladies
was charming to her, she had learned to move upon the public prom-
enade with as careless a mien as any of them, and liked the pleasure,
dear to every Cuban, of being looked at and admired. Meanwhile,
Minerva was left much to herself. There was but one alternative, to ac-
cept the offer of Senor Abrates, or leave the house. Never once did
she think of returning to Havana, there to throw herself upon the
protection of' her family. “ Never," she declared, when the thought
presented itself, she would die first. lhit what was she to do '!
Where to go? Anywhere to get from the haunting presence that
now troubled her, from the. beliet‘ that she was heng watched,
haunted. and might at any time be discovered and forcibly returned.
She examined her little store, it was very small, barely possible to
procure her board in a private way tbr a few vveeks. But there
were her jewels, they could be pawued, she shudder-ed at the thought,
should she ever come to that. Yes, it would be better than the mis—
erable suspense in whielrshe was living. lit-sides, she could depend
much on the friendship of (‘aptain \Vyllies. he had told her to come
to him if she were in trouble, and it was almost the fifteenth of the
month, the time his vessel was due. It remained to be decided how
she should leave the house. She determined on taking: only a large
valise, packing it with the most important of her clothing, and se-
creting her jewelry within. Then she engaged a couehmun, and
having given him directions, she took her departure on a day when
neither Manuel nor his sister were expected to be at home till the
evening. Directing to be driven to a street which she had ascertained
In at the extreme end of the city, and near the shipping, when
she was sure she could hear t'rom the Eagle, she was accordineg set
down before a. small, neat house, whose \ery minute sign told that
boarders were taken there. A very civil woman answered her knock,
and she was ushered into a small parlor, well tilled with old furni-
ture, and smelling of the cooking, the odor of which came from
the kitchen, near by. Minerva gave her name as Angeline Smith,

and after the first preliminaries, was ushered irto n. narrow. 10"
\ Q

 

 

    

 

    

DEATH or CAPTAIS wrmu. 43

coiled chamber, which she was to consider hers while the could pay
for it. It was with a feeling of relief she heard that the landlady
knew Captain Wyllies well, he had staid there sometimes, and re.
commended his mates, as it wusa genteel boarding-house, she added,
laying great stress upon the Word that betrayed her self-respect.

Here was a new phase of life, the Cuban heiress inltulled in Mrs.
Brown’s boarding-house, under the assumed name of Smith, nothing
to (10, only painful memory for a companion.

“ It seems tome she’s of the solitary sort,” Mrs. Brown would
lay; “ she just speaks to nobody, though I can’t think its because
she considers herself superior. But isn‘t she a beauty? and it’s my
mind, that she‘s seen better days."

Meanwhile, Minerva patiently waited for the captain’s return.
The fourteenth passed and the fifteenth, still no tidings. The six-
teenth brought Mrs. Brown to Minerva‘s door, with an ominously
long face. Behind her were heard sobs, it was the good Bandola,
and alas ! she brought sad news; the captain had died two days out,
of yellow fever, and was buried in the ocean. Minerva. felt her
heart sink, this was worse than all the rest; she had now no real
friend. She took Bandola into her little room, and the two mourned
and wept together. The poor girl did not know what she should do
now, she said, sobbingly, that she never should find so good :1. mos-
ter again, and, oh ! how cruel it seemed to throw him into the wa-
ter, he who had been so kind to her ! She had, she further said,en-
gaged to go still as stewardess on the same vessel, but that was dif-
ferent from what things would have been if the captain had lived.

“ And I too, must do something, Bandola," said Minerva, mourn-
fully. “ I have but very little money left, and where am I to get
more ? "

“ Then you have heard nothing from your home,” said Bandela,
'with a look of significance.

“Nothing, it is wearing me out,” responded Minerva. “If I
could only hear the worst,” she added, with a grieving lip.

“ You would not go back—why not, and find what you wish to
know? It would be delightful to have you in the vessel.”

Minerva shook her head.

“ It is of no use, I can not go back; but I must do something.”
the added, with energy, “something to forget. I can not live in
this manner, it is killing me.”

I“ What can you do? ” murmured Bandola, with sorrowful sym-

th .

p.“ can at least write to the consul at Havana, I wonder I have

I never thought of it before. He will make inquiries for me, and at
the same time keep my letter strictly private. 1 will write immedi
-It\ely, When do you sail, Bandola? ”

“ In a week,” the girl replied. “ I can get your letter safely to
the consul. I have seen him, he came on board once, before our last

trip, with a little, dark Spanish gentleman, the captain called Gene.
ml ”

  

    

 

44 ran raisoxsn or u vmrnnssn.

   

 

“ The consul, you are sure, came with him ?” cried Minerva,
breathlessly. “ Could it have been my uncle, General Monserate‘i
Then they were on seine business connected with him, with Herman.
Do you know what they came for? what did they do? how act? tell
me.”

“I can only tell you that they went into the cabin, and I saw
nothing more of them till they came ont again. I heard this old.
man say, ‘ then it is settled, you will take him; ’ and he answered.
that he w0uld. When we sailed, the captain was very anxious, and
delayed as long as he could. I thought he was waiting for some-
body, but he must have been sick then, for he was irritable and
would not say much, only that ’twas no use waiting any longer, and
something about the second time.”

"' Then, Bandola, it was about Herman, I am sure—oh . this sus-
pense, it is terrible, what could have happened? Yes, those words,
‘it is the second time," confirm my fears, yet, what, alas ! can I do
but wait? ”

“ I wish I could help you,” said the stewardess.

“ You can not,” replied Minerva. “I must help myself.”

, Bandola had been gone but a few moments, when the hostess came
up to say that a gentleman had called, and wished to see her. This
announcement threw her into a tremor of apprehension. It was im-
possible, she said. to see one, she was ill, she must be excused, at all
events. What if it should be Abrates! He would leave no means
untried to trace her.

Back came the little woman again, her voice in a tremor, to say
that the gentleman said he must see her, as his mission was urgent,
and most important.

“ What IS he like? ” asked Minerva, in a way that made the host-
ess look at her suspiciously.

“ A tall man, I can not say who like,” she answered; “ his face
is in the shadow, and he don’t look up, hit I am sure it is of great .
importance, as the gentleman says.”

“ I can not go,” cried Minerva, with decision. “ 0h ! suppose it
should be Don Carlos himself? ”

“ Don Carl's,” murmured the wcran, wonderingly, and with
another of bar peculiar glances, “ a. lrngn gentleman, then I thought
as much.” ' ‘

The p001 girl knew not what 9’1; u take next, she seemed to be '
onvironed with difficulties, turn which way she would, there was
trouble in store for her. Neitr er did she like the manner of her
hostess at times. Was it possiole she suspected her integrity?

“ I will tell you a little of my history,” she said in a low, rapid
voice. “ I am a foreigner, and I have left relatives who oppressed
me. who did mt use me well. Of these I am mortally afraid, and I
“Might it mi‘gb‘. be, the man below stairs was one of them. I know
not what to do. l must go, I suppose, but I wish to ask as a favor.
“1” You Wi} so {To me, and remain in the room.”

 

 

uV

.' C High-'1

 

Hip-d"!-

 

ssnon vmsousz. . 46

The woman assented, and trembling like a leaf. Minerva descend—

ed the stairs. She took a step into the room, and then remained, al«

most transfixed, for before her stood none other than Senor Velas-
quez, the same cold smile on his lip, the same deep cunning in his
eye, vail it as he would with his long, sweeping lashes.

Her next movement was one of dismay, as he came cautiously to-
ward her, and held out his hand. He frowned a little, but spoke
nevertheless in his ominously soft voice.

“I am happy to see you, senorita."

“ I—I thought you had sailed for Cuba,” faltered Minerva.

“ Such was my intention, senora, but I delayed the voyage, think-
ing I might be of some service to you. Have you a message, senoral
so, allow me to be the bearer.”

“ How did you find me here? and why have you come? ” BX<
claimed Minerva, her vexation getting the better of her prudence.

“ I found you easily, senora, I had only to follow the dictation of

,my heart. I came, thinking that I might do you a favor. Cam I

see you alone, for a few moments? ” he asked,in Spanish, looking

' askance at the woman beside them.

“ If you will allow it,I prefer she shall remain.” replied Minerva,
in the same language. The man frowned, but seemed to comply
with the best grace he could assume.

He then spoke again in Spanish, told her of Don Carlos' determina-

. tion to seek her, of his unhlterable decision to wed her, and ended

with the declaration that unless she placed herself beyond his power,
he would certainly find the means to possess her.

“ But, what shall I do?” exclaimed Minerva, frightened and
pale to the shade of death.

“ Senora, I love yon, I am well connected, I am rich, make me
zippy; as your lawful defender, you shall then have nothing to

‘17,

H 0 Heaven, pity me! ” cried Minerva, aghast. “ Senor Velas-
quez, I can not think why you have come thus to terrify and insult
me; you know my Circumstances, you should pity and protect me;
it is cruel,in you.”

u I. offer to protect you,” he said, his voice passion-smothered,
“ there is no other way, you are young, lovely, and alone. To what
Icandal are you not subjected ? Besides, there is a tie between Don
Carlos and myself, we are both sworn brothers in a secret league.

’ Unless you are my wife—” he made a. long pause, “ there is no sail:-

ty for you. I am bound by an oath."

Minerva fell back a pace or two, then her strength leaving he; ,
Ihe sank upon a lounge near.

“ Pcrsooute and destroy me, if you will,” she said, at last, her
Voice husky with terror, “ but nsver speak a word of love to me
“gain. I will not hear it, you have my final answer.” The proud
lineage spoke then in the firm lip, just curved by scorn, in the flash

- 01 the eye, the swell of tho nostril.

“ Senora, you invite your fate,” he said, in his smooth voice but

\

 

  

£6 _ ms rumors; or LA vmrnrss:

eyes glittered with illy restrained passion. “ Ihave striven to overt.
but I can do so no longer. Let me further tell you, that you cannot
hide from me. with all your woman’s ingenuity. I could penetrate
through any and every disguise, it is not new work for me.”‘

honor has doubtless been compromised more than once in a similar
business. I read that in your face from the first. There is no need
hr any further conversation, allow me to bid you good night.”

“ Stop, senora,” exclaimed the man, his whole frame rigid with
the effort to suppress the fiery tempest that raged in his veins. "I

sider for a fcw moments—for a second only, the consequence of your
urrestage—I can use no other word—by Don Carlos. Your determi-
nation to resist his powerful influence—and it is more powerful than
you know—may involve the liberty and even the life of others, of
one other, certainly. Do not be rash, senora; do not throw all pro-
' tection off; I would not have you think me utterly selfish—Heaven
knows that my feelings are purely honorable. You must still let me
be your friend, your counselor It may be that my influence will be
of some avail; you are impetuous, and too easily otfended. What
have you ever seen in me worthy of your rash judgment but now.”
What had she seen? she questioned herself ! Surely nothing. An
unaccountable, perhaps rash impulse, had prompted and possessed her.

he might still be her friend. And there was a. hidden meaning in
whot he had said.

, “ Perhaps I have been needlessly severe,” she said, her manner
softening, “ you do not know to what persecutions I have been sub-
jected. I wish indeed I had a friend.” The tears came in her eyes
—her lips trembled—never had she appeared so lovely.

“I pledge you my honor, I will be that friend,” he said in a voice
of apparent sincerity. For a moment she trusted him, and had she
not looked in his eyes, she could have accepted his profi'ered kind-
ness with alacrity—but there was something there that chilled her.
She only said, “ I thank you; ” allowed him to take her hand for l
parting pressure, and she was alone, dreading, trembling, and be-
wildered.

“ Oh! what shall I do? ” she cried in anguish.

“ My poor child,” said the landlady, much affected, “ how can I

’ kelp yon i " .

“Dress me as a servant—put me into somebody’s kitchen—only
lisguise me so that I can never be recognized—it would be the great.-
est favor.

“ You go in a kitchen," murmured the woman, smiling and
glancing from head to foot as she spoke.

“ Yes, let me'discolor myself~stain my face—cut ofi‘ my hair-—
my thing for safety. My uncle is a powerful man and a rich man.
Dun Carlos, oh! he is terrible, and he is determined to marry me; ’9
the shut her eyes shuddering. '

/

“ No, [judge not," cried Minerva, her scorn taking words; “ your '

do not often stop to plead even of women, but I do implore you to cons ,

'Why should she make an implacable enemy of the man 1 Doubtless ‘

 

   
 
    
  
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
    
  
 
 
 
 
 
    
  
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
   
 
  
 
 
    

___._._..._.

7.“.
got
at:

m: ‘
lar
zed

iti
Is I

in- a

1i-

 

 

, mit no one but Bandola.

 

 

 

 

  

ms nu ALWAYS nssx MY rrmr. 41

" But had you nobody to go to? No friends who would not see
you wronged? ” queried the landlady.

“ None, none,”-—was the reply. -‘ I am an orphan—my father
had but one brother—my mother neither brother nor sister. I am
utterly alone. Don Carlos has always been my tyrant. When Iwal
a little child he cut oil" all my hair because I resisted his petty rule.
He has always been so—l dread his love and his hate. Both are
nombined in his regard toward me. Out of revenge he will hunt me,
Ind what other motive he can have now I know not—but it must be
a powerful one to bind him with my uncle in so close a. compact.”

The good, honest Mrs. Brown did not quite comprehend the dis.
tracted language and manner of her new acquisition. but her mnth-
erly heart felt that she was in deep trouble. In all her nfiiiction, her
first thought had been—her first call, for a minister—so she said
now—

“Shan’t [call in Parson Edmumls? He knows what to say to
people that are in affliction, and he prays that fervent that you hold
your breath—[ do. for it seems as if he was almost in heaven, and
right near to God himself. It might relieve your mind wonderful to
hear him.”

With her present instinctive dread of new faces, Minerva shrank
from seeing a stranger.

“ No. if you please, Mrs. Brown. let me be alone. And pray ad-
If I had dreamed that man was in Amer-
ica, I should have put myself more on my guard—I should have
confided in you. How (lid you know he wished to see me? Did he
not ask for another name? ”

“ Yes. but he described you—he said he knew it was you.
impressed that perhaps it was some one related to you.”

“ You could not have been expected to do difl'erently under the
circumstances.” said Minerva. “ I must try and avoid him. When
Bandela comes again we will confer together.”

[was

CHAPTER X.

snows: DISGUIBE.
l
Tun next day the stewardess visited Minerva, For along time
they consulted, and it was finally agreed that Bandola was to find
tome out-of-the—way place, where she could rent and furnish a small

, room, and Minerva was to disguise herself as thoroughly as possible.

For this purpose Bandola was sent to a store where second-hand

clothing was sold, to select what would best suit her purpose. She

/

 

  

‘8: TIE PRISONER OF LA \‘IN’l‘RFjfiE.

returned with a plain gingham frock, a long apron, a frilled cap,
and a false front of grizzled hair. “ There, your own father
would’nt know you,” cried the girl, clapping her hands at the
transformation. “ You must only try and look old, and make some
lines on your forehead. I have found you a room,” she went on to
say, “ and I shall furnish it to.nioi row. I told the man it was for a
poor widow lady, who would stay for a few weeks till she went away
to her relations, and so you know how to act. You can pretend to
sew all the time, and when I come back I will board with you. I
must lay in a. supply of goods so that you may not go on the street
much. but even then, you could change your walk and go bent over,
so that nobody would know.”

“ You have laid out quite a programme for me,” said Minerva,
grateful for so much and so timely assistance. “ Let us put it im-
mediately into action. I long to be away from here. But firsthy
jewels must be turned int) money. Will you go to a pawnbroker

for me and gen-them taken care of, for as 1011;.r a time as possible. I -

may be able to redeem them. And now for my letter,” she added,
as Bandola received the package, consenting cheerfully.

At last, with great caution and seam-0y, Minerva was installed in
her humble lodgings. The metamorphosis was complete. A cup
and large-bowed spectacles, a front of lighter hair than her own,
and the anxious expression that care and trouble had given her, made
her seem in reality thirty years older. tier jewels had brought her
ten pounds—they should have realized a hundred, but Bandola was
ignorant of their value, and the broker was an unscrupulous rogue.
With fifty dollars, however, and the little she had remaining from
her former store, Minerva felt comparatively easy in regard to the
future—for some weeks at least. She depended upon the news that
Bundola might bring her. The latter was to find her way to the
consul’s to deliver the letter into his very hands, and to intimate the
extreme caution that was needful in the case.

For the first time, Minerva felt comparatively at ease. She was
certain of having escaped the notice of Senor Velasquez, and as for
Senor Abrates, she did not fear that he could, attempt to look her up
-——he was not the kind of man to put himself to much inconvenience,
even in a case involving the most important consequences.

This case was not to continue long, however.
there was no news from the Eagle. Every day Minerva procured the
paper, and at last, after a fortnight’s delay beyond the usual time,
she saw her name in the list of arrivals. Now her heart beat gladly
—-Bandola would come—was even then, perhaps—on her way, and she
hunimed merrily over her work, save at times when the thought that
perhaps the girl might be the bearer of sorrowful tidings, gloomed

‘ er face and saddened her spirits again. Day after day passed, how-
ever, and Bandola came not. In sickening anxiety, Minerva. watched

and' waited, seated at the little window that overlooked the narrow ,

street, and afforded a glimpse of the harbor. At last she resolved to

’

' \

  

 

Weeks passed, and _

 
  
  

  

  

 

‘A dob-"nub! 4 3'5 W

- 3—9‘43Qabfif

l

~r—ur-‘l.

 

 

 
   

murrmasxcn or mane“ _ 49

run the risk of a visit to the vessel. It was not far off, and any
change was better than this harrowing dread. Attiring herself in
her street disguise, she passed along by the buildings whose doorways
were filled with noisy children, and skirted rapidly the long, narrow
passage-ways so full of bales and trucks, and busy workmen, till she
reached the whart The first sight that greeted her eyes was
the ensign of the vessel of which she was in search. Eagerly press-
ing forward, regardless of the dangers she ran in so crowded a local-
ity, she soon gained the plank that was placed from the shore to the
vessel’s side, and with eager steps and a beating heart. inquired of
the first man she saw, who proved to be the steward, for the captain.

" He’s ashore, ma’am,” was the answer, civilly given; “ won’t be
here till to-night at ten.”

“ I wished to inquire for some one,” said Minerva, as the man
made a motion to go on, “ if the stewardess is on board—she is a
friend of mine. Can i see her.”

The man stopped instantly at this, and a change came over his
face. He was a slightly built German, of a very tine complexion and
handsome countenance, and Minerva had noticed more than once on
her former voyage that he took an unusual interest in the pretty
stewardess. Now he regarded the speaker narrowly, before he re-
plied in a lower voice—

‘ Bandola, we do not know what has become of her? ”

“ Not know what has become of her? ” repeated Minerva slowly

,and in extreme surprise.

“ No, madam—yon are a friend of hers, perhaps you will be in-
terested to hear. If you will please take a seat in the cabin, in a.
moment 01 two I will be at liberty."

Minerva went slowly down the steps leading into the cabin. It did
not seem the same now that it know no longer the benign presence
of Captain Wyllies. How overwhelmingly the ast came to her
memory! There was the state-room taken by erman yet never
claimed. How mournfully empty it seemed! The recollection of
that first morning at sea rushed across her mind with dining force.
How bad she survived the knowledge that she was alone, and desert
ed —going a stranger to a comparatively strange land '1 Now in the
short space that had intervened, the good captain had gone—Herman
was lost to her and Bandola missing. The steward came in in the
midst of painthl reflections.

‘ I don’t know what to tell you of 'Bandola,” he said. “ She was

' always free to leave the vessel, and always returned in safety. But

this time we waited there, four hours, but no Bandola. She went
away as usual, and said she should be back in time for dinner, but
she was not. Idid not grow uneasy, however. till four o‘clock; then
I thought she ought to be on board, and I went to look for her.
She had two or three friends [knew them and went to their houses
They had not seen her. Then I walked till dark in the hopes of
meeting her. No, she could not be seen. and I wondered what it

 

    

 
 

run mson or LA vmmnsss.

meant. There was no good in looking, however. I must hurry
back to supper. After tea I sent the cook one way, and I took an-
other—no Bandola anywhere. The next day we looked and inquir
ed, but in vain. Well, so we waited and waited,I running every-‘
where—though to no use, until I give her up—no use i ”

An emphatic gesture accompanied the last word.

“ But can you think of nothing—no reason why she went? Did
die say anything with reference to a lady who came passenger in
this vessel four months ago, a Cuban lady '1’ ”

“ O 1 yes. plenty,” cried the steward, eagerly. “She told me
she had seen her, and had some business to transact for her. There
was a reward offered to every man on board this ship, and her too
if we would find a clue to that lady. Ah ! Bandola was an honor-
able girl. It would have made her rich, and she knew all the time,
but would not tell. Very honorable ! ” and the young man shook
his head and sighed while his face took on a profound sorrow.

Minerva. was plunged again in doubt and despondency. The plot
had not ceased working yet—her uncle had not given her up. film
more than suspected that Bandola had been watched and tampered
with, for she was certain the girl would never have abandoned her
cause. New fears for her fate were now added to her perplexing
trials-new and terrible anxieties. She arose to go—her heart was
too full of grief to say more, though more than one question was on
her 1i s.

“ Irina sorry,” she articulated—“ I am very sorry. I hope and
trust she may be found.”

“ It is strange,” responded the steward, who followed politely—
“ but we shall try again—I don’t despair wholly, of finding her.”

Minerva was on the point of leaving the vessel when a voice or.
res-ital her. It inquired for Captain Denver, the master of the ship.
Minerva dared scarcely raise her eyes, but her extreme fright forced
her to the effort. As she knew before, it was Senor Abrates, looking
. miserably pale and woe-begone. Evidently he was on the search for
her. For a moment, Minerva felt a dizzy faintness, but her effort at
self-command was effectual. Senor Abrates did not notice her even
by a glance. The threadbare shawl, and antiquated bonnet, made
no demands upon his fashionable attention. He passed on by her, as
if utterly. unconscious of her presence, and she hurried from the
ship, anxrous only to regain her solitude and relieve her full heart
by bitter tears. She had nearly reached the street where her lodg.
ings were, all the time dimly conscious of following footsteps-"hut
her mind was so filled with her trouble that she did not stop to ale
if any new danger threatened. She was now on the door-step, her
hand touching the rusted latch of the wooden entrance, when suvl.
denly her whole soul grew dark as if some awful shadow had envel.
oped if in densest gloom. The footsteps had ceased. Too much
frighten“ t0 100k, She yet felt that there was a presence beside her, ’
and darting into the house, she did not pause till safely within her

 

 

  

 

 

 

nonnrn i an rummage. ' , 51 ’

 

own cham‘wr and the. lock secui 5d, she threw herself lacalhless and

trembling upon her low bed. A ("tor some moments had elapsed, she
went cautiously to the window and looked out. Her impressions had
not deceived her. Standing 1m tionless on the opposite side of the
ltrect was a. tall figure, enveloped in a cloak which he handled grace-
fully as only a Spaniard can. At that moment he was turning
away, annoyed it might have hot n by the fixed stare of a group of
children, who in their turn had constituted themselves a body-guard
of gazers, whose impertinence equaled his own. Minerva, knew then
that Senor Velasquez had found her out in spite of her disguise.
Indignation fired her blood—~her passion made her walk the floor
fiercely with clenched hands, and the often reiterated exclamation—
“ He shall not insult me thus! What right has he to invade my
privasy '1 I will not he known—I defy him—I defy them all—I will
outwit them all.”

It occurred to her then to form some other plan, and she sat down
to deliberate. Her money she always carried with her, save a little
placed away in case of emergency. She essayed to take it from her
pocket, Where was her pocket? She surely had it when she went
out—it was gone. Looking more closely she perceived that it had
been skillfully out. away—the cup of her trouble had received the
one drop more. A tliet‘ had abstracted it and she was nearly penni-
less. No words can express the blank misery with which this new
and aggravating trouble filled the mind of the friendless gial. With-
out money what could she do? Where g‘o? None to apply to, save
those whose interested motives she could not fathom. Fortunately
she remembered that she had paid nearly a month's rent in advance,
so that at least she should not be turned out upon the street, home-
less and houseless, But the prospect before her was, oh ! how
dreary ! Her supply of neeemary food was exceedingly limited—
she had been intending to replenish the meager store, but had put it
off from day to day, and now it Would take nearly all she possessed
to refit her larder. That night, after dark, she stole out for a few
moments and bought her provisions, determined to keep herself in
strict seclusion, and preserve her incognitio at all risks.

C II A I’ T E R X I.
The HOME or “mum GOREIIAM-

A rum, white farm-house, nestling down amid trees of a canto. V
, "’3 growth, surrounded by noble orchards and fields, whose grassy
billows were always in gentle unrest, overlooking a sparkling trout

\

   

  

   

62 ms rnrsomcs or LA vmrsnssn.

stream; in the rear the solid granite hills, with here and there silre!
tubes of water laid along their rough sides. Such was the home of
old Farmer Goreham, or, as he was better known, honest old Ben.

Nothing Was wanting to complete the picturesque efiect of this
woodland home scene. The well, with its gray mosses mingling with
brown, and its high-curved sweep was there; the garden, with its
borders of lilacs and roses; its full-seeded sunflowers, browning in
the summer heat: its crowing hens, and brooding chickens; itl
bright array of milk pansand cans, its great white and black dog,
in leather collar, stretched along,his bushy head on his right t'ortpaw,
and the eyes looking up now and then, with almost human intelli«
gcnce; the long entry, dark and yellow, spotted with straw mats of
snowy whiteness; every thing bespoke comfort, neatness, and a far-
mer’s rude wealth. The rooms were nearly all of the quaint pat-
‘m‘ny lill'ge, high-celled, and heavily—corniced, with oaken framing,
and but one was fitted up in modern style. This was the front room
on the east side of the dwelling, anal rejoiced in a carpet of rich pat-
tern and coloring; a pianoforte, two or three couches,a beautiful
desk of some West India wood, and chairs massive and polished.
Here might often be seen little Jessie Gorehani, the fair lily of the
family, her soft, light hair braided about a brow of surpassing
whiteness; her blue eyes wandering dreamin from object to object;
her little fingers busily plying knitting-needles, or touching the
notes of the piano, her father‘s birth day present. When she play-
ed after the day‘s work was done, Farmer Goreham might always be
found outside of the parlor—door on the broad straw settee, handker-
chief over his face, listening to every music-dropping note. Honest
Ben stood six feet and four inches. lie was a powerful, swartlly-
brewed, and handsome man; had been a. hard, earnest worker, and
as laborious a. thinker. Authors of wondrous research stood upon
the shelves in his library; books that were born of and for capacious
and far-reaching intellect were his daily study; His wife was what
would be called a gentle, ladylike woman, t'amous for her housekeer
ing qualities, and noticeable for her great reverence for her tall hus-
band They had but two children, Jessie and llerman, their pride,
and their greatest earthly blessing,

It was a pleasant, red twilight,just after a refreshing shower.
Mrs. Goreham was walking,r reflectiver through rows of early pears,
all put up in baskets as white as drifted snow.

“ Sarah,” she said, to a red-checked girl, “ I know Mrs. Wise at
the hotel would like seine of these pears; suppose you pick out a
hand basket full, and carry them up in the morning.”

“ 1’11 do so," said the girl.

“ And don‘t let any thing happen to the eggs again—you brokt
three this morning. Not that I care for the eggs, but your habit!
Ire somewhat careless, and I wish you to correct them. ’:

“ Yes ’In,” said Sarah, demurely.

In the door-way, watching the great piles of drifted clouds, stood

 

 
  
 
 

 
   

 
    

    

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58

  
  

FIVE MONTHS AND NO LETTER.

  

leads and her father. Both of them were a touching sadness in
cheek and eye. The mother, as she looked at them, grew sad also,
gen to tears, for she took out her handkerchief, and silently wiped

r e es.

“ 'fihere he is,” said Jessie, in a low, almost broken voice.

“ And no letter, I fear, from our poor boy,” said honest Ben, a!
he watched the motions of the coming lad with eagle eyes.

The boy came nearer—handed a letter; the father took it, and
lhook his head as he sighed, “ Not from Herman.” .

“ And nearly five months,” murmured the titrmer’s wife, gently.

“ Yes, nearly five months since we began to wonder whether the E

r boy were dead or alive. Well, Heaven give as strength."

“ We thought so much of him,” mused the fond mother.

“ If we could hear might—but this dreadful uncertainty,” groan-

ed the farmer. .

“Terrible! and in that place where they strangle men with the
garotte, for no offense but that of lOving liberty,” sighed the wife,
in response.

Jessie had crept into the parlor, and opened the lately-unused in-
strument. As she touched the familiar chords, her hands trembled.
and the tears rolled down her pale cheeks.

“ I can’t bear to hear it,” said the old farmer.

“ Nay, father, let the child alone; it soothes her. She feels the
loss as keenly as either of us,” pleaded his wife. “ Ask her to play
for us; it will Cheer her up, poor little thing; and he loved music—
why should not we? Play, Jessie. play, dear," she called, through
the open door; “ one of thy father’s favorites, my child.” SoJessie
sat there, and, by the moonlight, played softly all her father‘s favor-
ite harmonics.

The great corner-clock in the entry struck nine, when there was a
hurried knock at the door. It was the post-boy again.

“I knew you were looking all the time for letters from away,”Ehe
said; “ and so, as this came in late, I made bold to bring it."

The farmer thanked him. His great, brown hands trembled who
took from the case his silver-rimmed spectacles, and fumbled over the
letter long before his eyes rested upon it. He dreaded to read the
superscription. Alas! he was doomed again to disappointment. The
hand was femininer delicate; it was post-marked New York. He
threw it on the table, and turned away impatiently.

“ Oh, father, won’t you read it? What beautiful writing! ” cried
Jessie. -

“ No, I don’t want to read it. It’s an order, likely, for fruit or
butter—it’s nothing that I want to see.”

“ Benjamin, Benjamin; thee must be more reconciled,” said Mrs.
Goreham, who, having been brought up a Friend, used the languagt

1" that sect whenever she felt strongly excited.

“ May I read it, father?” asked Jessie.

“ Yes, read it, child, read it.”

   

  

 

I  PRISONER OF LA VINTRESSE.

Jessxe opened the letter, but she had scarcely read the first dozen
lines, when she uttered a great cry of joy.

“ 0 mother! 0 father! it is of Herman, after all. So wonderful .
still he’s not found; but she—-oh! stop, I’ll read it, you’ll be so as-
tonished—perhaps so delighted—I don’t know; it‘s very sad; ” and
thus, alternating from joy to pathos, she commenced as follows '.

Mas. GOREIIAM—Dear .Madma : I felt toward you the emotion:
of a daughter when 1 first heard my Herman (pardon me, but in
life or death he is still mine,) speak of the virtues of his sweet moth-
er. I should not take the liberty of addressing you thus, though
probably my name is not new to you, were I not driven to the direst
necessity. Your son took passage for himself and me in the bark
Eagle, from Cuba; put me on board, and then returned for some im-
portant matters left behind, and I have not seen him, neither heard
from him from that day to this. Where he is, how dealt with, God
only knows! to that Great Being I have confided him, and await pa-
tiently the result. I am an orphan, far away from my family, who
have conspired cruelly to unite me with a man for whom I have
neither affection or even esteem, and I dare not return, for I am cer-
tain the wicked purpose that has been the aim of their lives would
be put in execution. There are spies surrounding me, so that I am
under the necessity of wearing a constant and disagreeable disguise,
and even under that I fear I am recognized. I must tell you the
whole of my miserable story I have begun. I have‘throwu myself
on your kindness; Imust not shrink, however pride may counsel
me. I am compelled to add, that I have not now, and have not had,
sufficient food to sustain life comfortably. I, who have all my life
had delicacies at my eonnnand, am starving; my only food and drink
has been a little dry bread and water. There, it is told; my tremb-
ling fingers have performed an unwilling task, but what could I do 'I
If it were not for the hope I have of seeing him once more, I would
give way to fainting nature, and die; but my faith forbids, and coun-
sels me to take every needful precaution to sustain life. May I come
to you, if only for a while? I should have been the happy wife of
“your son, if ill fate had not intervened. I can scarcely guide my pen
for weakness and diziness, and can only add, that, if on Thursday
you will come, or send for me—for I have no meansoyou will find
me at a grocer’s on the corner of A and L streets.
Very truly yours,
MINERVA DE Monsmm

 

 

“ The poor child’ ” cried the farmer’s wife, tears in her eyes.

“ Isn’t it terrible, mamma? ” murmured Jessie, her fair face

’ troubled, and her large eyes distended; “it makes me shiver from
head to foot to think of any one sufi'ering, actually sufering for want
of food, and only think of our abundance.”

~" Well, what would you do, mother? ” asked the farmer, hastily

  

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

  
  
   
 
 

    
    

 
  

    

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' would have been the wife of our dear boy.”

 

 

 

 

?

 

WEAK AND DESPAIRING. 55

’Do? take her home here, the poor child; take her right home
Do you go after her, father? she shall find rest here, think! she
Here the‘ mother]:

heart gave way, her voice faltercd and fell; she arose, and hastily
left the room.

“And Herman used to write such beautiful letters about her,”
said Jessie; “ how I long to see her. He told me I should love her,
and I know I shall. Father, is it not strange? What can we do to

76nd Herman? We must go to Cuba, father; we must search from
one end of the island to the other.” Her beautiful eyes were bright
and humid with tears.

“ Yes, yes child; but if they have put him out of the way—these
Spaniards are devils when their blood is hot,” he said, huskily; “ l
wish he had staid at home, the poor boy.”

 

While they were thus talking, Minerva sat in the dininess and
solitude of her own room. Candle she had none, but the moon shone
now and then with a brightness that penetrated even into the somber
corner, and played about her poor, pale face, with its white lips, and
burning eyes. Every day for nearly a month she had known that
the prowling Spaniard walked to and fro before her door, as if fiend
ishly to intimate that go where she would, he should keep guard, and
be in readiness to deliver her, if possible, into the hands of her uncle
This unmanly surveillance on the part of her prsecutor had worn
upon the poor girl, till she had become almost emaciated, and the want
of proper food, added to her constant mental anguish, threatened to
prostrate her with a long and dangerous illness.

Once the man had written to her—she had flung his letter in the
fire. Scores of times he had attempted to see her, but she was reso-
lute, and had never allowed him to enter her d ylr. Weak and despair-
ing, she had give up hope, and looked forwar} to death with longing.
She had even, when the delirium of hunger was upon her, revolved
in her mind the different modes of suicide, 11/ d once she had actually
obtained some charcoal, and closed her days and windows, in the
expectation of putting an end to her Unhappy existence. It is
strange how often, by the morest chance, the contemplation of a
crime becomes suddenly as horrible as it had before seemed plausible.
The simple fact of an humble neighbor, sent at the night-time by an
overruling Providence, with a basin of soup, with the modest ussur
once that she had thought the lady looked ill, and, would relish it,
changed the current of her destiny. The air of the room seemed

fierce and hot; its darkness tomb-like, and Minerva, like one awak-
ing from a trance, rushed to the windows, and, throwing them open,
breathed once more (her tears gushing the while) the delightful air,
murmuring, “ Iwas insane, Father, forgive rre! help me to bear the
burden till thou shalt see fit to remove it."
her relish for more.

This little prayer gavu
Strengthened and COBJHLCJ by the nourish

    

  

  

56 ms msoxnn or LA vmrnasss.

'ment, she still farther supplicated that the Almighty would deliver her
from the power of her oppressors, and arose, feeling a certainty that
in some way help was soon to come. That afternoon she mel'looked
her slender wardrobe. Noticing that there was some rattling sub-
stance in the pocket of an apron, she drew out an old letter, one she
recognized immediately as having been written by llerman while he
was at his home. “ Saratoga ”—the name she had tried so often and
so vainly to remember. An impulse seized her, of which she deter-
mined to take instant advantage. She would write a letter to hil
home-to his mother, and throw herself upon their protection. The
Idea was as suddenly acted upon, the letter written, and sent as cau-
tiously as she could manage it, and now she gave herself time to
think. What the result would he, she did not dare imagine. Some-
times she was bewildered with hope; again, fearing that she might
be deemed an imposter, her heart sank; but be as it might, she be-
lieved that in some way deliverance would come.

The third day, early in the interning, she dressed herself in her
wonted habit, and, taking a few articles with her, set out on her
promised errand. The man at whose shop she rested offered her a
chair, remarking that she looked weary. l-l'e had seen her before,
and doubtless thought her appearance as remarkable as it was un-
ique, so singular was the blending of youth and age in her countenance
—the gray hair, the huge spectacles, the mimic furrows, and the
bright young eyes and lips, full, though not blooming. Trembling,
even shivering as one in an aguc, she sat near the warm sunlight of an
August day, waiting, dreading, hoping—above all, hoping! At the
sound of wheelm how wistfully she looked forth! Now it was the
baker's cart, now a market-wagon—oh! after all her longing de-
sires, was she to be doomed to disappointment? Presently a light Jer-
sey wagon, covered, drawn by a handsome gray horse, came by—
drove more slowly—backed a little. and stopped. Poor Minerva!
her eyes grew dim—she clutched at the counter convulsively. That
face—the handsome, brown, kindly face, so like the son’s. Oh! she
could have shrieked for very joy. It must be for her.

“ Is there a lady waiting here to go out of town ? ”

“ Yes, yes,” cried Minerva, eagerly; he turned, astonished, glanc-

«ing at her narrowly, looked at the small, white hand, now ungloved,

Imiled as he gave another scrutinizing gaze at the oldisl bonnet and
the odd face, and clasped the little fingers in his, locking his lips
together. His eyes shone suspiciously, his lips trembled as he said,
" Are you all ready '! ”

" All ready,” she replied, low and brokenly.

“ Then come,” he drew her arm in his, as tenderly as if he had
been twenty-one, and she a bride, assisted her into the wagon, and

drove ott‘ at a brisk pace. The hunted fawn was free, at least for
the present.

  
    
   
   
  
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
   
    

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r imperative words.

  

A “D! To GO INTO nu COUNTRY.

CHAPTER XII.

TWO ARRIVALS .

Ten minutes had not elapsed, when a lumbering earryail, drawn
a, an impatient, high, black horse, drove also up to the grocer}
flare. A man dresssed in a farmer’s suit of gray, with long hair,
that dangled beneath his hat in glittering skeins, keen, dark eyes,
encased by horn spectacles, and a hand singularly small and well
gloved. sprang out and entered the store.

“ Is there a lady waiting here to go in the country? ” he inquired,
hastily, after a quick scrutiny.

“ You‘re too late, old gentleman,” said the grocer, speaking very
slowly, as he always did when he was busy; “ she‘s gone with the
t’other old man, maybe he was your brother."

“How Long has she been gone 2’ ” queried the man, with short
His manner offended the grocer.

“ \l' ell, it may be halfnn—hmu', it might be five minutes; i don’t

' keep the run of all the people who go out of my shop, the run of

their eustom is all 1 care about,” he replied, slower than befin‘e.
“So much for the cursed lu‘eakage,” muttered the man, as In
wallmi to the door, and scanned first up and down the street. “If

, the rotten shaft had held good, just twenty minutes longer, she

would have been in my possession, now it remains to head her 011' in
that direction, and that will be dillicult."

A! be said this to himself, he had sprang into the vehicle, showing
crew of teeth, glittering and white as milk, while his upper lip,
sham of a recent mustache, proved by his quivering jerks, the agi-
tation of his mind, and the fierceness of his temper.

Meanwhile, the gray had cleared the lower part of the city, before
the old farmer turned his attention from the prospect before him.
Then, when they were past all danger, for the horse was Spirited,
and pricked up his ears at the sight of a bridge or railroad track,
he said, pointing to the bottom of the carriage, “ There‘s a little

’ basket there, mother put me up a few sandwiches and cakes, for, to

tell you the truth, I started without my breakfast. Perhaps you
will help me eat them, it’s not so pleasant to out alone.”

Minerva thanked him, blessing him in her heart for his thought-
fulneu and delicacy, blessing him for the food, for she was hungry.

  

  

    

  

58 m: PRISONER. OF LA VIN’X’RESSE.

“ I must look strange to you, in this disfiguring dress,” she said,
and as she spoke she lifted the bonnet, cap, and false front from her
head. Her own curls fell on the instant in thick masses about her
face, that now, divested of spectacles, though white and thin, was
still youthful and very beautiful.

“ Poor child ! ” said the old man. and there he paused. rl‘he past
crowded on his soul, Herman, his face exultant with love and tri-
umph seemed at the moment shadow—like, to sit beside liis_betr(itlied.

“ You are ill,” he added, a moment after, controlling his feelings;
” how much you must have suffered! but we’ll. 80011 get you_ “P
again in our good country-air, clear and bracing, and my little
Jessie longs to welcome you as a sister.”_

" 0, yes, little Jessie," mumured Minerva; “ he used to speak
of her. How I shall love her l ” H

"“ I want to talk with you about my boy. ‘When We get home,
said the farmer; “ I can’t do it in the noise of these rattling wheels.
But, perhaps, if you have found it necessary to wear your disguise,
it is not prudent to take it off now, even though we are on the road
to the country.” ‘ _ _ _ ,_

“ It seems so pleasant to be free from the odious thing,” said Mr-
nerva childishly, “ but I will replace it, and content myself With the
beautiful fields, the clear sweet breeze, 0h ! how sweet ! ” She Bank
hack in the carriage, and let her eyes rovc delightfully round. llere,
for the time, was peace and content. Herman’s father had believed
he”, she was beside him, how strong and beautiful he seemed ! and,
oh ! to be folded to his heart and called daughter; was that blissful
time ever to he? should she who had been denied so long, know the
blessings of a parental love? Quietly she sat there, too. happy even
to think, wanting to cry out with all her heart at the fresh beauty
0f the scarlet thorn-berry, and the clusters of ripening barberries,
that made the road like a picture, at the yellow hay-stacks in the
fields, flinging invisible censers of perfume, at the cottages and farm-
yards, laughing to herself with an almost infantile glee, as she
thought of Senor Velasquez, pacing back and forth, the self-constituted
sentry over an empty room. Little she dreamed how near she had
been to falling in his hateful power, but the space 0f fifteen minute!
ago. .

That morning was one of excitement and anXIety. at the pleasant
farm—house. It had been impossible for honest Ben .to eat the

nice breakfast, so neatly prepared by his wife, and JeSSie was flut-
tering from mother to fat-her, restless almost to tears. She did cry
u little, when her father set out, and said, with her last kiss, “ Be
sure and bring her. father.” .

Her mother seeing that she grew more nervous as the tune wore
011a planned that she should carry some little delicacy to the _swk lady
'at the hotel, and put up for her some of her choicest fruit. 
Wise had been an. early friend of Mrs. Goreham, and in her sad ill-
noel had wished to be near her. Jessie was an especial favorite with

 

the.

, liar

hon

Int

 

 

 

  

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A darkened chamber.

’ why, who knows. but they may help us find Herman? ”

soon A season) UNIFORM. 59
the jolt woman, and she loved to see the bright, young face in her
Jessie was there perhaps an hour. She came
home brimful of news.

“ Mother what do you think? ” she exclaimed, her voice eager,
her eyes shining; “ who do you think has come to the hotel? ”

.“ Some great'personageJ should judge, by your manner, my
daughter,” was the quiet reply.

“ Yes, a general with a long name, a Spanish general from (Jr: ha,
Ind there’s no telling how rich he is. They say such quantities of
baggage as he has brought, and so many servants ! I saw a chari-
ot myself, or rather, Mrs Wise called it a volante, open; and the

harness glittered with silver and gold, and there was a negro sitting

on one of ,the horses, I declare I never saw such a splendid uniform
- and—’

“ Livery, my child,” said Mrs. Gorebam.

" Oh, yes ! well it was as brilliant as it could be, and such horsrs !
I thought father’s gray was the handsomest horse I ever saw, but
these are both milk-white, two beauties. Then there’s a sister, I
haven’t found out yet whether young or old, and a very hand-
some Spanish gentleman, Mrs. Wise says, though she don’t like his

1-,, ‘

" Well, and what does it all amount to? ” asked the mother, not
at all dazzled by this enumeration.

“ Why, nothing—that is,” said Jessie, slowly, hesitating as she
wound the blue strings of her hat round and round her finger; “ of
course they are people of distinction and wealth, enormous wealth,
Mrs. Wise says.”

“ But there are a great many people of wealth and distinction,
here,” said Mrs. Goreham.

“ Yes, but nobody has made such a sensation, so Mrs. Wise says;
everybody is talking about it, and he has engaged almost a whole
floor, two parlors, three or four bedrooms, and two or three rooms
besides. They have their breakfast carried up to them, for I suppose
they feel themselves too good to eat with the rest of the boarders.
Mrs. Wise says, she heard they carried their priest with them, for
they are all very pious. Oh, dear ! howl should like to See them ! ”

“ Some one is coming, I shall like to see far better,” said Mrs.
Goreham, rising and shaking out the folds of her dress; her quick
car had detected the sound of coming wheels.

“ 0h, patience, me ! yes, I’d almost forgotten," said Jessiegwith
flushed face; “ I wonder who she will look like? I wonder if I shall
like her? Oh, dear!” and Her little face fell again; “these great
people came from Cuba. I almost. hate the name, but, perhaps,

Mrs. Goreham smiled sadly at the ludicrous idea. That these
grandees were in any way connected with the fate of her boy, a plain
Elmer’s son, never remotely occurred to her mind. ~
The wheels were nearer: even father’s voice could be heard speak

 

  

 

    

HIE PRISONER Oi' LA VINTEEBSE.

ing to the boy who tended the gate. The mother fell back a little;

Jessie grew very solemn as the carriage came in sight. At first
only the portly form of the farmer was visible, and Jessie was ready
to cry out with disappointment, but in another moment it was plain-
ly to be seen that a woman occupied the seat behind.

Minerva. had disengaged her uncomcly disguise before she won
handed out. The flush of expectation crimsoned her cheeks--her
yes were eager, large, and bright as diamonds.

“See what I’ve brought you home,” said the old farmer. His
wife received the stranger with open arms, kissed her fondly, pressed
her hand with earnest love. Jessie put her arm around her, think-
ing £0 herself, “ 0h ! how beautiful I I‘m sure I shall love her dear.

I

“ Take her right up stairs, Jessie, daughter,” said her mother,
gazing with yearning fondness on the gentle girl for her son's sake,
“ and when she has rested, both of you come down to breakfast."

It seemed like heaven to Minerva. after her prison-like life, thus
to be brought into genial sunshine, among simple, kindly hearts.
She looked around the large chamber so scrupulously clean—every-
where only white, from bed-hangings to the lilies resting in clear
crystal on the mantel—piece. She looked out—there were no lawns,
no fountains, no ornamental grounds, but the handiwork of the great
God, grander than all the arts of men, was stamped upon crowned
hills, and the blue and amber skies.

“ This is rest,” she said to Jessie, who was as fully occupied as
she could be in gazing her fill at the lovely stranger, and wondering
so heartily where Herman could be. And when they went down
stairs to the simple luxuries spread out before them—the fresh honey,
the stamped butter, the white breaktitst—cakes, Minerva thought she
had never seen so much elegance. Meantime the farmer and his
wife. after consulting together about her, had determined that she
'must still be kept as secluded as possible, and that every means must
be taken to restore the faded bloom to her cheek. That evening, the
thrmer held along consultation with her. He did not dare to tell
either her or his wife that he had just heard how a vessel had hen

wracked ofi the coast of Cuba, at or near the time that Herman had
intended to nail.

CHAPTER XIII.

DOEA’S PROPOSITION.

Buck dunes walked the floor impatiently.

d

_ His arms wev Nul-
and his brow seemed to deepen in frowns at every step. His

 

 
 
  
 

 
    
   
    

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SISTER AND BROTHER 

      
  

  
       
    

6;
st
1, this sister reclined upon a. couch as was her wont, idly toying with
1- er I]

“ Come, Manuel, get a carringe and give me a drive,” she said
I coaxingly, lifting herself a little from the mass of silken velvet.
1- “I’m not in the mood for a drive," was the reply.

“ No—-—I expect as much. You never are in a mood for a drive or
g for anything else, now-n-dnys. 1 never saw such a stupid thing in

   

you have grown to be—pert‘ectly mulish—no, or yes, to everything,

1 nothing more. For my part I wish Minerva. Monsornte had never
i put herself under your horse’s heels, for you‘ve not been the snsnc‘
, man since.”

i “ Be silent, Dore—you talk foolishly.”

l

i

I

     
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
    
  
 
 
  
    
  
 
 
 
 
   

“I talk truth, and you know it. Fie, there are :1. dozen hnnd-_
somer girls than she. I could point them but this minute. Currie
Bradley, why she’s a. perfect Juno, in comparison—Minerm, had but
a milk-nnd-water beauty; and there’s Margaret Holmes, isn’t she
splendid? Either of them I fancy would compensate for the loss
of_,!

“ Silence! " exclaimed her brother, angrily.

“I should like to know who you think you are talking to, sir? ”
said Dora, with such an assumption of' dignity, as she arose from her
seat and threw back her small head, that her brother could not for-
" bear a. laugh in the midst of his passion.

“T0 at foolish little child,” he said good-naturally, “ who does not
know what she is talking about, who can not quite read the thoughts \
even of her own brother.”

‘ “ So foolish, too, that she can’t be trusted with any of her broth
er’s troubles,” suid Dom with some pique. ~

“ Why should I burden you? ”

“ You needn’t; tell me what your trouble is, and I’ll laugh it out
of you,” she answered.

‘9 The troubles of :1 grown man are not so ensin laughed off, my
wise little sister,” was the reply.

" Well, at venture, I‘m certain it’s about that Monsernte,” she.
said.

“It’s about two or three Monsomtcs,” was his rejoinder.

Dom sat bolt upright now. “ Why! are they going to give you
any trouble because she was here? ”

“ Not unless thnt'sneuking Velasquez meddles—but he will."

‘ “ Oh, yes; he owes you n. grudge.”

“ He owes me at dozen.”

“ Well, what can he do? ”

“ That’s just what I don‘t know.”

“ But we needn’t return to Cuba. this year, at least, it we lcn't

wish; they could hardly trouble us.”

" But they are here.”

“ What, the great general here, in New York? "

“ No—the little general with the great name, not in New York
city, but it: Suratogn.”

   

 

 
 
    

       
     

  

   
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
    
  
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
   
   
   
   
   
   
   
        

62

 

m PRISONER OF LA VINTRESSZ.

“Oh! at Saratogu! I wonder if he will marry any one from
there Y ”

gets.

“ Pshaw ! ” ejaculated Dora, with a look of great contempt.-
“ that’s your cry, always. But I see—Velasquez will tell them you
loved her and have secreted her; it might make trouble, especiale
as we have whole trunks full of her clothes."

“ And he will, if I can find no way to prevent it.”

“ Manuel,” asked Dora, after a. thoughtful pause, “ where do you
suppose she is? ”

“ If I knew,” was the gloomy reply, “ you would not need to ask
me that question ”

“ I have sometimes thought that perhaps she grew tired of life,”
mused Dora.

“ No, there were no indications of such a thing,” replied Mau-
uel' “ she loved that fellow who deserted her too well,” he added
with unusual bitterness. ’

“ And Manuel, I have just thought,” said little Dora, with an air
of importance and a. very solemn face; “ how can we tell but Senor
Velasquez has spirited her off and perhaps married her himself."

Manuel paused suddenly in his walk, struck by her words.

“I never thought of it, and he is so finished a villain, too. Iwish
I was certain of her fate,” he continued, traversing the floor again
“ At any rate. my conscience is clear. I have tried every method 1
know of in vain; she has buflled me,” he sighed heavily.

“ I’ll tell you what to do, Manuel.”

“ Well, what?”

“ Go to Saratoga.”

“ Yes, to show you off, he half laughed, half sneereil.

“ I have a fancy to see the general, and oh! if that magnificent
Don Carlos has come, about whom I have heard so much—what
would I not give to have a look at him Y But that is not all,” she
hurried to say— ‘ the step will disarm them of suspicion—they cer-
tainly could not believe that you would leave such a woman in New
York, alone,"

“ There is something in that,” said her brother.

" Then again, it may be that Miss Minerva stole quietly to Cuba,
ropenting of her misdeeds, and for reward, they have brought her to

\Burutogu. ’ ’

“ Your imagination is fertile,” was the reply.

“ Still, you can not say that it might not be. Women have chang-
ed their minds from time innnemorial. I should like to see her. I
never met with anyone who interested me so much on some accounts
If I were you, I’d meet this rich Cuban more than half way, or else
he may demand an explanation, and with your peculiar sentiments.
that may make you appear rather foolishly.”

Manuellooked at his sister in astonishment. He had never known

“ A woman—u woman E ” cried Senor Abrates, snapping his fin-

AAA—In“

"ma
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A cums DANDY. 63

her tobe so voluble on any subject but dress, and now her argu-
ments seemed to carry a weight with them that was by no means to
be despised. He did not know that gratification of self was her
main object, and that nothing is more likely to call for eloquence
than a plea for our own wants, a recital of one’s own wrongs or
pleasures.

“ It strikes me that we will go to Saratoga,” said Manuel after
some moments of thought. His heart leaped at the bare supposition
of meeting Minerva. Monserate He loved her with a true and fer--
vent passion that threatened to be as lasting as it was sincere.

Dora exalted inwardly. To see Saratoga, was the climax of her
traveling ambition. She had heard exaggerated accounts of its fash-
ions, its resorts, its occupants, and her vain little heart fluttered at
the possibility of the sensation and the conquests she might make.
Visions of rich dresses stretched out before her imagination; she was
as ambitious as Senora Manchu herself. It was settled that in three
days at the least‘they would start for the far famed watering-place
Meantime, Manuel engaged rooms.

0 H A P T E R X I V.
THE cums mos AT SARANGA.

A picture of indolence and high-life almost unequaled. A long,
private parlor, gorgeous with upholstery. some of which is imported
expressly for the use of the occupant. The high windows, rich with
hangings of gold~embroidcred lace. A lounge of crimson velvet,
drawn up to the central casement, and reclining thereon in volup‘
tuous elegance, Don Carlos. Nothing could be more splendid than
the oriental magnificence of his costume; it is an emulation of
princely expenditure. It flashes if he litls an arm as if embroidered
with gems. The light trembles from shoulder to hem if he but
moves. An amber pipe, gold—mouthed, and falling in many serpen.
tine folds, is gracefully suspended from his lips. His smoking cap in
of massive gold braid, with perhaps here and there a jewel touching
its points. He is the king of loungers, this Don Carlos, with un-
‘bounded wealth—this heir to luxury.

He has been out today, but no languid and Well~dressed belle was
honored by a seat at his side in the beautiful volante. It has not yet
come to that. The Don uses his gold, brilliant-mounted eye-glass,
'now and then, drawls “ rather pretty." anl that is all. His selfish
heart iesteeled against bright eyes—the charmers charm in vain.
He in watched through closed shutters—watched stealthin through

 

  

64 ' 'rnn PRISONER or LA vmrnssss.

half-open doors. The young fledglings go into ecstasies over him—-

his walk, his air, his bow, his smile, all are perfection Decidedly
he is the lion of Saratoga. And then there is such a romantic story
going the rounds, how he is breaking his heart for some fair lady
who ran away on the night she. was to be a bride—poor man! no
wonder he shuns the sex and keeps so much in solitude. And that
dear little elderly lady! did you notice her laces? Every day some
thing new, and the plainest far more costly than the richest speci-
mens that adorn the arms and bosoms of the fair Americans. What
yellow glances some of those women bestow upon them—deeper than
even the chronic jaundicetinge of the wonderful webs. As for
dresses, the ladies might search their wardrobes in vain to find any
thing that will approach their marvelousness. She is an object of
envy in spite of her diminutive face. and prospective wrinkles. Even
the gold-mounted fan is a talisman in her hand. Who nould hope to
approach that subtle maneuvering that makes every motion a word?
And so that is the aunt of the magnificent don, they say, and her
diamonds fairly blind one.

Don Carlos still smokes and lounges. On an inlaid table near are
the evening papers, Which, by their rumpled appearance, he has
probably consulted. By-and-by he needs something, and calls his
valet, who is in an outer room, to pull the bell-rope. Marques is a
small, yellow man, very handsomely dressed. He walks with dig.

. nity up to the cord, gives it a delicate touch, and retires gracefully.
One of the servants of the house appears.

“ Call my waiter,” says the don, with an air. -

Presently ‘die waiter, a thoroughly black negro, dressed in white,
enters, bowing obsequiously. Don Carlos points to the little gilt
basin in which his pipe rests; it needs replenishing. The waiter,
with another servile inclination, performs his master’s bidding.
This only to give an insight into the private habits of the Cuban lion.

Alittle later General Monserute entered, precisely dressed and per-
fumed.

I “ Well, guardy," said the young man, turning himself a little as
the general threw his delicate frame upon another lounge; “what
have you been doing to-day? ”

“ Searcer any thing of importance," was the reply; “ I am wait-
ing to gather up my force-—we are making an impression now.”

“ Are we? ” queried the don, languidly, casting his eye along his
dressing-gown; “ well, that is what we came for, you know."

“I don’t see as we get any nearer to the matter in hand. This
 Velasquez repeats in his last letter, leaves us where we were

ore.”

“ gen mean that Abrates has concealed her ? ”

‘I 88,!)

" Married her, perhaps,” said the don, in an undertone, his M
growing gray. -
“ Perhaps.”

 

   
 

 

 
    

    

  

 
 

 

 

 
  
 
    
 
 

THE DISGUIBED CLERGYMAN.

“If he has i ” murmured the young man, between his teeth.

“ What .can you do i "

“ At least, kill him,” shouted the don, with ferocity.

A servant came in and handed the general a note, then disappear-

ed.
“ Aha!” cried the general, as he read; “ this brings news. Senorl

Velasquez is below-stairs. ‘ ’

Don Carlos started bolt upright.

“ Let him come up immediately,” he said, taking an easier atti-
tude.

' It was not long before the door opened, and a tall man in the dress .
of a clergyman, entered. He was smoothly shaven, wore his hair
low upon the forehead, and spectacles of a greenish color disguised
his eyes. Both the general and the don expressed by their glances
the utmost astonishment. /

“ We had looked for a friend,” said the general, frowning at this
intrusion as he considered it.

“ And not for an inter-loper,” added the don. haughtily.

The incomer was silent, but with one movement his shining black
hair was thrown back, and the spectacles displaced.

“ Senor Velasquez! " cried the general.

“Hello! old friend,” ejaculated the den, .aughing heartily.
“ Where in the world did you study theology? ”

“ My theology all came out of your books,” said the senor, mil
ing, as be seated himself, “ So you did not know me; Iwas certain
you would not. I flatter myself that few can carry out a disguise
better than myself. Well. I’m glad to see you. So you thought best
to follow my advice, and come here in person ? "

“ We followed the dictates of our own judgment," said the, don,
more coolly. “I intended to come from the first; a slight indisposi-
tion prevented me, however.”

A lurking smile grew deeper on the thin lips of Senor Velasquez.

“ Well, what’s the business? ” asked the don, laying his costly

ipe aside. “ What have you found out—what do you know ? ”

“ I have by letter given you a precise account of my doings up to
the present time," said the Senor. “ I have now only to exonerate
Senor Abrates; she escaped him, as well as myself.”

“ How do you know? ” inquired the den.

“ I have seen her,” was the reply.

“ Where? when ? ” cried Don Carlos, excitedly.

“ Patience, my dear friend,” said the senor, softly; “ I will tell

on the whole story. For some reasons, probably of importance,

norita Monserate left the house of Senor Abrates. I tracked her
to a common boarding-house, Where she had taken rooms under the
name of Smith. For some time I watched her, waiting for an op-
portunity to surprise her; but before that could happen. she had
changed her name again. and her lodgings. For weeks I tried in
"in to obtain an interview with her. I have waited patiently before the

 
 

  

    

/

06 mm museum or LA vm'mnssn.

house in which she was, for hours at a time.
stores and the post—office, but she was too cunning for me. I have every
reason to suspect that she knew me. One day Isaw a boy go from
the house with a letter. I knew then that she would not venture out.
I followed the boy and overtook him. I wished to see the letter—ho
was not to be threatened, I bribed him; he carefully unsealed it, for
the seal was yet wet, and, for a half-sovereign, allowed me to read it.
It was a plan for flight. On a certain day she was to meet the man
to whom she had written, and place herself under his protection.
Thus forewarned, I thought I might outwit her. I obtained country
suit and wagon, and should assuredly have been successful, but for
the breaking of my shafts in going down hill. The accident delay-
ed me nearly half an hour, and I was in the vicinity of no other
carriage. When I arrived there, she had gone. If I had found her—”
he paused here, but “ you would never have seen her,” gleamed in
his crafty eye.

“ Too bad! ” muttered the don. making as if he would walk;
then changing his mind, throwing himself down again, where he
crouched with folded arms, deep in thought.

“ Had you no clue in the letter by which you might trace her? "
asked the don, excitedly.

“ I certainly had,” was the reply.

“ Well, well; where was it ? ”

“I have gone beyond the bonds of my contract already,” replied
Senor Velasquez, evasively.

“ Five hundred dollars for the information,” said Don Carlos:
adding, with a sneer. " you make money on me.” ’

“ That’s the way I live," was the reply.

“I’ll give you a check, now, for the information.”

“ Well, then, she is at this moment not a hundred miles from this
hotel,” was the crafty reply.

“I thought so! ” exclaimed Don Carlos, springing up.
where—where? ’ ’

“ That I must first find out myself,” replied Senor Velasquez.
“ The greatest caution is necessary, now, for she is with powerful
friends. In this disguise. however-,1 hope to succeed. You have, of
course, taken the precaution of entering another name on the
books i ”

“ Yes,” replied Don Carlos; “ the general assumes the name
iAmeyda, and I that of Don Johan—ha! ha! My venerable aunt,
who had the liberty of choosing her own sobriquet, is Dona Marguerite
—-quite fanciful. Our servants are drilled, so there’s no fear, unless
the lady sees our precious faces.”

“ That is all Well; in my ministerial character, I flatter myself I
can Succeed in reaching her presence. This much I have learned,
' that she is in a large farm that is very favorably situated for the
mp0” of abduction; for it must, I fear, come to force at last.

ve me alone to manage by what artifice I can best serve your pur

“ But

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PREPARATIONS TO VISIT WASHINGTON. 

£000. In the mean time, we are to have two more of our frieudl
ere. Senor and Senorita Abmtes."

“ How do you know that? ” inquired the don.

“ Their names are booked. Idon’t doubt but that they will 1!
here to-day.”

“ I remember the little senorita,” mused Don Carlos; “ she was I
pretty little thing. and quite took my fancy. Of difl'erent stuff
from Senorita. Minerva, she would allow caresses; while my littll

laymate (a shadow crossed his forehead), what a. life she led mo
lut I will show her yet whose turn it is to be master.”

0
C H A P T E R X V.
ms VISIT T0 WASHINGTON.

Mnmnva was now comparatively at peace. llonest Ben was pro-
paring fora journey to Washington. llehad always promised J essiI

 

 

 

 

. that if ever he visited the capital of the nation, she should accom-

pany him. A brother of the old farmer held a seat in the national
legislature, and he had often expressed a hope that the old man
might come on, and bring Jessie, to get acquainted with her cousins,
whom she had never yet seen. Jessie was all in a glow of hope when
she heard her father’s proposal, but dared not appear too anxious,
lest it might not seem quite courteous to their new friend; but when
her father said, “ Well, Jessie, what do you think about going with
me? ” she exclaimed, “ ()h! I should like it above all things.”

“ But it will not be quite polite to leave Miss Mouserate alone in
‘this old farm-house.”

“ Don‘t regard me a moment,” Minerva; “ I beg you will not.
I should feel quite unhappy if Jessie staid at home for me. Go with
your father, my dear Jessie, and God prosper his mission.” y

“ I’ll raise heaven and earth but what I find something about my
boy,” exclaimed the old man, ferVently.

His wife’s eye glistened with u. tear as he said this, though at the
lame time she gently rebuked his vehemence.

“ Well, Jessie,” she said, stooping over her fondly, “ futner goes
this day week; so get ready.”

Never bird flew more cheerfully about its nest, than Jessie around
the house, gathering up her little finery. There were purchases to be
made; a hundred dollars were put in Jessie’s little hands, at which
Che locked in unfeigned astonishment.

“ I shall not want half of this,” she said; “only think—on.
hundred dollars ! it seems so much to spend at one time.”

 

 

  

 

THE PRISONER OF LA VINTREBSE.

Minerva. laughed quietly. “ [used to give more than that for out
dress alone,” she said; “ but as I look at it now, after having want-
ed for a dollar, it does not seem right to spend money that way.”

“ More than that for one dress '. ” exclaimed Jessie; “ why,pray,
how much did that cost? ”

“ Oh! it cost three hundred and fifty dollars for the material
n‘one. It was what they call a kineoh, of East Indian manufacture;
thick silk, worked all over with gold thread. But my uncle paid for
all these things. I remember his getting me a muslin once. so very
fine that it looked like a web, and, in fact, when wet, could not be
seen at all. It was very expensive and beautiful.”

“‘ Why ‘. how wealthy your uncle must have been ! ” exclaimed
Jessie. whose hundred dollars seemed now quite insignificant.

“ Yes,” Minerva replied in her quiet way; “he was, I expect,
immensely rich.”

“ And so is this old Cuban general at the hotel.” Jessie turned
quite pale. She had been forbidden to mention the arrival in the
presence of Minerva. I

The latter looked up, a startled query in her eyes. Seeing the
confusion in Jessie's face, her white lips trembled out the question—
“ For heaven’s sake, what do you mean, my friend? A Cuban

' general in Saratoga? Then it must be my uncle. He has found
that I am here. 0, where shall I go now? ”

. At that moment the farmer’s wife entered. Seeing Minerva un—
wontedly agitated. she inquired the reason, and was quite displeased
with her daughter's thoughtlessness.

“Was your uncle’s name the same as your own? ” she asked
Minerva.

“ Yes. Monsanto—General Limenes de Monserate,” said the
trembling girl.

“ Then make yourself easy, for that is not the name. This is
General Ameyda, and the young man with him is Don Johan. Fa-
ther went to the hotel, last night, so do not trouble yourself. Be-
sides, if it had been your uncle, he would in all probability have
rented a cottage, and kept himself in strict privacy, no, I do not
think it is.”

Somewhat reassured, Minerva volunteered to aid Jessie in her
needlework, for the time was short, and there was much so do; bu‘
throughout the day, at intervals, the sickening thought would recur
that perhaps she was within the reach of her enemies. and she sh ud-
dered at the sound of carriage—wheels, however distant, or at the
tread of a footstep, and on no account could she be left a moment
alone. The impression had more than once crossed her mind that
these new comers were really her uncle and the den under assumed

.,names, and she felt at all times an almost irrepressible desire to see

hr herself. to know and be prepared for the worst. The days went '

on as usual, however, Minerva allowed herself but limited recreation.
and was/then always accompanied by the farmer and his daughter.

     
    

 

 

 
 

 

  
   
 
 
 

    

  

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for

 

 

m nsv. mn. nouns. 69
besides Bruno, a splendid Newfoundland dog, to whom the lonely
girl had become strongly attached, and who seemed to reciprocate
her affection. The farmer had made arrangements with his head-
garduer to remove to the house with his wife while he should be
gone, and gave him strict charge respecting the young Cuban girl.

“It was the sabbath, the next day the farmer was to start for
Washington, and all things were in readiness. The trunks strapped
and locked, were in the hall. Jessie’s neat gray traveling suit.
with its little linen collar and sleeve-bands, lay in the spare-chamber on
the bed, all ready for her to tuck herself into. Jessie was looking
very grave as she entered the carriage to go to church; it made her
think of that prospective journey so near at hand, but when she
came home, she was marvelously talkative. There was a minister in
the pulpit she said, a handsome-looking man, only he were such
odious green spectacles, and after church, he spoke to her father,
and asked him if he had not a son, a young man, of perhaps
twenty-four or five. “ You may imagine how father felt." added
Jessie, volubly: “he answered, ‘ Yes,’ and looked so sad! just

1 ready to cry. The minister then went on to say, that he knew father
by his great likeness, and that he had cause to remember Herman,
for he saved his life when they wcic together in a steamer, cruising
among the West India. Islands. You know Herman has been every-

 

 
 

where,” she added, turning to Minerva, who listened with breath.
less interest. “ Well, he went on to say, that he had a terrible at-
tack of cholera, which was then raging in several of the islands, and
that Herman stood over him a whole night and a part of the next
day, and it was owing to his unremitting exertions that he was now
alive. You can‘t think how father grasped him by the hand, and I
do believe he couldn’t speak for wanting to cry. Then he told about
Herman, and the man clenched his teeth together, and declared that
he would under any thing for that young man, that noble, self-
sacrifieing young man, he called him. He asked what he could
do, and told father to command him in any way. Father asked
him to dinner, but he said Mr, Calderon, ‘ our minister,’ ” she
added, turning to Minerva, “ had invited him today, but he
would call on you, mother, this week, he has ever so many little an-
ecdotes to tell about that ‘ noble young man.’ ”

“ I shall be very glad to see him,” said her mother, gently; “ or
any one that can give me any news of my dear boy.”

The day passed pleasantly, and the half-joyful, half-dreaded Mon

 

   
 
 
 
 
 
 

day had come. Jessie’s little heart was so full, that ‘ier leave-taking
was quite mournful, while even the good farmer’s “ take care of
yourself," as he touched the lips of his wife, anl pressed the hon l
of his guest, was almost inaudible.

Thus the farmer’s wife and Minerva were quite alone till noon.
Then came the gardener, a stout, burley man, with a wife as stout,
but looking better natured than himself, both able from all appear-
ances to protect a houseful from any felonious:l attack, she with tongue,

' 11

 

   

  

   
 

TEE PRISONER OF LA VINTRESSE.

and he with muscle.
companied always by Mrs. Goreham, and the dog Bruno.
hing, when they came home, just at dusk, they found a stranger in
the parlor, who gave his name as the Rev. Mr. Secales. and whom

Minerva continued to ramble cautiously, Be-
One eve:

Mrs‘ Goreham recognized instantly by Jessie’s description. Minerva,
as was usual with her when any one came, took her seat in a recess
and showed a very visible disinclination to he noticed, or even to
speak. She had caught a glimpse of a dark face, the eyes covered
by spectacles, but the impression, slight as it was, was not favorable.
She knew to—night, however, that he was talking of Herman, and
strained her attention to the utmost that she might listen. But tth
tones of his voice so soft, so silken, so monotonous, struck unpleas—
antly the vibrative chord in her heart. She did not ask herself why;
indeed, she was scarcely conscious of the feeling, so occopied was her
mind with various matters.

“ It is getting quite dark, I will order lamps.
ham. . .

“ Oh, if it makes no difference to you, madam, it charms me to
sit in this soft, meditative twilight. I dislike the garish lamp, and
you may see, perhaps,” he touched the spectacles, lightly, “ that I
have a sufficient reason. Five years ago, I was sun-struck, and in
coanuence, I suffer much with my eyes, indeed my sight is quite
inditicrent,” he added, pathetically; “ I fear that in time I may
lose it altogether.”

The words and the voice drew much upon the sympathies of the
two listeners.

“ I presume you have many fine walks around here,” he said a,
moment after.

“ Very many,” .\lrs. Goreham replied; “ we of the house, how-
ever conliue ourselves to the farm. We have several pretty copses,
and Mr. Gorehani has laid out private roads that are well shaded, so
that we never have need to use the public highway, except for the
carriage. ‘ ’

“ How large, may I inquire, is your farm, Mrs. Goreham ? ” ask-
ed the stranger. “ I am making a few statistics, as I go along, for
my own private journal.”

“ This west part of it, thrown into fields, woodland, and grazing
ground, comprises some two hundred acres, the southerly part, un-
der cultivation. is about forty acres, 1 think,” replied Mrs. Gore-
ham, unsuspiciously. “.\1r.Uoreh.nn has arranged a very pretty
park, that opens from the public promenade, which he used to throw
open for visitors to the place, but they did so much duuage to his

' choice trees, that he closed it up a year ago, and only now and then,
on application, allows a few persons, of whose principles he is sure,
to enter.”

Minerva had risen and left the room.

1)

said Mrs. Gore-

“That young woman is your daughter, I presume,” said the .

stranger, looking after her.

“ Still, I do not see the resemblance to
your son-"

 

 

    

 

 

‘er—(HO

I

ms ".1qu KEY or run GARDEN. 71

“ Oh, no! my daughter and my husband are both in Washington,"
said Mrs. Goreham, quickly; “this young lady is a friend of Jes-
eie’s.”

“ Your husband has gone on business connected with your son’s
iisappearance, I believe? will he remain long? ”

“ Not more than two or three weeks,” was the reply. “ last I
lave almost given up all hope of my son’s safety. Several circum
ltances have occurred to make us apprehensive that there has been

'4 hul play somewhere.”

“It is very sad, very sad,” said the clergyman; applyinga snowy
handkerchief to the rim visible around his spectacles.

“ He was a most noble specimen of manhood. ’l‘h-iuks to him that
I am alive. I am really grateful to add also, though I hope you will
not think it egotism in me, that I was so fortunate as to save him
from the wrath of a Danish governor, once, who, for the breach of
some trivial etiquette. W  he thought .‘slx. Gui-01mm llel intention-
ally committed, tin-satchel him with pr sun, and l knmv not what
other extremes. Very fortunately, I belonged to the same secret or
der with him, and by my making it known, added to other interfer
ence, your son was set at liberty.”

“ I thank you,” said Mrs. G'.‘:‘Ull mi, holding out her hand.
, courtesy shown to my son, I «A miller as shown to me.”

The man arose to go. Just then, the moon nearly at its full, threw
- its soft light across the room, enveloping the stately figure of the
stranger, with a misty. ti';xii-ilous light.

“ I trust, madam, I am not asking too much, when I say it would
gratify me exceedhrfly to walk over your grounds, at my liberty.
Pray do not consider me bold, but I have heard much of their beau-
ty-51
“ With the utmost pleasure,” said Mrs. Goreham, whose heart was
overflowing toward the reverend friend of her son; “ You shall have
our own private key." She drew a bunch from her pocket, and
slipping otf the largest, handed it to him. At that very instant, as
t ,he grasped it, samcwhat over-eagerly, in his long, white fingers, it
'. occurred to her that she might be doing a very imprudent thing.
But there was no danger, at least, from this saintly personage. and.
u for Minerva, she should know nothing about it.

The stranger moved away in the moonlight. Once he turned,
‘ Ihowing his glittering teeth as he laughed, muttering, “ Two weeks
[mustmake hay whee the sun shines; I must be on the watch.
3 light and day; and I ’0 ill Now for the hotel.”

 

“ Any

 

 

 
   

_ southern eyes! Besides, she was the most gracefulcreature that ever

 

m museum or 14 runs".

SHAPTER XVIL

THE BELLE 0F SARA’I’OGA

Buomm Don was the belle of the Saratogs company. At he! ,
very first appearance, the reigning beauties poled and grew envious. t
80 innocent her face, and yet so capable of passion, those dark. ,

practiced attitudes, till they became a part of her very being. As
with all Spanish. women, her fan was the ruling charm. Donn:
Mancha. used hers delightfully, but Dom mvishingly. To mark the
wrist, white and delicate as a snow-flake, bend about the glittering .
stem, now poised with gleeful motion, now raised in gentlest aban-
donment, new filling so helplessly! It was a study to see her use it
for the purpose of coquetry, very charming, better than smiles, false
lips, and honeyed words.

Dora had been domiciled. a week, and at once had conquered what
all the rest had sighed for in vain, the attention of the great Cuban
don. He confessed to himself, that she had grown marvellously
handsome since he saw her last, it would be no harm, surely, to flirt
with her a little.

Doro. sat in her chamber, examining wtih mute attention a bouquet
of lovely flowers. Her brother entered, flushed and hurried.

“ Ah, ‘Don Carlos sent you those.”

“ Don Johan,” she said, roguishly.

“ I forget, though he gave me a stabbing glance yesterday when <
I carelessly called him by his lawful name. Well, Dora, it seems to
me you are progressing.”

“ How? ” Dora. held a blushing flice down close to the flowers.

“ How! why do you ask? Can’t I See '1’ can’t everybody see? Does
he look at, speak to, in any way notice the rest of the throng? 1
tell you, you have won him, if you are careful.”

“ Oh, no,” said Dora. thoughtfully. “ You remember what be
his come for; he will. never relinquish her. Would you? ”

“ Never; but he will. It is not love alone, but spite is well, that' "
urges him on. I can see that he will ultimately try to win my pret-
ty little sister. What a match! the richest fellow in all Havana.’

“ 0h, nonsense, Manuel; " but, nevertheless, a triumph-glance
gave new luster to her eyes. “ Ah! I see,” she added, quickly;
“ you want the coast clear, you. are thinking of our run-away guest.
Selfish brother, mine !” .

  

 

1

    

mmnmo For. m mm. 73

  
 
   
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
   
   
 
     
  
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
    

It was his turn to blush, and the red blood showed through the

:‘ dark cheek.
“ Dora,”_he said, half whispering; “l have heard that she is
here.” .
“ Actually, here! in this house,” cried the girl springing up glee<
fully.

“ No, no, not so fast, but she is in Sarutogu; and I wonder if you
could not help me find her out? ”
“ If I find her, it will be for Don Carlos, of course,” she whis-
per-ed.
5., .l “ Then I shzm’t trust you—I will try myself. By the way, you
,1", , have a partner provided for to-night, I see,” he added, as he notic-
rk, ' ed a gilt-edged billet upon the table. " That is good, for I wish to ’
veg ' be away reconnoitering. I hope you will enjoy yourself,” be said,
A. going to the door.

an , “ And I wish you all manner of success,” was the playful rejoin-
he der.

n3 Doro. then called for her maid, and an hour was idled away choos-
_n. ‘ ing dresses for the night.

i it “ I Wish I dared wear one of Senora Minerva’s splendid dresses,"

[as said Dora; “ there is nothing like them here.”

'“ And why not, pray? ” asked Coco, flippantly; “ her trunks are
at here."

m ’-‘ He might know—or that little eyed senoritu.”

1y “ Pshnw! men never remember. Besides, it will look differently
fl upon you, and you can change the trimmings. Do wear the blue
and gold; you will look like a queen.”

at - “ I wish I dared,” murmured the vain girl.

Meantime, Coco had opened the trunk, and there it lay with its
superb laces—the beautiful thing by which Minerva heel set so slight
value.

1 ~ “ Oh! I shall look so well! Take it out and try it on, Coco.
:1 When one does change from simplicity, one might as well change for
splendor. There! ” she added, as she surveyed herself in the glass,
, “ it fits as if it were made for me. I will run the risk—I will wear
5 . it.”
1 A murmur of delight greeted the entrance of the young Spanish 1
irl, as she came in, leaning on the Min of the magnificent Cuban.
9 , ' ‘he general’s brow darkened. Donna Manchu felt in her old heart
the revival of jealousy of her youth and beauty. Under many a
t. L mile a. dagger of envy was concealed, ready to destroy.
. “ It seemsto me he takes a great funey to you maid,” whispered
the withered senoru to her brother, the general. .

“ 0b! 110;” replied the latter, not betraying the uneasiness he
felt, " she is a countrywomun. One always feels difierently towards
them):

3, “ Yes, I should judge so by his manner. He will tuke no other
dad] out to-night. Really, they are a handsome couple, and how

w

 

  

74 THE pmsonrm or LA vm’mnssn.

richly she is dressed! Where have I seen a brocade like that ? oh!
yes, Minervo’s kinoob—thnt must be a kinceb—only I remember
Minerva had light blue trimmings, and those are dark blue.”

The generul had not listened to this dissertation—4w was all eyes,
watching his word narrowly, and when at the close of the dance he
saw him lead the pretty creature out on the veranda, his lips grew
peevish.

“ It must not be, it shall not be," he muttered; “ it would ruin
me.”

Meanwhile the Don promennded up and down the sheltered gallery,
Dora. hanging on his arm, tossing her titn up in a bewiteliing way,
and catching it again, while the nloonbeiuns, quivering all over her.
made the gems like white flome upon her throat and arms.

“ So you’ll not return to school again,” said the Don lightly.

“ Oh, no, indeed. After I have seen all I run of this merry com-
pany, I shall go buck to dear Uubn.”

“ And whose heart will you leave aching here? This young and
passionate America does not stint in its admiration of beauty,” he
said, softly.

“ Whose heart? 01;! as the girls used to say at Madame Zeig
ler’s, ‘ I care for nobody, nobody cures for me.’ "

“ Can you say that with truth 2* ” asked the Don, bending more
closely to her.

“ With us much truth as such questions merit,” she answered, un-
conscious of the rebuke implied.

“ ()h! I beg your pardon,” he said, lmnghtily.

“ Indeed, you have no need to,” she replied, with schoolgirl urch-
ness; “ And I will tell you truly, thut I have left no nehing heart
here—that I know of."

“ Ah! some arrows wound at random,” s-tid the Don, growing
more and more sentimental; “ and are none the less fulal because
they are shot carelessly.”

“ You are poetical,” snid Dom, misehievously. ,

“ [low can I help it! The moonlight, the music, and you,” he
said, expressively. “ Before you come I was not inspired."

“ 011! Don Jonnn,” she cried, reprovingly, then hesitated.

“ Well ! ” he said, impatiently.

" How can I help listening to the romantic story that is going the
rounds. Every lady tells it in detail, and I happen to know more
than all the rest.”

A short emphatic “ well,” followed.

_“ Why, the story goes that you are looking for a lost love,” sh:I
said, with admirable simplicity. “ But I need not speak of what

r others say. I have both seen and known her. Indeed, I think her
very beautiful, Senor Johan.”

The Don was silent n. moment. I don’t know but in spite of his

“Inflation, he conld have shaken her a little for this untimely pita!

of gossip.

 

 

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I'LIRTATION.

“ You speak of Senora? Monserate,” he said. quietly.

“ Yes, she was very lovely.

“ You thought so ’I ”

“ Of course I did; and you know so.”

“ I have seen lovelier,” he said, thoughtfully. The little min:
beside him trembled. She only wanted to be sure that he did not

’ love this rival—then!

“ Yes; I fancied once she was perfection,” he added, in olow,
smothered voice; “ but I have changed my mind. Senorita, if she
were here to-night and you were by, I would dance with none but

H
“ 0h ! senor, do not talk in this way to me,” said the vain little

I creature, her voice tremulous, but with exultation.

“ If you say it is displeasing to you, senorita, I will not.”

She was only silent.

“ Then, since you do not forbid me, I will add that it would have
made me very unhappy if you had.”

“ If I had answered you? ”

“ If you had forbidden me —- yes. I should have been unhappy."

“ The night air is chilly,” whispered Dora.

“ But you did not! ” emphatically said the Don. As they en.
tered the hall, they almost stumbled over the little figure of the gen-
eral. Had he been listening? Perhaps not; he was surely going
toward the assembly-room.

“ Ah! guardy—were you looking after me ? " asked the Don, sus-
piciously.

“ I was about to find you,” answered the general in a surly voice;
“ somebody is waiting for you.”

“ Ah! and who is that somebody? Let me lead the senorita to a
seat, and [will join you again.”

When the Don came out, the general stood moodin in the door-
WB . .

5 Well, who is it? ” queried the Don in his old, curt way.
“ Velasquez.”
“ Ah! couldn’t he thrust his clerical visage upon us some other

. night, as well 'I Where is he ‘I "

“ In my room; Ihad him shown there. And look here, Carlos.

 don’t trust too much to that man.”

“ What! you grown suspicious? ” laughed his ward.

“ Yes, I confess I think the man a rascal. I deemed it best just
to say to you, don’t leave too much in his hands.”

“ Oh! thank you—well—”

“ And Carlos—"

‘ Johan,” whispered the Don.

Johan—then—you—I—oonfess I don‘t like your intimacy with

that portionless senorita; and, I beg your pardon,” he said, humbly.
fleeing the flashing eyes of the Cuban; “ but they talk of it.”

“ They. who? ”

‘

 

76 m rnisomzn or LA vm'rnssss.

“ Everybody. They say she has thoroug'hly infatuated you."

An imprecation burst from the lips of the Don.

“ You know where my hopes are placed,” said the general, pan
thetieally. “ I do not think you would wrong one who has done so
much for your interests.”

“ Pshaw‘. ” said the young man, impatiently; “ can I look at no
one else? Must I taboo my eyesight? ”

“ No, no; I was only afraid—”

“ Do not be afraid of me, guardy; therets not the least reason.
I’ve been too long on this track to give it up for any small Aime,”
said the Don, for some reason smothering his anger. “ All I wish it
for you to contradict any such assertion flatly. And, futhermoro, 1
shall flirt with whoever I please.’ ’

“ Surely, surely,” said the general; “ no one can dehar you from
that privilege; butI am glad, from the bottom of my heart, that it
is nothing more than a pastime. I was fond of such things in my
youth. I don’t want the blood of that American on my hands for
nothing,” he muttered, savagely, as the Don broke away and hur-
ried up the stairs, impatient to have the interview with Senor Velas-
quez over, that he might join Dora down in the ball-room.

 

CHAPTER XVII.
A rva’rs ARRANGEMENT.

DON CAsLos entered the private parlor with less alacrity than was
his wont when about to meet Senor Velasquez. lIe paused for a mo-
ment, struck with the altered bearing of the man. ‘* What an ad-
mirable Jesuit! ” he thought.

Senor Velasquez was leaning over a huge folio that lay open be-
fore him, his whole attitude and demeanor that of a humble, sacri-
ficing clergyman.

“ The demure hypocrite! ” was Don Carlos’ next thought, “ if he

 

deceives others, he’ll deceive me for a consideration.” He walked
more firmly; the senor straightened himself. Don Carlos exclaimed
as usual, “ Well ! ” ‘

“Good news! the very best. Ihave found her,” exclaimed the
man.

“ The senorita, you mean 't ” said the don. with a little frown.

“ Your pardon; I mean Senorita de Monserate. She is on a farm
not two miles from this place.”
“ Well? ” echoed the don.
“ I humbly await orders,” was the response.

 

 
    

 

    
 
   
   

il

I \Il‘fi‘aoD

 

ms rwo coxsrmrons. 77

“ You say you have seen her? How did she appear? ”

“ Very happy; entirely contented,” replied the cunning senor,
delighted, as he marked the effect of his words on the darkening
brow of Don Carlos. _

“ Where is she? ” he asked, shortly.

“ At the house of her—I beg pardon—at the home of Farmer
Goreham—a man of much wealth, Isuspect.”

“ I thought as much,” muttered the den, his hate of Los Amer-
imnos gaining the ascendency again.

“ I have further learned that the old farmer has gone to Washing-
ton to get up sympathy and an expedition for his missing son.”

“ He has! ” Don Carlos set his teeth together. “ Then ’tis time
something was done.”

“That is my view of the matter,” said Senor Velasquez; while
the don seemed deep in thought.

“ You are sure she don’t know you? ”

“ Very sure; she rarely looks at a stranger, however—she is sus-
picious. Perhaps you would like to hear how I have managed? ”

“ No, no!” replied the don, impatiently; “ none of the math“
operandi for me. It was to escape that that I hired you. Now we
have got to think how to act next, and, I confess, my brain is at
fault.”

“ Perhaps you had better leave it with me; Ihave thought of a
plan, if you will hear it.”

“ Not now, senor. On second thought, I will leave it with you;
and here is a little keepsake that will, perhaps, help you out; " he
placed a roll of bills in his hand. “ She must, at all events. return
to Cuba. I’ll punish her, at any rate,” he muttered, under his
breath.

“ Yes, I had supposed that—I have arranged for that; it was my
first thought; and, to«niorrow, I shall go direct to the city to engage
a vessel. It is necessary that I should act with dispatch.” '

“ Just go upon your own credit, then, and spare me the whys and
wherefores," said the don, impatient to get below stairs. “ Remem-
her, I leave every thing to your sagacity. So, good-night, and come
to me if you need help.” .

t‘ Cool,” muttered the senor, as the don hurried away; “ the ru-
mor is, after all, true, I imagine. Good, so much the better for me."

He glided quietly down the stairs; stood a moment searching the
gay room below, till he caught sight of a glittering couple who had

 eyes and ears, too, only for themselves; then, with that strange,
.lneer'mg Smile, he left the hall, and hurried away, intent upon vil~

lainy.

The next day, as the captain of the bark Aspinwall (a vessel lying
at one of the New York piers) sat in his cabin. writing, a formal.
looking man, attired in clerical style, called upon him to engage a
passage to Cuba.

“ I had not thought of taking any cabin passengers this trip,” the

 

  

    

78 V m 1-3130“: or u vmmnssz.

captain said, doubtfully. “ We are not exactly prepared, as we are
ing only with merchandise.” ‘ \

“ That will make no difference, replied the man, drawing from his
pocket a purse heavy with gold. “I find that your 'vessel leaves

ere sooner than the steamer sails, and that she is a clipper-bark, and
a very fast sailor. I am placed in somewhat peculiar circumstances
having in charge the (laughter of a very dear friend, and who is un-
fortunately laboring under a slight attack of insanity. She left her
family in Havana, and with only money enough to pay her passage,
came to this country. Fortunately she met with friends, who saw at
once what her condition was, and attended to her wants, placing;
themselves immediately in communication with her parents, who were
almost distracted; both being ill on her account. I was immediately
apprised of the fact, and provided with sutficient money to meet all
expenses, for her parents are the wealthiest people in Havana, and
she an only child. Thus you see how I am placed; and, feeling for the
agony of my friends,1 wish to dispatch the business with all possible
celerity. I think we must sail with you; as for ship-stores, I can lay
in enough for her wants and my own. ShallI engage state-rooms? ”

“ The case is an urgent one, I confess, and makes a strong appeal
to my humanity ; still, the idea of having a lunatic on board is not
pleasant. She’ll try to jump overboard or kill herself, or somebody
else, and then there’ll be the deuce to pay.”

“ I stand ready to be responsible if any violence is attempted, but
on may make yourself perfectly easy on that score. She is not by
ny means dangerous; a mild melancholy is the chief symptom in her

case. She labors under the delusion that all who attempt friendliness
are her enemies, and she is chiefly anxious to impress upon every-
body the idea that she is perfectly sane—a favorite ruse with such
persons, you know.” _

“ Yes, yes; I know,” answered the, captain quickly; “but, of
course, you won‘t expect me to run such risks without a considera-
tion 1 ” '

“'Of course not; yvhatevcr your charges are, I will pay them
willingly and on the instant. I wish for the lady the largest state-
room you have; for myself, the usual accommodations willbe sut-
fioient. I am an old voyager. When do you sail? ” ~

“ On Friday of this week,” was the reply.

The man’s olive cheek paletl a little. “ Good Friday,” he mut-
tered' “ it would be the worst of luck to sail on that day. Is it im-
perative? ” he queried, in a little lower tone.

“ Absolutely 1 " was the rejoinder. “ Her papers said Thursday.
but I have been obliged to put off a day.”

“ Another ill-omen,” muttered the. seeming minister.

“ We Yankees regard such signs as of little moment,” said the
Mptain, bluntly; “ They belong to the times when witchcraft
abounded, and they hung a pretty girl for making faces. As far ill ‘

wheknoes, the Aspinwall has never made a poor voyage; her Npll'

 

 

 

WASHINGTON ' 79

cation is up as a first-class go-ahead vessel, and I’d stake a good deal
on her for five years to come, if I were a betting man.”

Still that ominous cloud rested on the Cuban's brow. He had/
'been nurtured in superstitions, that took a strong hold on his imagi-
nation, and that could not now be rooted out. But time was pass-
ing, and the work must he done; every thing, as he had told Dot:
Carlos, depended now upon dispatch. He finally closed his business
with the captain, stating that the young lady would be brought on
board probably near evening; that he should prefer to have a clear
gangway, that her condition might not be suspected; finally, that
being young and beautiful, she might work upon the captain‘s sym-
pathy; but that positively as they would show (be here pointed to
some forged testimonials which he had presented for the captain’s
inspection,) the matter was as he stated it; all of which the captain
readily believed, with the more faith, as he felt the hard gold under
his hand. So, it was settled that on Friday, the Aspinwall would
leave port with three passengers, the Cuban, Senorita Minerva, and
I maid for the latter. -

CHAPTER XVIII.
AN ABDUCTION. ,

Mons than a week had elapsed, and Minerva sat at the window
of her large cool room, reading one of J essie‘s innocent letters. She
was having such capital times. “ 0! Minerva could not begin to
imagine how happy she was. She found that her uncle, though very
rich, was not at all proud,” she said, “ and his daughter’s though
they were educated at the convent (didn’t it seem funny though ?)
were as good Protestants as she was. And oh! she had actually
seen and shaken hands with the president; and had been to the
White House with her cousins, and such an array of splendid dress-
es, fair faces, and noble-looking men, she never saw before. She

“had visited every place of interest, had been to two or three parties,

and oh! she was perfectly wild with pleasure. But the best of the

V ‘ pews, and what she was sure would seem to Minerva more glorious

than all, was, that the men with whom her father held audience,
were to see what they could do in the case of dear Herman. There
had been 3) much fuss of late with fillibusters, and all that sort of
thing, that they supposed he might be imprisoned by the ofhcials of
Havana, or be the victim of private malice; in either case, they
would do what they-could. Then followed words of love and can.-
tion.’so that Minerva sat with tear-filled eyes, quite happy, looking

«

 

 

m m PRISONER OF LA VINTBEBS‘E.

 

out. upon the beautiful prospect. Her faith in seeing Herman age}
had strongly revivednperhaps I should say strangely revived, by In
simple a thing as a dream. She had heard his voice—the tone was
that of gladness. She seemed to be brought to his side as by a'niir-
acle. To her he looked for hope, for help, almost for life. Never
had her heart beat with such mingled emotions as when she
awoke from that vision. She was so happy ! she felt almost an
if wings had replaced her slower powers of locomotion, and she could
hear still the whisper of his voice through the quiet air.

The time was after dinner, nearing three o’clock of the afternoon.
When she had read Jessie’s letter, she hurried into the room of Mrs.
Goreham, who was partially an invalid.

“ Are you well enough to walk, this afternoon? ” she asked.

“ Not quite,” was the reply. “ But don’t stay for me, your exer.
cise is so limited,that I dare not have you give up your walk. Take
Bruno, and I am sure the gardener’s wife will go with you.”

It was a. lovely afternoon, and Minerva longed for the solitude of

i the great oaks, where she was wont to rove. Truth to tell, it suited
her best to be alone, though the company of the good farmer‘s wife
was no intrusion, for her tastes were refined, and her conversation
was instructive. She left the goom silently to prepare herself, and
on the way met the gardener’s wife, who to her response : “ Be you
going out? ” received no reply, save the quiet, “ yes; ” for Minerva
could not run the risk of spoiling a lovely walk by the common—place
society of the fat gardener’s wife. So, after throwng on bonnet
and mantle, she sauntercd through the long, shaded entry, out upon
the shadowed grass plat, covered with snowiest laces, and called
Bruno. At the sound of her sweet voice, the dog, who was lying
near his house, at the farther end of the garden, sprang up With a
joyful cry. and ran toward her. She patted him on the head as she
stood there, a pretty picture, her dark curls blown about her cheek
by the breeze, and the dog with half-human eyes, fixed upon her
beautiful face.

“ Bruno, will you go with me for a walk 1? "' she asked, showing,

the little book that she usually carried upon such excursions.

The ,dog gave a sharp bark, that might have been interpreted
" es.’

“ Well, come along then, but you must not run; here, here, stay
slose beside me, for l have no other protector but you, to-day.”

The faithful creature surely understood, for he fell back on the in
stunt, and moved with her step for step, looking inomently up agif

‘ he said, “ you see I am trying to take the best of care of you.”

Quietly they walked along the grassy path that led to the broad
fields. These they passed, under the shade of the apple-trees that
lined eieher side. The low hum of insects in the under-brush and
along the hedges, the quick, soft twitter of birds in the branches
overhead, the ripple of a brook not far off, athese combined to add
the delightful reflections with which J essie’s letter, so sweet, so

 

 

 

 
     
 

  
 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

    

  

  
  
    
 
 

 

 

 

run run In emu srncncm. 8]

gulleless, had filled her mind. They passed here an orchard. with
its wealth of ripening fruit, there a patch of some choice vegetable,
and again, a field of waving corn. Presently, the paths becanu more
like roads. A thick and pleasant foliage came soon in sight, and the
cool smell of the groves greeted the senses deliciously. A light stile
taken down—Bruno had leaped it previously—and Minerva was in
her favorite haunt. How silvery greemthe trees Were, with the sun
sending, between their branches, soft pencil-rays of light! Far as
the eye could reach, there was a roofing of green, for here the beau-
tiful elms had been trained in arching sprays, that met, forming
lines of beauty. Away, on every hand, these cool. dark paths ex
tended, and seats were placed at intervals, for resting places. Mi
nerva strayed on, smiling to herself, and talking to Bruno for growl
ing, as he went.

“ Bruno, you’re a bad, naughty boy; did you know it, Bruno?
And Bruno, I shall report you to your master, when he comes home,
your young master, I mean; fie, fie, stop growling, you ought to
give a laugh—bark, when I speak of him, did you know it, sir? I
wonder if you’ll remember him, you bad boy! of course you will.
though, a year’s absence doesn’t matter much to a dog, does it,
Bruno? What! growling still? What is it at, I wonder? at the
beautiful pieces of blue sky up thcm?or the scent of these sweet
wild flowers? for shame! a great, intelligent dog like you, to see
nothing lovely in this charming place! Is it a snake, Bruno? I
wonder what can ail the creature? He has done so three or four
times, lately. Who’s here, Bruno, good dog! you’ll protect me,
won’t you? Yes, yes, fine old Bruno, only I don’t half-like that
growling,” she added, musingly. “ Of course there‘s nobody here,
but I’m nervous, I believe, nevertheless, ah! ”

She uttered a short, shrill scream. and sank back, pale, almost
helple. The report of a gun had sounded near, and alas! Bruno,
the good, noble dog, had rolled at her feet covered with life-blood.

“ Oh, my God, protect me! " cried Minerva; “ Oh, Heaven, which
way shall I go? ”

" Not that way, for your life,” cried a deep voice, and in another
moment, the man in green spectacles stood before her. “ Pardon
me, madam,” he added, in a tone of deep respect, and pointing to
the path he had come; “ I think there are villains there. Some one
Is lurking round, this poor creature is a prey.”

“ Oh! ” Minerva shuddered; “ what shall Ido 't I have enemies,
dreadful enemies, which way must I go to escape them? "

“ Will you trust yourself to my guidance? your friend at the /
firm-house, Mrs. Goreham delivered this key in my keeping, that I
might have an opportunity to inspect the place.”

1 Minerva felt comparatively at ease. Surely Mrs. Goreham would
never have lightly done a thing like that, unless she had perfect
confidence in the man.

“If you will conduct me home.” she said, trembling in every‘

 

  
 

  

    

  

82 ms PRISONER or LA vmrnsssz.
limb. as she accepted his arin, glancing with so innocent, suppliuat-
inga look in his face, that his heart must have been a stone, to resist
its pleading.

“There is a road not far from here,” he paused to listen, as if
suspicious that some one was near, “ that leads into the public high
way; once there, you are safe : ” all this time he was leading he)
rapidly.

“ I seem to hear horses’ feet.” she said; " I am full of terror, oh.
it was so cruel to kill poor Bruno! how could they have the heart?
Why! here is a carriage in the private grounds, what does it meant

— ’ a sponge applied to her lips and nostrils, cut short the sentence,
the door was opened, the unconscious girl lifted in, Senor Velasquez
entered after, the door slammed to, the vehicle was driven rapidly
out, a boy posted at the stile, with a key, locked the gate and threw
it into the carriage; in return, the senor tossed him a piece of silver.

When Minerva. again come to consciousness, she lay on a bed in
the captain’s state-roomI which had been given up and arranged for
, her. There was the eternal sound of the waters beneath, the plush-
ing against the vessel’s side, the swift, uneasy motion. After a
moment of bewilderment, she closed her eyes with a smile, murmur-
ing, “ Thank God, it was then only a dream, and we have started,
and Herman is on board -—” -

She glanced slowly around the cabin. It certainly was difi'eront
in size and appointments from the one she had gone to sleep in.
Bewildered and surprised she tried to gather her thoughts as she
murmured, “ If only Bandola would come in, then I should know.
if my head would only stop aching, and Bandola would come.”

The door opened, for a moment her heart bent violently, but sank
again when she saw enter, not Bandola, but a stout negress, whose
face was most unpleasant.

“ lt was no dream, then,” she murmured; " it was no dream, Oh '
God, help me! ”

. “ What’s the matter, chile? ” asked the woman, standing off, as
if not quite decided, whether it was safe to approach nearer, .
' “ They have brought me here against my will,” she cried, burst-
mg into tears, and striking her forehead with clasped hands.

“They always says so,” muttered the woman. “ Well! so long
you’s not wiolent, you‘ll {are well, chile, but of you begins to git
wmthy, the Lord help ye! ye’ll have to have straight—jacket right
on, no mistake.”

“ A straight-jacket—me T oh! what can you mean? ” cried M.
aerva. white with new and sudden terror.

“ Never mind, honey, on’y try to keep right dat’s all. The man
as brought you here, told me jest what to do, so you needn’t talk
none, honey, no use for you to tell ole story, you knows, might’s well
keep yer grieft to yerself.” ,

‘f God help me! I don’t know what you mean; ’ said Minerva.
quite despairingly.

     
   

 

  

 

 

 
 
 

nns. non. . SI

" No. no, you never does,” said the negross, shortly , “ I‘ve seen
em in irons and jackets and every thing, an they never knomI
what it‘s for.”

A little light began to glimmer on the poor girl’s brain.

“ Where are they taking me? ” she asked, faintly.

“ To Cuby, chile, back to your old father and mother, breaking
den-Means for ye, honey.” ,

“ I haven’t any father and mother, they both died years ago.”

“ Oh, no! I ’spects not,” said the negress, pleasantly, laughing a
little to herself; “If I’d said they’s dead, ’poze you’d a thought
’em living, eh? But, don’t make no dilference, noways, you’s go-
ing back, to Cuby; ’spects you never was in Cuby, neither.”

“ Oh, yes! that was my home, I was born in Havana,” said Mi-
nerva.

“ Well, that’s mighty reasonable, now, considering, thought as
maybe you wouldn’t recollect, p‘raps.”

“I recollect too much,” murmured the young girl, grievingly.’
A moment after she said, “ Can I not see the captain? ”

r “ Well, I guesses not, captain doesn’t like to go in ladics’ state—
rooms; if you wants de steward now, he’ll bring you any thing you
orders. Say, piece of grill chicken.”

“ Oh, no, no, no,” exclaimed Minerva, in tones of intense disgust.
To think of food in her misery, was too much.

“ Well, I doesn’t insist on nothin’,” replied the ncgrcss; “ ’xcept
yo must be very quiet and still, ’cause there'll be no danger to ye,
if ye be; but, I’ve known some folks in your state, to be let right
:iown in the water, when de paroxisms come too strong, so try to be
still, honey.”

“ What is your name?” asked Minerva, after she had watched
the woman with pitiful eyes for some moments.

“ I’s called Mrs. Roxy,” was the reply. “ Well, chile, stop look-
ing at me, yer eyes kinder haunt me; what is it you wants? ”

“ Oh, Mrs. Roxy,” murmured Minerva, plaintively; “ won’t you
’leave me for a little while? Ishould like to be alone for a short
time."

 

 
 
 

“Orders is to watch ye close, chile, see’t you don’t do no mm
chief,” was the short reply. 7

“ But you needn’t be in the least afraid, I‘m persecuted by wick-
ed people, who wish to injure me; I assure you, I have all my facul
lies, I know all abort it, and I shall submit, because 1 must. I am
in the power of had people, and must wait till God delivers me out
of their hands." .

“ All sounds wize and nateral,” said the negress, “ but I ain’t no
fool, I tell ye, I’s seen people jest your way; ye‘d never know
’twasn’t jest asthey said, if ’want for ’sporionce; you see, chile, I"
got ’sperience.” _

For a moment, Minerva was hopeless, but after she had thought i '
while, she said .

     
 

  

84 ‘ m PRISONER or m. vmnnssn.

“ Will you let me write something with a pencil, and will you give
it to the man who brought me? ”

“ Oh, yes, anythin’ in reason, honey; I ain’t ’clined to be onreo-
aonuble,” was the reply.

Minerva lifted the little gold pencil attached to her (win, md
wrote as follows :

" Saxon VELASQ‘UEZ :

“ For it must be you, although your disguise deceived
me thoroughly-r you can perhaps contemplate the not you have per-
formed with complacency. I leave you and your conscience with
God, Who is the Judge and the father of the orphan. I only beg
you, as you hope for mercy hereafter, to let me be alone, whenever I
wish. The face of the old servant who attends me is disagreeable, I
do not want her in my state-room. Say what you will to them all, I
shall put my case in the hands of God, and leave with Him, also, the
retribution; but let me not be annoyed with any attendance.

Minx-mu or: Mosssna'rs.”

The negrees carried the note. In a few moments she returned,
looking somewhat crest fallen. In her han'l she carried a folded pa—
per, on which was written :

“ Your request shall be complied with, I have given orders.”

The young girl smiled bitterly.

“ I know he would not dare to do otherwise,” she said to herself.

   
   
 

CHAPTER XIX.
TROUBLE AT rm: m nix-noose.

Tin: rays of the declining sun made faint show in one corner of
the farm-house kitchen. The tarnier’s'wife had not long been awake
glrom her nap; the gardener stood out mending a damaged hoe; the
look was busy frying griddle-cakes; the gardener’s wife, who was
fond of the good things of this life, had taken a oruller from the
[well-heaped pile upon the supper-table, and was devouring it with
much zest; The whitest of white linen cloths graced the board
~ It was spread with taste; and honey and grapes, and golden butter
~uicl rich cream abounded.

The kitchen, with its venerable furniture, never looked more charm.
ing; content seemed lurking and smiling in every corner, and the
old fashioned high-shouldered silver tea-set, glistened with the very
broadest benevolence, an it stood ready to do duty.

 

 

 
  

 

B

on! K'

 

 

 

 

 

 

 
   

 

  

\

   

85

 

ms name‘s some]; nuns.

“ Dome, ain’t supper most ready i " asked the gardener, who had
lomewhat improved his appearance by a clean shirt and a white! _
face, while his hair was scrupulously com’hed and parted. ’

“ Quite, I guess,” replied his wife, seizing the hell that stood
near, and ringing it with some vehemence.

Mrs. Goreham came into the room, looking at the little. 'old fash-
ioned gold watch she always were of afternoons, and walked quite
prime up to the table, to survey its appointxncnts,+—her daily cus-
tom.

“ How pleasant it will be to see the clear faces again," she saidI
quietly preparing to seat herself. “ Why doesn’t Miss Minerva}
come, I wonder; do you think she heard the bell ? "

“ La, yes, she must,” replied the gardener’s wife. “ Come to
think on’t, I haven’t seen her come home. ’Spose she got asleep in , .
them woods? No harm though, if she did, with Bruno to watch
her.” ‘

“ 0h, of course she came home, said Mrs. Goreham, confidenta ‘
1y; “she never stays. She might have come in some other way;
just ring again, if you pleaso."

Again the bell tin_kled-—-no answer.

“ I’ll go and see if Bruno’s here,” said the gardener, while the
farmer‘s wife sat irresolute.

“ Might as well say grace, Miss Goreham, p’r’haps by that time
she’ll come. _She laid down, like‘s not, and fell to sleep,” the gar-
dener's wife said, cautiously. “ There’s Mr. liambledon at the yel-
ler house, when the folks don’t come in time to the table, he begins
to say grace, and you ought to see how it brings ‘em. He never
waits, for what’s the use? ”

“ I'll wait a few moments,” said Mrs. Goreham, quietly.

“ Well, it beats all,” exclaimed the gardener; “ Bruno ain’t no-
where. I called him with a whistle, as he hears gen’ally from one
end 0’ the farm to the t’other, but I don’t see him."

" What can be the meaning of the child‘s stopping in this man-i
net? The sun is almost down,” exclaimed Mrs Goreham, an inde-
finable terror taking possession of her heart. “ I should have known
better than to have let her walk alone. I thought you would cer-
tainly go with her,” she added, turning to the gardener’s wife, who
was quietly helping herself to another cruller.

“ She never so much as asked me,” replied that portly personage.
‘ She has too high ways for us humble folks."

“ She did not? and I would not have sent her by herself, for
Worlds. How imprudent ! we must make immediate search.”

“ Bless'my heart‘. ” exclaimed the gardener‘s wife, watching the
hurried efi‘orts of Mrs. Goreham, who was throwing on bonnet and
shawl, “ ain’t she old enough to take care of herself?”

“ She is placed in peculiar circumstances,” replied Mrs. Goreham,
in a quick voice; then signifying to the gardener (who, meantime
Ind Iwallowed a cup of tea, poured expeditiously by his wife. Ina-p

    
 
   
   
   
   
  

n

 
  
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
   
 
  
    
  
 
    
  
 

 
   

86 THE PRISONER OF LA VINTBESSE.

aging at the same time to fill his pockets with douglmuts), they d

went away together, the man not forgetting to provide himself with
a stout stick. In silence they walked at a rapid gait, till they
reached the entrance of the resort that was Minerva’s favorite res:-
ing-place. Slowly and with faltering steps, Mrs. Goreha’m moved.
on, an impression of coming trouble, gaining on her mind with
every step she took.

“ O l ” she cried, her face pale with horror, as she came to 1h:
motionless body of the dog; “ there has been foul work here; ‘Brw'
no, my poor, faithful Bruno, dead; and Minerva—where is she? ”

“ That dog’s winged and no mistake,” said the gardener, steeping
over the prostrate animal, while Mrs. Goreham, speechless with
sudden fear and sorrow, stood like one bereft of consciousness.
“ He ain’t dead, though,” he said again, lifting himself; “ we’ll ser, if
we can’t bring him 'round. But what are we going to do about the
young lady? "' '

" We must search, John; search from one end of the place to the
other. You must go home and get men and lights—oh ! that ever I
should have been so careless; I knew what danger threatened her,
too. We were both too secure in our fancied safety; now, Heaven
only knows where she is. There has been foul work.”

As soon as it was possible, a number of men, principally farm-
hands from neighboring places, set out to explore the premises. Un‘
til late at night they searched with lanterns, but there were no
traces of the young girl visible. The dog was comfortably placed in
a cart and driven home, still breathing, but apparently wounded too
dangerously to recover. The fright, and the sorrow consequent on
this mysterious afi‘air, prostrated the farmer’s wife, and hastened the
farmer’s return.

x Jessie came from the brilliant society of Washington to the dark
ened room of the sick wife, and the sorrow of finding the friend she
had learned to love, thrown upon the terrible mercies of her perse-
cutors. After some consultation, the old farmer, whose suspicions
had been more than awakened in the direction of the great people at
the hotel, decided to go, and, as he expressed it, have a little honest
talk with them. He was, accordingly, ushered into the great parlor,

' during the don‘s morning lounge, and where the general made it a
practice of reading the news. Don Carlos was, as usual, stretched
to a silken laziness, puffing slowly at his meerschaum. The don had
the civility to nod his visitor to a seat, and then, with a stare of cool
impatience, awaited his communication. “ I have come on the be-
half of a young lady who is a countrywoman of yours,” said the
farmer, sitting entirely at his ease, and returning the don's cool stare
with a glance every whit as cool.

“Ah ! " ejaculated the Cuban, while the general’s newspapel
rattled as he turned it; “ what does the young lady wish ‘t ” and ho
pnfi'ed again, this time regarding the ceiling abstractedly.

“Loan not tell what she wishes,” said the farmer, whose warm

 

    

 

 

 

 

    

 

 

 
 

 
 
 
 

 

 

 

 
 
 
 

 

 

 

 

  

morass noss ran rns nos. 87

(bellngs were rapidly getting the better of him; “ but. in plain’
terms, a young lady, by name Minerva. do Monserate, has been ob:
ducted from my home, where she was placed for safe keeping; and,
I have no doubt, you know enough of the alfair, to inform me if she
is in good hands, at least.”

The paper rattled again with an exultant motion, while the don,
very slowly removing the pipe from his mouth, turned contemptuous
eyes upon the farmer, as he said :

“ Old man, what do you suppose I know about young ladies who
find an asylum at your house? ”

“ If I knew as much as you do about it, I think I could lodge

ou in an' American institution, such as you have not yet visited,”
said the old farmer, the hot blood surging to his temples. “ It is my
firm belief that you are here under an assumed name, and that you
have either abducted the young lady of whom I speak, and who was
to have been married to my son, for whose disappearance I shall call
you also to account at the proper time.”

“ Old fellow, you are insane,” said the don, rising, and insolently
stretching himself.

“ Don’t you call me old follow, you rascally foreigner,” cried the
farmer advancing toward him. “ We American citizens do not allow
even Spanish dons to insult us with impunity.”

“ My good man,” said the little general fiercely, “ do you know
who you are talking to 'l ”

“ Well, yes, I believe I do,” replied the farmer with bitter em
phasis, standing very straight, and looking terribly grand. “ I am
talking to men who call themselves gentlemen, but have never
learned to treat gray hairs with respect. [’d whip my dog Bruno,
who is but a brute, if he had so little manners."

“ Shall I ring for my servant to show you the way out? ” queried
the Cuban don languidly.

“ Ring for what, you puppy you ! " thundered the old man, in
tones that drove both the general and the don some paces backward;
“ ring for your niggers to show me out? If you dared do it, I‘d ‘
pitch them and you out of the window; ” and his great muscles and
strong chest quivered for the action, as he threw his arms out
“ You’d look well ringing for your servants to show me the way
over my own land. The ground these premises stand on (be
stamped with his foot) is mine every inch of it; and you and your
niggers, all sold, together, wouldn’t bring what it’s worth to me.
You had better take care how you insult a man who is king on his
own soil. ‘ I came here peacably, to ask you a civil question, which
you haven’t attempted—no, nor haven‘t (lured to answer, yet."

“ Come, we want none of your pretensions,” exclaimed the don,“

, sauntering a little as it' elegantly inditi'erent. “ We are accustomed
to the privacy of our own apartment; and. in Cuba, between gentle.
’ mm, the sword would have settled any question of this kind befors

 

  

THE PRISONER. OF LA VINTRESSE. I

now, if such words had been employed. You put me under the ne
acuity of ringing my bell.”

Like a lion with glaring eyes, the old farmer (who had
probably never heard a disrespectful word uttered in his pres-
ence,) stood for one moment. his brow flaming, his lips looked like
iron, his chest dilated—then, it seemed almost without moving—he
gave one lunge, and sent the don 03’ his slippered feet, nearly the
whole length of the room; and, before a word could be said, or a
motion made, was outside the door. None would have suspected the
farmer, to see him nearing his own home, that he had stirred a muscle.
or drawn a deeper breath than usual, since he left it an hour before.
He felt as if he had done his duty; and, unconsciously. the blow was
for his son, whose fate he now, with more certainty than ever, con-
nected with the Cuban aristocrats. At the great stone step he was
met by Jessie, who had been watching for him.

“ O father ! ” she cried, “I am glad you have come home.”

“ Is mother worse ? ” asked the farmer, standing still.

“ No; but there’s a gentleman in the parlor waiting for you,
and he has been talking with me this half-hour. He knew Minerva
and all her family.”

The farmer hastened in. followed by his daughter, whose attention
had been powerfully attracted by the handsome face of the stranger.

It was Senor Abrates who introduced himself to the farmer. He
had heard of the abduction, he said, and, being interested in the
{21mg lady, had come to see what he could learn about it. He had

en, in earlier years, a playmate of Senorita do Monserate, and
both his sister and himself regretted the unpleasant turn which the
affair had taken. Understanding, to some extent at least, how mat-
ters stood, he believed that the senorita had been forcibly carried
away; and the probability of her fate, if she were in the hands of
Don Carlos’ deceiving agent, tilled him with dismay, for he did not
believe the latter was at all scrupulous in the fulfillment of his en-
gagements. nor could he believe him under oath. ,'

This testimony placed matters in the most unfavorable light.
Tender-hearted .Jessie walked to the window to hide her tears, and
the old farmer, resting his check on his brown hand, mused silently.
At last he said fervently :

“ Well, I believe I’m one of the Old Testament Christians, for I'm,
dreadful apt to take judgment in my own hands where I think the
Lord allows it. And I’ve got the faith of those times, too, as well,
for I believe the God of Moses will protect that poor child; ay, and
bring my son back to me from a foreign land. It may not. seem con-
sistentto say that I shall pray for this, when you may hear, maybe,

"that I knocked down that Spanish puppy at the hotel up yonder for
his insolence; but my blood is quick, and the man deserved it.
Think of his calling his nigger: to order me~me out of hilroom.
I’d do it again.” .

 

 

ran annnc'ron 'smrrnx. . 89

“Senor Abrates laughed heartily, “ That makes 2116 second time,”
said.
I “ Why, what do you mean? ” queried the old farmer.

“, Your son did the same service for hint. so I have understood.
when, through his contrivance, he was ordered to prison.”

“ Ah 1 ” said the old man, thoughtfully, “ Is that so? Herman
was always a plucky boy, but I never knew him to fight. It must
have been a great provocation, as in my case; and certainly it is the

I first time I have ever laid hands on any man.”

It is needless to say, that after the interview with the young
Spaniard, who promised to leave nothing,r undone in this matter that
he could do, the old farmer suffered some remorse for the deed of the
morning. His conscience, quick and clear, took him to task, in spite
of his seif-gratulations on his old-tisshioned religion—“ an eye for an
eye, a tooth for a tooth.”

C II A I’ T E R X X.
THE mm or smart VELASQUEZ.

THE voyage to Cuba in the Aspinwall threatcd to prove tedious.
- A succession of head-winds and bathing storms, that make the 'cap-
min protest, not always in the most decnrous language, that he he.
'ieved there was a Jonah on board,det:iined them daily; and, to
Idd to the general uneasiness, the captain had Senor Velasquez on
his hands, sick with what threatened to he a dangerous fever. Day
after day Minerva remained in her state-room, until the captain,
thoroughly alarmed for his patient, and believing, from the in-
coherent self-accusations he had listened to, that Minerva’s story was
the true one, run the risk of her sanity, and sent for her After
some conversation, his brow cleared

“ If I had known this sooner,” he said, “I should have let the
villain die. for he is not fit to live. Here I have been nursing and
doctoring him, giving him the time my duties absolutely required,
Ind all for a. lying impostor.”

“ What can I do? ” asked Minerva, anxiously; “ I am tired of
inflation. Let me aid you in some way."

“ You,” exclaimed the captain, with some vehemence; " I'd Be.
the wretch rot before you should help him. What! after he has tried
to murder you by inches? ”

' “lam required to help my worst enemy in his need,” said Mi
nix“, gently. “That, at least. I have learned in all my troubles
to Wish no malice, and to return good for evil.”

 

    

90 ms museums. or LA vm'mnssn.

“ Well, [31] be blest, then, if you ain’t a thorough-going‘Uhristiun,"‘
said the sailor, in his rough way; “ nothing else could do it—no,”
he added, sotto once.- “ and, even then, nothing else but a woman! ”

So, when she was able, Minerva took her post by the state-room in
which Senor Velasquez lay. Frightfully changed he wasin the short
struggle he had had with the fearful typhoid. When the delirium
was on him, he talked much of Minerva, and exposed his plans with
diabolical minuteness. One night, Minerva, whose state-room was
opposite, heard the name of Herman on the frenzied lips. The moon
threw its silvery light in at the stern windows, so that every object
was clearly visible, and Minerva, anxious to hear whatever concern-
ed that beloved name, glided softly from her state-room and crept to

I the other side of the cabin. The negress, who was employed as nurse,
sat on the floor just beyond the door, asleep, her bowed head resting
on her folded arms. Senor Velasquez was talking very softly now,
so that Minerva crept closer and closer to listen. Terrified at his
face, she turned her eyes from the ghastly picture. The steward had
shaven his head, and his eyes weirdly wild, large and ebon, rolled
from side to side in their loose sockets.

“ Yes, yes, Don Carlos,” muttered the sick man, “ I‘ll keep the
secret of La. Vintresse. Are you sure you have him safe there?
Los Americanos are very cunning—very strong! Ah! old Jose is
with him, the treacherous old dog! He knows how to torture—let the
prisoner look to it—La Vintresse. I was there myself once—heaven
preserve me from the recollection! The walls were half down—rotten
posts stood tottering, sunk at their base in pools of mud and water.
There was not a green spot—the man will die of desolation. He will
choke himself with his own hands; he will beat his brains out against
the horrid walls; yes, yes, he will go mad! ” -

Minerva listened shudderingly. Presently he broke out in a wild
cry—“ Bring the priest! ” It was a strange fancy, but, neverthe
lac. it occurred to Minerva to repeat the word “ confess.” A

“ Ah! " cried the senor, eagerly, " are you here, holy father? ”

“ I am,” said Minerva, in a low voice.

“ No, no—but stop—I see the crown of your head—yes, yes, the
shaven head, and the rosary, and the robe; ” and here began a con-
fession, new and then coherent—at times too shocking for human
hearing, but still the shrinking girl listened in the strange silence
that was not silence, for the waves, as they washed up, answered the
sick man’s moan. At last he came to his later life. “ Father,” he
said, “ listen. I wanted the girl, and I was promised a fabulous sum
if I secured her to the old general, her uncle. But I was oun-
ning,” he added, in a tone of triumph; " I made them pledge the
money to me, and, after all my planning and theirs, I meant to mar-
ry her myself, and secure the fortune. Half should have gone to
the church, holy father, so I should be absolved. I put her on the

vessel, I carried her to Cuba, and there the fiends got me. See ! ”

he cried, for the confession had gone from his mind, and his raving

    

  
 

:g'~'fi
,w

 

 

 

   

cums mono. \ 9'1

grew so‘fesrful that Minerva was obliged to waken both the steward

and the captain. Their tardy steps were, however, too late; the
state-room was empty, and the black nurse sat crouched up in a
heap, her eyes glittering with terror while she cried. “ 0 captain !
the devil! the devil!” The man at the wheel averred that some-
thing, either man or ghost. came up the cabin stairs and flung itself
over the ship’s side. In an instant every measure was taken, every
effort made to recover the ill-fated Cuban—the tool of worse men
than himself—but all in vein; the miserable man had gone to the
bottom in the midst of his iniquity, with all his sins on his head.

C H A P T E R X X I.
LA vmrnssss .um THE nrscvs.

MINERVA had scarcely recovered from this shock, when \he pleas-
ant shores of her birthplace came in view. The scene, however,
brightened her drooping eyes, and gave a little color to her pale
check as she saw the tall Castle Moro; the flags and the signals; the
houses so near the water; the innumerable masts of a heavy com-
merce. Her plans had been well matured. Secure in her very lone—
liness, she did not fear for their ultimate success. The captain was
ready to stand by her, and, indeed, he would not allow her to leave
the ship without close attendance. How strange, and yet familiar
seemed the surroundings, as she drew near the place of her former
residence. But for the bitter reminiscences connected with past
scenes, she could have kissed the smooth trunks of the gorgeous

lms. The citv was unusually silent; it was the feverseason. and,
In addition, they heard that the cholera had broken out with dread-

‘ ful violence. The house, as they drove up the grand old avenue,
had a. deserted look. There were but few servants left, and the
main building was‘closed. Minerva went round the wide veranda
till she came to the kitchen inclosure. A woman, on her hands and
knees, was fanning with her breath a few white coals, while beside
ther laid a bunch of herbs, and a pan of water. In another mo-
ment the flame. darted up. The servant turned impatiently at. the
sound of a footstep echoing through the hollow dreariness of the 4
great cook-room.

It was Bandola.

The girl gave a shriek of mingled joy and terror, sprang to her
fleet, looked on all sides with vague fear, run toward Minerva, and

fill. weeping, on her shoulder.

  

  

    

/

THE PRISONER 0! LA VINTBESSI.

" Oh i it is you, then ! I never, nevcr expected to see you :3th
It is too much joy—I shall die of joy.”

“ No you won’t, Bandola, you must live to help me in my plans. ‘

Do you want to go back to America? ”

“ Oh! God knows!" cried the girl. “Do you think I have
never given your letter to the consul? It has almost killed me.
Don Carlos came on board when the vessel was in port, and what
he said I know not; but the captain told me to go with him, and
hers I have been kept as a. prisoner all these months. I know they
have been months, though they have seemed like years. Ishould
never have been here, perhaps, only the servants have been sent
to the hospital to tend the sick, and the old housekeeper was taken
with the cramps, and let me out to give her medicine. But, oh ! if
you should be ill ! ” '

“ Don’t fear for me,” said Minerva; “ God will take care of me.
Who is in the house besides you ? ”

“ Nobody but the housekeeper—and there ! did you hear wheels?
It is that horrible Jose. Ihave seen his face go past my window
every day, till I am tired of it."

“ Where does he come from every day, Bandola ? ” asked Miner-
vs.
“'1‘hat_I don’t know. I’ve asked the housekeeper many times,
but I suppose she never know either, for she never told me. He
brings something in u basket. an-l carries something away; what it
is, 1 know not. 011 ! I can‘t get tired looking at you,” she added,
in an ecstasy. “ Are you sure lam awake? I hnve frightful dreams,
sometimes; but if this is a dream, I want to sleep always.”

“ You are wide awake, Bandolo; so am I. You shall not remain
here, but go back to America with me, if all things come right,"
said Minerva.

Tears of gratitude stole down the dark cheeks of the grateful
girl, as she uttered the low, fervent cry, “ God be thanked ! ”

“ I must see this Jose; where is he? ” asked Minerva.

“ Around at the stables, I suppose,” was the reply.

“ head the way to the housekeeper, Bandola.”

The girl held up her head, and marched like a soldier.

Minerva stood before the housekeeper, who gave a shrill cry, and
loomed inclined to faint.

“ Do not be frightened, my good Monte,” said Minerva, sooth~
hgly; “ you see I have dropped from the clouds. I wish you to
give me the keys of the main holy of the house.”

“ Against the orders of Don Carlos," murmured the housekeeper.

“ I am mistress, now,” said Minerva, with dignity.

The woman unloosed the keys with trembling eagerness, and
placed them in Minerva’s hand. Bidding Bundola follow her, she
entered at once into the long-closedmp passages, and unlocked the
business room, where every thing remained just as the general‘l
“word had left it, with a view, probably, to trimming it up before

  

 

 

 

 

  

 

 

 

 

4x asromsmzn NIGGEE. 9!

 

the family returned. Here she sent for the old negro, Jose. He
came in very soon, a tall, bony, cruel-faced man, whose complexion.
black though it was, seemed to change to a yellow puller, when he
saw what seemed to be an app'arition. for he could scarcely persuade
himself of the reality of her presence.

“ Jose,” she said, sternly, “ have you come this morning from
La Vintresse? ”

The man was dumb for a moment. At last he managed. to answer
that he had. '

“ What horses are here? ” she asked.

“ Rose and Charlie,” he replied.

“ Put them into the carriage immediately,” she exclaimed.

" Into the carriage, senorita ? ”

“ Into the carriage, I said; then come back. Be quick ! ” she ad-
ded, in a sharp, authoritative voice.

He was gone, absolutely lost in wonder and did nothing but roll
up the whites of his eyes as he muttered to himself' “ Wha’ as
Harry she gwine to do nex’ ? ”

“ Carriage in senora,” he said, humbly.

“ Very well, I’m going to La Vintressc; you may drive me.”

If the negro’s mien was astonishment and wonder before, it was
now simply horror.

* “ You,” was all he said, slinking back shufflingly.
I “ Yes, [, certainly; lam going to La Vintresse. You comprehend,
perfectly, you are to drive.”

“ Yam—to La Vintresse? ” he muttered again, his lips scarcely
moving.

“ Iain out of all patience with you; are you so stupid? Either
you may carry me there, peacefully, or I shall appear to the consul
to let the police go with me. I am your mistress, now, and Senor
Herman is to be brought from La Vintresse, by my orders.”

“ But he is sick,” muttered the negro, with ashen lips.

“ Then see that pillows and a bed are placed in the carriage, go,
Bandela, and bring them from wherever you may find them. Be
quick, girl,” she added, her heart sinking, as she thought little she
might know how sick he was. Still the negro stood irresolute, star-
ing at her. ’

“ Have you taken leave of your senses, Jose? ” she cried, threat-
eningly, stamping her foot in feigned passion. The man muttered
an incoherent word or two, and went slowly out. A bed was soon
improvised, and bearing a few necessary articles, Minerva entered
the carriage with Bandola.

“Stop a moment," she cried, as the man was mounting to his
int; “ you will want another man to help, in case he will need to
b I lifted.”

“ I lift him,” answered the man, surlily, and sprang on the box.

’ “ Are you not afraid? ” murmured Bandola.
“ Afraid, oh, no, good Bmdola,l have not once thought of tear "

   

  

    

94 I 'rnn persona or LA vmmnsss.

mid Minerva, as the carriage rolled swiftly along. “ Jose darel
not disobe me. it is he who fears,I think; he is a hard, cruel
man, but believe now he fears me. He knows [ have power to ex-
pose him to the authorities, and he will be the abject slave, till I have
done with him. But, 0 Bandola! what we are going to see, Lknow
not; there I fear every thing."

“ It is not possible you believe .\lr. Herman is there! " exclaimed
the girl, shrinkingly.

“ Yes, [believe they have buried him alive, but we shall know
loan, we must he nearing the outskirts of Havana."

' “ And shall you take him back with you ‘! ”

“ If it is possible, immediately to the ship,” was the reply. “ The
captain was to have every thing in readiness, and perhaps a doctor
on board. We shall not sail for a week, and he will be perfectly
quiet there. We are coming to a dreary place,” she added, looking
out over a prospect where nature had been subjected to various tor-
tures by fire and by flood! “ Oh! what a miserable quiet there is
here! so unearthly."

In truth, the very air seemed as stagnant as the ground. The
gullies in the road were deep with green water. the stunted palms
seemed each to be laboring un‘ler some deformity, the fields were

arid, and presently the wretched ruins of La Vintresse came in view, '

a sickening mass of black and tottering walls.

“ Very dirty here. senora,” said Jose, as the carriage stopped at a.
large out-building; “ but if the senora will wait, Jose get planks
and lay them.”

In a few moments there was comparatively a dry path. Minerva
with difficulty controlled her feelings, ’as she stepped into the
narrow hall of the building, that had for so long been Herman’s
‘ail. '
J “ The senora I hope will not punish Jose,” said the negro, hum-
bly; “ he did but what his master ordered.”

“ You shall not be punished, Jose, only lead me to him.”

Up the narrow, dirty stairs went the old negro, applied the key
reluctantly to the lock, the door opened with a harsh creak. Ban-
dola had placed one arm about Minerva, for what with vague terror
and excitement, she could scarcely stand. The room was large,
bare, with miserably defaced walls, and high-barred windows.
Neither table, nor chair, nothing but a low pallet spread in one corner,
and a camp stool near one window, as if the prisoner had lifted him-

~Ielf to see the dreary sight without.

Minerva gave a low, shivering ery. What was that extended on
the pallet, ragged, scarcely human '3 0h ! can that be? ” she wailed
pitifully.

Jose shrank away from her real sorrow. Slowly she went up to
the prostrate figure, half-hoping it might not be him. The man
seemed asleep. though his hollow eyes were not much more than
lull-closed. His skin clung tightly to the bones of his face and

    

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

4‘“

A! war! AT LAST! 96

was so painfully .bright, that it suggested the thought of varnish.
The beard had grown frightfully profuse, and fell on his throat and
chest, in matted, tangled masses. Language cannot convey an idea
of his extreme emaciation.

“ 0 Bandola ! ” sobbed Minerva, the tears raining down; “ can
he be alive '1’ can he be alive? oh ! cruel, cruel fiends ! How could
my uncle and Don Carlos bring Van innocent man to this? What
shall I do? I fear to touch him, he looks so frail; O Herman ! O
Herman ! if you could only speak to me ? ”

“ He sleeps good part of his time,” mid Jose. Minerva. dared
not trust herself to reply; she knew the man before her must have
been as black in heart as in complexion, to see a fellow-being suffer
as he must have suffered; there was inherent cruelty in a nature
like that. Kneeling down on the wretched floor, she softly kissed
his forehead. The motion, slight at it was, roused him. He opened
his eyes, glassy and restless; they fell upon the loving glance of
Minerva. A singular change came over his face, the whole counte-
nance lighted as if a thin red flame had suddenly run from vein to
vein, under that fearful whiteness. He sprung upright in the bed,

cried out in a hollow voice : “ At last ! at last ! O God 1 ” and sank

back lifeless.

“ I have killed him,” cried Minerva, as the negro went toward
him.

“ He’s been so two or three times, senora,” said the man. “ If
{on will go down stairs, I will get him ready to go in the carriage.

doesn’t think he's dead.”

Sobbing like a child, giving way to utter abandonment of grief,
Minerva went down the stairs, and walked to and fro in‘ the narrow
entry, Bandola trying in vain to console her.

“ We must go in the carriage,” said the faithful girl; “ to hold
him it he needs. Only think, he will be taken from this dreadful
place, it ought to make you happy.” .

“ Oh! but Bandola, I fear I have killed him,” cried Minerva,
iteously ; “ it might have all been managed so difi‘erently, and now
e is dead, dead,” she wailed pitcously. She was prevailed upon,

however, to enter the carriage. where she adjusted the pillows, and
sat dreading to see the lifeless form, that a child might almost curry.

Presently it came. Jose had replaced the miserable rags he wore,
with the suit that had been taken from him, prison-fashion, when
he was carried thither. Still seemingly deal], he lay white and
nerveless upon the soft bed prepared for him. He was yet living.
The fresh air, the motion of the carriage revived him. filowly the
luxury of his surroundings dawned upon him. He smiled feeny
like a child; he had no longer the strength to speak. .

Minerva had given directions to be driven immediately to, the pier.
The captain stood in readiness, the usual formalities were hurried
through, and in a short time the poor invalid lay on a bed 01 «own,
Isl-rounded by careful friends and the best of nurses. A skillful

 

    

96 'mn rmsonnn or LA vm’rmss.

doctor pronounced his case one of slow starvation and complete inan-
ition, giving it as his opinion that a year’s time would scarcely com-
plete the process of restoration, so entirely had all his faculties sue.

oumbed. “ And I think if you had delayed till to—morrow,” he V

added, “ he would not have been alive, the light was so far spent.”
Minerva listened in silent gratitude; she had no words, but thank-
ful tears. ,

CHAPTER XXII.
Ann’s WELL THAT ENDS WELL.

JEssXE sat in the pleasant parlor of the old farm-house, playing A
few pleasant chords. Her mother, pale and feeble, listened from he!
wheeled-chair near the window. There were fitting thoughts in
Jessie's mind that found expression now and then in a sweet smile,
or else in a profound bending of the pretty head, while the eyes
looked thoughtfully far away.

Presently in come the farmer, but a changed man was he. His
cheek was flushed—his face serious yet beaming, while in his great
brown eyes could be seen the shadow of tears.

“ Jessie," he said softly—“ J cssic, come here.” ,

The girl arose, paused n. moment, seeing that her mother had
fallen asleep, then hurried out to meet her father.

He led her rapidly around the path that led to the grape-arbor.

“ Jessie,” he said. and the girl caught his hand, for the manly
voice was smothered—" Jessie—0 God—be thanked ! your brother
is coming home to us."

“ What father—what father? " half-shrieked the girl—“ Herman
-- coming? ”

“ He will be here to—morrow—think—think J essienMinerva, the
noble girl ! ” His ‘voice choked againn-his breast heaved—he could
say nothing more, but sat down quite overcome, his face hidden in
his hands.

“0 father ! father ! ” and Jessie hid her face on his shoulders, sob-
bing. It was a solemn joy—broken only by the sweet words “ my
brother,” and “ my son.”

“ Are you going after him, father? ” asked Jessie, lifting her
tear-stained face to his.

“No, darling—they will be here to-morrow in a close carriage.
Herman is I believe”-—-his voice trembled again, “ quite an invalid.
We must be prepared to see .1. great change in him. Minerva say.

 

    

I; F’s ,

 

 

   

    

 

9"

mum’s Annxvn. noun.

    

  

no has suffered terribly—my poor boy ! Those proud Spaniard!
Ihall pay for it.”

“ They have gone home, father.” _

“ Yes, but we can reach them. Now, how shall We tell your
mother T "

“ Father, I‘ll tell her.” said Jessie.

“ Very well, my darling—break it to her as gently as you can,"
Ind with a grateful heart he kissed the fair white forehead.

One can imagine the emotions of the little party gathered to wel-
come the wanderer home on that eventful morning. It proved a
clear and beautiful day, and God was not forgotten for his glorious,
sunshine, for all his tender mercies. 'l‘he pale lips of the invalid-
mother moved often as if in prayer. At nine o’clock, Senor Abrutes
came over from the hotel, as seldom a day had passed of late that
he did not.

I t Oh! that sound of carriage-wheels! Jessie cannot endure the
silence—she starts forward screaming that Herman is coming. But
hr} when she sees that pale being, lifted in the stalwart arms of his l‘a-

V

r

v’

\

F

 
   
     
 
      
   
   
         
     
   
      

ther—that white figure not at all like the brave, handsome brother
who went awny—-she starts back, trembling and in tears. A joyful
kiss was on the cheek—soft arms around her neck—it was the em-
brace of Minerva. For many minutes the silence was something
solemn and heart-breaking, but Herman laid his poor head upon his
mother’s breast, and felt'stealing over him the old content of his
boyhood. When words came, the confusion was appalling. Jessie
hovered round the couch, kissing and caressing. while her father
walked the room with glad and rapid heart-pulsings, praying audi~
bly in thankfulness for this unlocked-fur blessing. (Minerva knelt
down by old Bruno, quite overcome at sight of him, for she had
long thought him dead, and the faithful creature gave a. low whine

of delight.
 The proud but crest-fallen Don Carlos had returned to Cuba, but
r- before he went, to the extreme indignation of his guardian, he had
’A made the pretty butterfly, Dora, his wife. The poor general never
held up his head afterward—poor, for he was now impoverished
Iinee he learned through the Senor Abrates that Minerva had been
put in possession of knowledge s_utfi.-ient to secure her fortune to her,
.. and that the oath of allegiance taken by Senor Velasquez was not
‘ z ' - roof against the wild vaporings of a disordered brain. Neither did
his uncle dare take any steps to recover the lost heiress, who, in
time, made them sufficiently aware that she “ knew her rights, and
knowing, would maintain.” Herman persuaded his father to take
no steps towards restitution, feeling fully repaid for his sufferings in
the constancy of his charming betrothed. But those days of sorrow
hadleft-und would leave for years, perhaps during life the trace-
of their terrible endurance. As for Senor Abrates, relieved of the
ruponsibility of his sister‘s care, he had, through the influence at
[Inner Got-chain’s. become a changed man, and saw life through 3

    
  
   
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
    
  
  
 
  
 
   
 

‘- .

 

 

 
   

 

 

 

    

98 THE PRISONER OF LA VINTBEBSE.

hr difierent medium than that of his recent past. Impu :optibly,
lweet Jessie Goreham was taking the place of his old love, Ind sure-
ly a purer, lovelier creature could not be found. He contemplated
putting together the remnant of his fortune and buying )ut some
good business in which Herman might be his helper.

In the great mansion of Don Carlos, Dora queens it. The Don it
quite fond other, and though he is growing a imperate lover of
pleasure, he a‘llows himself to be mfluenced somewhat by his bright.
wilful little wife. But the truest happiness reigns in the househorl
of the farmer where the pale son and his beautiful bride, make the
home an Eden. Bandola has never left her mistress, and prehably
never will.

A miserable old man rises at eleven in his little old house leading,

from the Paseo in Havana. lie is to be seen generally at dusk—
peevish, thin and repulsive-looking—arm in arm with a withered
little old woman of some sixty years, walking slowly through some
retired street. The house and a pension in both is the kind bounty
, of Minerva, but the old general is both ungrateful and unthankthl,
and to this day berates his niece bitterly, because she did not marry
the man” she dctested that he might be enriched. Who would recog-
nize in those two shriveled grumblers, the haughty general, famous
at Suratoga, and the little senorita, whose rich apparel was the env
of feminine eyes? 7 '

In time Minerva learned what she had never known before. Her
father when only nineteen, had loved a Cuban lady ,——a Dona Marie St.
Lunan. From all accounts, she was very good and lovely, and the
young man had adored her. News came however, while he was so-
journing in England for a time, that she was false to him, and fol-
lowing rapidly, the fact came out that she was married. In despair
the young man first attempted his life, then thought better of it, and
out of revenge married the first woman who would have him—the
beautiful English girl, the mother of Minerva. When he arrived at
home, he learnt the truth of the matter—she had been sold, forced
into marriage with a rich old Don. She would never see him till.
her life fading away, she sent for him when she was dying. Her
only child, the babe of a few months slept by her side.

t was an anguished meeting.

“ We have been nnhappily parted,” she said, “ but I have a son
and you a daughter ! Promise me that if it is in your power, they
two shall be united. Thus, through our children we may once more
know a true and worthy love.”

“ I promise,” he said.

Thus it came to pass that both children were reared under the
roof of General Limenes de Mouserute. The old Don was indnocd‘ne-
fore he died (being also a friend of the general.) to give the guard~
ianship of his son into his hands, and the will of Mincrva‘s fathu'

\ provided that if the two children, coming of age, married, half the
property was to” go to General Limenes as a reward for his endeavors.

     
      

  

.W .,,:...,

'LL
, Vs. «1.3 u:

1:222 .
 .1

 

 

 

 

 

01m CHARACTER! ALL LIVING. 99

but that if she married any other man, he (the general) should for- '
feit all interest in the will. There need be no further explanation,
of course the reader sees the result.

Geneml Limenes de Monsemte is living yet, and so are all the rent
of my characters. Perhaps there are those who knew some of m

.3 51189038..

 

’J’STAN

DARD \M

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‘Qeadle .9. Adams, Publishers, 98 wmmn S1... 11'. Y.

 

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Thu Two Romnnl. For two hula.

Tryln flu Chnrncun. For ihrcc ml“.

Th. py Funlly. For Iavarnl 'nninull.’

I'll. all»... For nun! thy-man.

How to 'rlin ‘ Popnlnr’ Starla. Two min.
The Nuw and the Old. For two mnlul. '
A Sonlnliun M Lani. For two uulca.

The Grecnhorn. For two min.

The Tlinu Men of Science. For {our Incl“.
Tha Ohl Lndy’u Will. For {our main. ~
'l‘ho Limo Phil l0 hon. For two little girl.-
linw to Find u: l air. For fin mnlcl.

Tho Vlnnu. For le yuuug ludlu.

A Conuuhinl Eclnguu.

Thu Public meeting. F‘lvomllnnndmftnbt
Tim Euglinh Tuvalu. For two ml». "

DIME DIALOGUES, N0. 8.

Ho Mny Que/n. For an nil" 31th

Drug Rubrm Connniiun. For ten femnlol.
hoping Bad Company. A Pure. For five main.
Cnurfln Under Dillhuliiu. brnulel, l lam-In».
Nlliomx “April-muting ’A Burlesque. 4 main.
lumping ihc Drun- For numroul union.

The Gen-Al Cook. For two mnlu.

Mnu'lnukre. For two lnnlol and un {anal-I.K

Tho Two Romnm. For two [Illile

Th0 llama. Second mum. Fur two main. I .
Snowing the Vl'hllu Fenthar. l mnlu, l (em-ID
Tia Bmla Call. A Recital". For on undo.

DIME DUMMIES N 0. 4.

in Iron King. For m armor. "mam.

‘nnlnx in Lift. ’lhroo mnlel And two fem-loi-
Mh, Ho e MM Churlly. Fur (hm litilo girli-
Ibiul Joan. Fur two mnlu and 0m) (auntie.
in ny. A Flunl Fun". For Ii: llulc glrll.
pEuchnud Primal. '1 mnlfipevunl (cumin.
‘45! to Whom Honnr ll Duo. 1 Indus, I Iemnlo.
Undo Client. Furleveul .mleo,nno femlle

blow. A Din: For hum] mules

“In Sin b'atown Volmieor. anlu, I (II-II.
A Sci-nu from “ l‘uul Pry.” For four mnlal.

'l'l.a Chumn. For thruo n-nlu IM on. fem-lo-
lloo, Cluck and Emom. For dire. littln lrll.
The Right “'ny. AColloquy. For two yr.
Whnl the Lodz" Snyl. For rm mall-n. ,
The Crlmn of Drum. ACohquy. For iwobm
The Reward of llanuoloncn. her [our mind.
The Letter. For mu hula.

DIM]! DIALOGUES, N0. 5.

‘Guouu. For who! or strip?-
m-nL A “Thu. Pannnu‘ " I m.
ind lho Curtain. For man and (amnion.

I It: Pl Society. Five boyl nud n anchor.
nmiriulon Duy. For numl {amnio rhwull.
Ming in “ Tn " Fnruvarrl main.
“School Hoyt Tribunal. For hm bnyl.

Loon Tonruc. Sunni malu Ind fannin-

w Nu «7 Gal. III Answer. For two famnlu.

Putting on Alrn. A Colloqns'. Fnr two III]...
The Sining Mark. For neural hgyn. .
Two iduu of Life. A Colloquy. hr hnlkll.
l-Ix‘ncv. from Murillo Fnllnro.

Mn-iry-Illnnry. An Acting Chmdo.

The Six Virtuu. For all mung hulk-I.

Thu lrirhmnn ni Helm. or two mm.
Fuhlonnhln Raqnlrmub. For tlnm'glrl».

A Buy oll‘l (Eyu). Ford‘hi orimhuloglrh

DIME DIALOGUES, N0. 3.

ho Why “trim-Saan Maia Ind tom-luv
I'ho Pod unacr Difiufltiu. For In min.
Wink.- Teii. For a whoia KlIQDi.

Woman’- Seven {min Ind hut union.
A. in.“ Gold that Gllmn. Hula Ind (Innis-m
him: law. For nix ruin.

The Two Couulm For “no. main.

Tho Vanda of Folly. For A number “hi-l“
A nut Beuy’l Run. Your {sun nd “Io mm.
The Libel Sun. horn-yo forn- nd on mus.
5mm Clnul. P... A Mimi-or a! have.

Cfiriumu l'driw For uner um. win.

   
  

 

Stubs. Fatima-lunde

'nm "um Iii-5g Fur in min.

    

 

wank)» {mantra-unwanww "  .3

,.y

 

      

 

 
 

‘ gjvfi'fifén‘w. ,‘

Yfliwlgflfl I.

 

 

 

 

 

 

Dime _8chool Berton—mica”;

 

DIME DIALOGUEB No. 7.

flu two We. For {cartoon ferrules.

The nnrtlwhlhl in fury-laud. For girln.
Twnnty ynnrl hence. Two (amnion, one mnle.
The wny to Winihnm. For two ruulen.
Woman. A poetic Pull-1‘10 nt wonln. Two boyn.
The ’Ologinn. A (,olloquy. ‘ur two molar.
How to get rid of u born. For several boys.
Bourding-nchml. 'l‘wo melon and twu fumnlol.
Plnu for tho pledge. For two union.

The ill: of dam-drinking. For three b0 n.
~Truo pridn. A colloquy. For two l'elnn en.
I‘l‘lu two lncturen. bur nuxuerou urnlen.

Two viewn of life. Coll u . For two (-11-
1111:11ng- of mull: rofiio hmnlnn.

o a on can. «or in Vernon. Two Ill-
The Strum-be ethnoljlunc or. For two I!
Come to life too noon. For thm malnn.

Eight o'clock. For two little gtrln.

True: dignity. A coll» try. For two boyn.
Oriel two axponnlve. ‘ur two melon.

llnrnlot nail the ghost. For two pornonn.

Littla red riding lmnd. For two lmmlun.‘
New n rpllcztion ofun old rule. Boy: Itntl girlfi
Colurn counlnn. A colloquy. For two m}

DIME DIALOGUES No. 8.

Ha Inlry School. For n numhar of zirll.
e enlolliu officer. Three girls and two boyn.

on bone bnl enthunlnnt. For three boys.
The girl of the perloti. For three girls.
The lbwl rebelllnn. Two main and one female.
Slow but nure. Several melon and two {amulet
Cnudlo’n voloeipedn. One male and one l'nmla.
The figures. For nuvornl nmnll children.
Thu trinl of Your Slayer. For nuven buyn.

Getting It phoLJmph. 'Mnhn and fomnlel.
The society for xnxreml trn K‘OVHIIIOII’II- For girl;
A nobleman in disguise. hm gull, nix huyl.
Grunt axpeetntlour. For two box-n.

Playing school. II'Ive {cumin and {our melon.
Clothet {or the hmthon. Una mole, on. [outd‘
A hard can. For three botl.

Ghoul. For ten l‘nmnlun end can mn!‘

DIME DIALOGUES No. 9.

Advertlnlng for he] . For n numnor nt‘ femnlon.
Amaricn to Enginn , groeting. l" r two boyn.
Thu old Mul the new. Four fem-nlnl one turtle.
Choice of truer. For twnlvn littln boyi-

Thn lap-dog. For two found».

The victim. For four remain nndoen mnln.
The duolint. Fur twu buye.

The true hllnnophy. For femnln nnrl mice.
A good ucntlol. For two {.mlut.

The law ofhumnn klndmnn. For two fund“
Spoiled children. For n \uiud nchool. \
llrutun rtnll Cnnniun.’

floriulnnun ind Aufidinn.

The new ncholnr. For n numbnr of g‘rln. V
The roll-mule men. For thrue nmlun.

The May men (No. 9.) For It echuol.

lllrn. Luck nnll’n economy. 4 boyl and 3 zirln.
Should woman in glvnu Nu ballot-l For hoyn.

DIME DIALOGUES No. 10.

lit-n. Mnrk Twnln’n time. One male. nnnl’elnulo.
The old flag. School fenliul. For thrm: boyn.
The court of fully. For men girln.
Grant livnn. For nix boyn em nix girln.

ndnl. For uumcroun mnlen nntl [omelet
The light of love. For two born.
The flower children. For twelve girln.
The deal uncle. For three boyn.

' union. For two buyn.

The rehlmrsnl. For n nchnnl.

The true way. Furthron boy: end one girl.

A prnctlcnl lilo lonnnn. For three girln.

'l'he mnnk and the noldlor. For two bnyn.

11164876. Schonl futivnl. For two girls.
Lnrll Dumlrnnry'n Visit. 2 mall and 9 (emnlo‘

“'itchu in the "sum. For 8 Kirln And 3 boyn.
'rnnchmnn. Chnrnde. Nummn «Ian.

DIME DIALOGUES No. 11.

A parent.“ nrn urv deceitful. For nix bnyn.
Tgn conundrum l'luu y. For tunic Ind lemnln.
Curing Butny. Three melon And {our lam-inn.
lurk end the bonnntltlk. For five nhnrncten
Th. we to do it nmi not to do it. 8femnlon.
How to name healthy. etc. Mills um l‘nmnlo.
The only true llfn. or two glrll.
Clunlc colloquial. For two boyn.

I. Guntevun Vnnn nut! Crintinrn.
ll. ’l'nutnrluu nnd annut.

‘l

iinknn nnnnrvtnco. For sever-i chnrnrtnn.’
nmlurn wnutnd. For uvunl char-ctan

‘ nan I w young. For two girln.
Tho molt pmloun heritnge. For two boyn.
The double Ell". 510 rnnlon and four fontnlnn.
The lowcr-gnrdnn lnirlnn. For five little girln.
Jomlmn’n novnl. Throe nnlnn And two (unnlnn.
Down" 0! tin widow; For thru girl:

 

 

I’wn a“ in tho udrnht- For that ml“.
AI l-dlguttol anotan For uvnrnl fem-inn.
nod behind tin-nun. ‘Snnrnl durat'n.

All—pig‘.
Intent-dunno... Pnr

Aunt-n“ tam-d-dhpnln.
Danna—Int. Form-dun)“

 

Fuhionnbla dlulpntlon. For two little glrln.
A rclmol chnrnde. For two boyn and two girls
Jenn lnznlow‘n “ Sonzn of Sun.” 501.0 [irk
A dcbnto. For {our boyn.

Ragged Dink’n lnnnon. For the. be".

School nhnrndn, with teblnau.

A very qunntioubln ntcry. For tubby;

A null. For thru-o mnlen.

The ml pullout-n. For two bop.

DIME DIALOGUES N0. 12.

A family not to pnttnm allot. T. «M
Hnw to mun-age. An eating dnrndo.

'l‘hn nation nap-tin. Four Wyn nnd M-hu.
Thnt naughty boy. Thrno fen-lam ; an“.
Mud-cup.  bitingueazrndo.A a

All in notgo M ll- : 1mm
Sic Inuit glorin mundi. All-gm.

DIME DIALOGUES N0. 13.

Worth. not wealth. For (onion-l Had.
No nuch word In Ml. For men

  

    

 

mm moon cam—59mm and nhiogm. \ I

 

BIKE WT
MI rat'- 60 “hr, All lbw: u bu,
Tin Mimi minds, Smdni,
V.- 1.. 15d. eoam in, A dnrk lids View,
Don has v» Mary in! To r "5',

0n nin: Gum, Spray: from Juli Bil
hinliivilailllb ling,

got
Pin é’llnhor‘y n wo- er
‘ A linlkiiy discourse,
The llama ruiarl, luw Tobin: so to speak,
they “Ipnkn,” Old Mrs. Grim-l,
Hunklnh Dawson 0n \ pnrudy,
Molina-.in-lnw, . urn nnd «in,
He didn’t Ieii in farm, Kill Undurwood, pilot,
ha in:- uory of Frank. Old Granloy,

liu’l km,

l V»)! i run I buy lion,
min, . Widriur

A M Itory, wordl,

l‘he pill peddlur’l orn-AOur undid-H‘s vlewl,

SHAKER, No. 23.

Land China cum”, My BMW! b3.

Tin mull-l. dnt‘my ol Ccudu-d MM
tho lribhmm, Picml, .

Peggy MIG-inn, Th: Nueidol,
Lore-d1 -! Ari-ion,

‘ The muqyi wand,

Duffie-mm“- all do A dulleur‘l rabbi“,
unwaiion, The coming nun.

Dar’n nufliu new under The illlxmt w .0
tie nun, Muldoon’n,

A Negro religion: poem, Tlun. mu. baby round

Thai violin a corner, P

l’icnic delig Ila, A gencwinu infcnn .
An. invitnbiun la

undrury‘a run-dam, mm of iii-arty,

Gmn’l 1w. Plain i-ngunga by truih- Tliu crow,

i ful June, 0“ We“

DIME DIALOGUE! N o. 26.

Poor coullnl. Thm lull.- nud two gantlamun.
uninil Indmule-hilll. Sixlndiumdunrnl

u-ecuiwu.

A tut ihni did not fail. Six hon.

Two way: ol'luoing thins". Two little :iril.

Don't count your chickens hafnra they are
imlciia-l. Four ladies and a boy.

All in fuirl I love and war. 31min, 9 znfleman.

How nncla Joah got rid - { flu iflKlfiy. wu main,
with uurnl trudmntiou.

The lawn of mercy. Two very mall girh.

Prlcllce win: you punch. Four hull“.

Politiciln. Nuinerun- clinician.

Tine cnnvnuing ngnnl. Two mala- Ind two
famniu.

Grub. Two mulel.

A main. 0cm. Three famnlu Ind on mnio.

Embodivd nun-him. Three young lull“.

How Jim Pater: diod. 'l'wo mala-

DIME DIALOGUES No. 27.

Pliny O'Dowd’l amp-in. For ihreo m-lu
Anni on. female.
Ihny interwea- not always in“. Numerou-

oyl.
Dimmean Annia. For several :irln.

A donbia Inrpn‘n. Four main Ind om female.
Winn was ill Fnr flvu indiu.

What. will am them! For - lldy and fro boyl.
Indeponduni. For |nuumraun clmrnurl.

EAL-h Inm- the but. For fnnr b -

Triad sud found wanting. For uevorni mg I.
A in”. plat. For uvornl durum".

 

'nu um: Kiri’l good “gel. For two indi- all
two little girll.

“Tina ungrateful mile niggnr.” For two lulu.

I” had this money. For three litlln rlrlt.

Appenrmcen tn deceitful. For neural lut—
nnrl nne zunilemw.

Love's proton. For two little [lrlm

An aniorced curt. For nvenl ell-radon.

Tim-e who preuh And than who purfom In
three mnlel.

A “antic conquut. For two young Kirk.

DIME DIALOGUES No. 28.

A “It tlm told. For ll: ynung lndlu and two
Rand-men.

Orunizlng a dobnllng Iocialy. For four boyl.

Tlu Air-inning. For four illile (MI.

The rehuka proper. For a gentleman. 9 kill“.

Examining nn "ll lpil‘iI. For nix lmliel.

Both tidal of the fence. For four main.

'fiu Ipiria al‘ the wood. For mo nonpa- of girls.

No room for the drone. For thru lit“. in".
Arm-chair. For nulneroun rlnmwiarl.

Measure for manure. For four Kiril.

Sued by I dream. For "to m-lu It! I”

femalel.
An ins-iiihlro Ilgn. For?"  I | 1
A goo nu or mono“. or - x H e r I
An ngrenb o profeuiu. For Milli LA.“
r

 

DIME DIALOGUEB No. 29.

Who Illnll In" thy dleflonuyl For nix typical
Innis :Inmun and two females.
in mi of bnvery. For [our boyl and Muller.
onnne’l win-cl. For four "Ilia cit-rule".
The lmlo anthem Fur Iix little girln.
Tho )‘II And no of Inwln. For dime liiila bqyl.
No rotor-nun. Six gentlemen and thru lull“.

. lmplu Simon. For four litilo ban. 4‘
Thu rod light. Fur (our main, two fold“.
The "mete-n thought. For [our little girls.

Tim inhumm monitor. filmli lKeltialII-
Thru littia fooil. For four um i be".

Beware of the dog! For that lulla- Him
"duiulgurl."

Joe Hunt’l hunt. For in. boys and two akin.

 

An unni good boy. One mile Mu fun-is.
Winn I vin‘iuilon did. For unrh Mia.

Run. For six lulu.

' m M book In all by Nawliuim "suntan, or will in mi, pod-pull. .- In

Ulla-I, on meipt cl price. 10 until null.

 

nun: ls ADM PIHIIIOII, 98 Willie- Ih. I. Y.

  

 

   

  

--w

.1. L

 

 

DIDIIC POCIiET NOVYEIJS.

PUBLISHED SEMI-MONTHLY, AT TEN CENTS EACH.

10'. Job Dan",
10‘ The “'mul King. 164!
ll"! Tl * Illunter. l 161
110 .\|c . . 16')
111 The . . ‘ in
11'.' Th Cr » M4
113 Tiger-“min.

m .\Ll.~l;ul Aurngrr.
11.3 'I he Pvurl Pimtrs.
llfi lllru'h‘ l'nnllwr.

117 AluliethuAu-nul-r.
11.» (mm rm l'rn-olicl’.

l 159

l “rm-knu- “any. 51 Arknlhm’ Jack.
‘2 l > wt. ‘ . I '
15 u llrw \lIm-rs.
 l

f

The anl Rnnrnl
The Rail For,
llruullful I‘nhnmxn.
('xlnrl-Inke .\l
Ilunthe (‘ ' ,
The Murder Scout.
“'th NM.

‘ Maiul uf “flu-"ill;
Th» 'l‘hn-v alum.”
The 1.0!! Hunler‘
llunlzr an.

le Lian Tvnili

. r nines.
utvr llmn.

: m‘nny‘s Si nun
‘- Lin ill.“ Tl’lqutrl’.
'i ’ll - l'l rliin Smut.
A lxlnnui Trumvvr.

n! H 'rqn-

llnulln.’ hick.

l»li
,Ilnw Hnnier.

ll-‘H, ' r ' - . . 'l,.‘ m rulrr.
' 'l l

llungur.
-1 H rrso‘nwih

llnlulwl MM.

- Slim-Iv! Ridcm.
m l'vh'.
‘ rl ('
Y ‘ r lip
.. <1 \rrqrnr.
.qvmlh-I Dick.
The l'hihl Spy.
.".II M ilk (MM.
ill llul l'lunw.
' 1, llm 'I‘rniln r.

qulin.
h.

The ('nnnilml Chief.
linmJnm

'l'he 'l’m-lrr S \ .
lhr Form". .8} lvr.
l'hc Hunlvr Furs.
l'irmlrr Vrngennu.
lh-nlor lit-Mir.

Th.» Suns M Lilmnyi
The 1mm. Bride.

\ KPVIM‘A.
. 'lhr 'l'unknwn Sm

The l‘mirie hurul
le Lightning.
Bum.» Henri.
Nighlrllvwh KM.
Mummu Sun).
llnrrlrunr "ill.

' 'l‘ln- kml (lullnw.

'nw Swnnuy sum.
'nw shmm'. h...

H‘le Murv-asin.
r‘ ‘ 'l'mlupnn. ‘
' KllwrlJli.
' 'I'hu llnnlvr llun‘r‘ulcs.
‘. l'l.il llnvm-r.

' 'l i. '

Muhnwk NM.

(“1' Jup?

le l’ 'I|Yiv Rid-n
l’lil Kylv, Trm

Big Fmvl. ‘Ilh'( ndt.
Rwl llrI-lllrrhc l.
The .\luu in Hrw-n.

‘ \r, the Gr.“

,‘
-\r,il|i lung.
lin'm
w .1‘ I: H'Jvl'.
n ‘3 l u
{Il'w m. [‘i

ll. H i
W

Hlll.

lIl‘J 'I'lm N‘lnh: Fcnnla
NH llunlur “l‘llPKlldL‘.
Hl ’l'lm \lulc ('hiz'f.
H'.’ llwnnv, Ihn» Hunter.
Hil M: nnmln Kills.

1-“ Th? Kml Scullvvr.
1-15 The Imnv Chief.

HF- 'l h: il\ r liuulv.
HT (‘1‘ l‘huhnnm
HR The iglrd Trnil‘

i Hal 'l'hn I'nwen llmul.
Thu Lone lnillmi.
The Hrumlml Chief.
Blllv Hun legs.

The \‘nllx-v .Ncnni.
l‘ml .lnr‘lwi.

The Jungle Svnnt.
('liernken Chi.-

Tlie Bandit annll.
The l'nlrlul Srnuts.

insa.

‘Jl M ll"l'~.|’,'|‘. lln- .‘l.‘\\ er.

 

l
we
4mm in nunm.
,m yin-,1... l‘il‘ :,
1m “1mm
Rival 'rnmm.
mw spy.
)

197
Nb

. nurie Trnppofl
. .lulln, Iltl
l l
l i 1le

Lwn
‘ 1'01

9w

‘1“!

Mml

'1')... Ynung Spy,
'llu- lnuliun Avrngvr.
Rim] Lie-unwime
Thu» Huump “111- I.
Trr llallnun .\'v n".
IInrumh Srnurgn'.
Th» Tle Smuks.
15m laklu Bill.

QM
3‘07
um

TIIF. FIILUHVING “'lLL BE SSL‘lID IV THE ORDER AND ON THE DATES INDICATED:
209 The Border Ann-zen.
2“) Thu lhlmhh-‘n (Thurgc.
2|! The Shuwm-o St-ollt.
sllent N'lnpcr
: l‘hc I'ruirlx~ 011--
‘llo l‘awL“ on $3 I‘
'lu- l'rlmuu-r oi Lu Vllltn-nno.
’plcg Nlnltll, lh- limnlun ll Hrlklmp. ll. I).
"he “'1!le of the “'ullou'lnh. My '
‘lic l’rnlric ‘lrnton. Hx-Iiuum-e Allyn w ‘
The "nu-“r (‘uptuln- lh' (‘ulum-l l’rrntiu Ingmhmn,
2 The Red spy. n; ’,ll:nnil1nn.\l.\'er=. Randy Nuvembz- i
~2I Dh'k Ilurllng‘ ll)‘ (‘nl-l-iin Frenlurh-k \Vhilmkur. Rexuly Urcmulwt Nth.
-22 The Mustmu; III-"torn. l$v (Kiplnin Fl'wlvrlv‘k Whiunkcr. Randy December 26th.
2'38 Gnllty or Not (-‘ullly. By VIIS. Ann Erl‘unur. Ready January 9th.
221 The Outlaw “Huger. My Joseph E. Unvlgex, Jr. Ready Jauuury 23d.

Hy lCilwnril mum. Really June mm.
m- A hpnlwm Rvmlv July mh.

lulu-r Kiln
. l‘l‘lll-Ill’].

Rl-Rlly September 19th.

vtai'n-

h
ilv llctuhcr "Ill.

I

Fur ml» lu- All Nrwsuvulcrs; or sent pest-paid: single numbers, hu cents; le months (13 Noll) $1.75
one year (‘16 Nos.) $9.5m.

BEADLE AND ADAMS, Publhhgrs, 98 William Street. New Yuk.