Waverley Library (Quarto Edition) (v. 3) (1880 12 21)
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~ of ‘réady wore‘an air 0 ° The Only Young Ladies’ Library of First-Class Copyrig 1° pea 7 Hai rere af © — ht Novels Published! eT ao ee ee ee ee eae —_—— ii Hh December 21, 1880. Copyrighted-in 1880 by BEADL# AND ADAMS. PRICE, 5 CENTS SSS \ IM “GO, SIR, AND WHEN YOU MAKE HELENE YOUR BRIDE I WILL WISH YOU MUCH JOY. Go!” The Ghon Mask; or, The Mysterious Guardian. BY MRS. MARY REED CROWELL, Author of ‘The Winged Messenger,” ‘‘ The Masked Bride,” Ete. CHAPTER If. THE JEALOUS LOVER. Ir was a lovely winter morning in the year 177—, and the young town of Pensacola, in the beautiful “land of flowers,” lay green and fair, bathed in the early sunlight of that February morning. Nota half a score of years had d since the settlement of the village, yet it al- comfort and prosp:rity. Many stately dwellings were erected, and the inhabitants secure and content in their Southern home, where the flowers ever bloom, and the air comes balmy and spicy, laden with a thousand sweets. 7 Upon a slight eminence, a little to. the left of the town, stood a resi- derice more pretentious in style and more imposing in appearance than any ‘of its neigh ‘while the oranges, palms, end the lovely bay-trees intermingled their rs. Tall cedars and the fragrant aniseed grew side by side, ‘beautiful foliage, and sheltered the house from the heat, On three sides were shade and perfume; the fourth commanded a view of the limpid waters of the bay; and the cool air of the early morning ‘was rendered still more refreshing by the breeze off the waters. setapin upon ah open space, scarce pretentious enough to be ‘called a ny,“ @yés eagerly scanning the blue, broad. expanse before him, ie \ ‘ was aman evidently forty years of age. His back is toward ts, but, from the square and not ungraceful shoulders, ‘tall, arrowy form, ana raven hair, we should judge the face to be good; perhaps not’ handsome, but certainly pleasing. He turns; there is impatienee in his movement’and gesture, and mut- tered words fall fronmhis lips. , There, he ‘is full before us, and we see his features. Handsome, are they not? Those eyes are blacker than ebony, and large lustrous, and passionate. The brow is rather high, but the dark, ‘half-curling locks seem to fall caressingly, rather than carelessly, over its white expanse. The mouth is haughty, and the lips curve proudly; but there is a certain something, at first sight indefinable, that impresses the gazer; a peculiar expression fhat betokens—what? Notice again the apparently faultless eyes, so brilliant and jetty. ‘See you that sensuous gleam—a deep, al- most hidden boldness? There, at the mouth again—yes, it is so—he, the andsome man, the elegant beau, is‘an accomplished deceiver, a prac- ticed villain. Again ‘he approaches the window and scans the ‘bay; his 6yes grow a and angry; and -he pushes his heavy black hair impatiently from is brow. ‘Vexation! does the villainous rogue imagine “I shall wait all day upon his laggard footsteps? A sound bastinado, if he arrives not-within @ quarter of ‘an hour.” is voice was harsh, and when he spoke his face seemed to lose much of its beauty. Ten minutes-he-waited, now glancing anxiously without, then resuming his quick, impatient promenade. As he seemed about to leave his watch- ‘he meared the window again: a “quitk, léw eseaped him, ak he hastily «raised ‘his eapatiehonfetivor bis thas tee, t FA *
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ae oh Se zz . a cr a ge a erg hed - waving it twice, hung it upon a steel hook jax outside the casement, where it slowly folded re nat as the capricious breeze toyed with it. Almost immediately below the window, and about anchoring, was a small boat, light and graceful. A single person occupied it, and he seemed. awaiting something. e signal from the casement had been observed and replied to, fora small -fiag flaunted from the stern-end of the canoe, and the boatman sat carelessly down, ax if expecting more. : From the little turret, the impatient watcher turned to the door, and passed down. the stair- way into the open entry below, and out upon the ground. ith a firm step and expectant countenance, he walked rapidly down to the water’s edge, where he met the solitary sailor. Well, and what news?” The question was demanded, rather than asked. “Poor news, I fear, sir: There were no tid- ings, and no one at all appeared to know any thing about him.” The scowl on the querist’s face grew darker as he said: ‘‘Curses on him! But did you go the other place, Pinto?” “Ves, sir; but I could not see the lady, so did not leave the message. I thought her mo- ther seemed angry when I told her I desired to see—’ “‘ Silence, fool! Unsuccessful in both er- rands! ‘Truly a valuable messenger! That will do for the present; repair to your quar- ters until I send for you,” With lowering brow and disappointment plainly written on every feature of: his counte- nance, Antonio Zarate turned away to meditate and reflect upon his unsuccessful B ans. The boatman followed him with a fiery gaze. ““* Valuable messenger,’ indeed! And how could I or any one else help it? Didn’t I go five miles further down the bay on purpose see if Lcould learn of him? And if I didn’t beg of the lady to let me see her daughter, then I don’t know what begging is. ‘ Vr luable messenger!’ If the brave lieutenant con:‘aanding isn’t care- ful, he’ll find Pepe Pinto a .fferent sort of mes- wget from what he expect:s.” The messenger, Pe iso, had anchored his boat, and secured it stil! further by tying it to asuort mangrove tree, </hile the bitter words eS his lips; and nov’, is he started toward is ‘‘ quarters,” to whic: he was ordered, he saw his officer, just as h: sntered the doorway; and again the anger burs* forth in words: ‘Go on, senor commancante, in your wicked- ness, for the day will come—the day of retribu- tion! You think to win her, the beautiful Flo- rida blossom, but you can’t; no, you can never woo her from her first love—her true lover, And the brave hunter can laugh at you, and Fepe can laugh, too, for he knows more than ou: think he does. Ha! ha! Senor Antonio arate, noble sir commandante, with all your charms, you will not succeed, now or never!” The excited youth had reached his barrack, and passed out of sight through the entrance- way. Thithee up the gentle eminence, and into the pleasant white house had gone Antonio Zarate, with the pale hue of baffled villainy in his sinis- ter face. * Contemptible rascal! _He had better fly my ‘vengeance, for he knows I am desperate. Lit- ‘tle care I, if he ever sets foot upon Pensacola’s shores again; but this I do care; he must not —shaill not again see her, The lily-livered whelp, to dare to aspire to her hand!” By a violent effort he checked his anger, and rising, rung * *fuall bell that stood upon a stand. A menial! <-swered his summons. * Has J.ovus arrived yet?” “Just .4us moment, sir, and is now without awaiting your orders.” “‘ Tell him to ride instantly to the block-house, and without delay give this billet to Lucas De Leon. Haste, and tell Louis if he is back in good time, a golden onza shall reward him for his trouble. Here, sirrah—the note.” He had hastily scribbled on a chance scrap of paper a line. The servant took it, bowed ser- vilely, and. departed. . The officer lighted his cigarrito, and, not hav- ing breakfasted, rung for his meal. It was brengiih and. eating it, he resumed his smok- Not long did he await the ee of De Leon, for it scarce seemed possible that the boy Louis had reached the block-house, ere he returned, accompanied by a horseman, who, as he gal- jgped through the gateway, flung the reins to guide, at the same time tossing him a coin. \aEe- : . r, i J THE EBON MASK. ‘What, Lucas, so soon? I surely promised Louis the onza if he returned quickly; but this is worth double that, for it exceeds speed. Come, draw up and take a glass of wine to refresh you after your ride.” “Thanks, Antonio. What capital wine you keep! Now, my cigar is lighted, and I am curious to hear the tid-bit of news promised in the brief note.” *“No ‘tid-bit,’ Lucas, if by that you mean a choice morsel; far from it, mon amigo. Rather a big lump of vexation, rage and mortifica- tion.” De Leon opened his eyes wider. ‘“*Ah, I comprehend—and I don’t wonder. You mean the beauteous Helene Valencie?” “The same; and you speak truly when you call her beauteous. Those eyes and ringlets are enough to set any head turning, be it a wise one or a weak.” ‘They can upset a wise one, that is clear,” laughed De Leon, carelessly loosening the ashes from the tip of his cigar. ‘‘ But seriously, An- tonio, what is it that so troubles you?’ “You know her lover, the hunter and friend of the Indians? Well—’ “What?” interrupted De Leon, ‘‘ Helene Va- lencie has a lover, and it is not you?” His voice indicated extreme surprise. “Yes, and that’s just exactly it. I didn’t know it myself until lately, but it’s even so.” “Stramge! You say heis a hunter, and on amicablé terms with the Indians, too? “So I learn; and the fair Helene loves him.” De Leon was looking thoughtfully out of the window. , wn you sent for me, Antonio, to assist ‘ou “ Exactly ; will you do it?” “How can I? hat must J do?” ‘* Lucas,” and the villainous face of Antonio Zarate bent close to his companion—‘‘ Lucas, there is such a word as compulsion.” _His comrade smiled. “T am aware of it; I understand such ee mon amigo. You know, in our country, beauti ful Spain, such transactions are common. i wouldn’t be the first one Antonio Zarate had a hand in, eh?” A meaning smile was his reply. “‘ And you can do it, think you?’ ‘‘ Without doubt.” “ And how?” “‘ Plenty of time, and plenty of opportunities. Patience is the essential quality in my case.” ‘* And as to the whereabouts of lover—” “ Ah, that is just what I would like to know. Mysterious, of course, in all his movements. He heard I had sworn to kill him—so Pepe Pinto says—and preferring life to death, has suddenly bap cep ph e “‘ Of course his lady-love is advised of his pro- ceedings?” : “TI know not; but if I could learn his wild haunts, 1 would have him arrested and confined under some pretext or other.” *“Can’t you find him?” ‘I might, possibly. Ihave atrusty follower a servant I Hn with me, who can be relied on most implicitly. He was accustomed to such errands, 80 would be no novice. I might send him, I su pose,” 7 “You es indeed. But, Antonio, [had no idea the morning was so far advanced. I will be compelled to leave, for duty calls. Adios.” ha ie apd Lucas De Leon and the command- ante left the room. CHAPTER II. THE UNWELCOME GUEST. Tt was after sunset; the great golden orb had sunk to repose beneath the waves of the bay, while over its limpid waters still streamed a brilliant radiance, a bright line of cg left by the de ing luminary. e purple twilight was softly stealing on, and slowly but surely embracing the ant groves of aniseed, orange and myrtle. The tall palmettos swayed in the wind, and from afar came the music of the breeze as it rippled through the cedars, or sung its dirge-like melody, while it disturbed the solemn quietness of gloomy cypresses. ; The evening was but a type of many evenings 7 “linda Florida,” cold, balmy, spicy, roman- c Among a grove of orange trees stood a low frame cottage; no appliances of wealth marked it, but its every feature bore unmistakable evi- dence of refitied taste. Before the low door, upon the green mossy earth, sat a creature “Of face so fair, Of form so rare,” that one unconsciously gazed again to assure. himself that she was a human being, and not an angel or fairy. It was not in beauty of feature that Helene Valencie excelled all others; it was not that her eyes were brighter, deeper, clearer than any of the other village beauties, or that her. lovely jetty hair fell rippling over a fairer neck than theirs; it was not this that impressed the observer with an indelible picture of her supe- rior beauty; it was the pure soul, the gentle disposition, marked in every character of her face, in every lineament of her features. Pure, gentile, and loving, Helene Valencie was an object to love and to be loved. And she did love, and was loved. Julian St. John, the fair-haired hunter, al- though not a native of sunny Florida, Helene’s more ae home, was her chosen—thé one to whom she had given all her young heart’s devotion; and well worthy was he of the affection be- stowed upon him. She sat alone before the humble doorway, gazing upon the brilliant evening star, th hung shimmering in the sky, when a gentle touch on the arm aroused her from her slight reverie. She started and turned. ‘Oh, Pepe, is it you? How you startled me. ‘‘Beg your pardon, senorita; but I am in | eee haste to regain my quarters before Colonel arate discovers my absence.” “What, are tio away again without leave?” ““¢ Again,’ lady? Were I to wait for permis- sion to come here, I’d never get it. You don’t known senor commandante so well as I do.” “*T suppose not; Pi for all that I am assured heisabad man. Pepe, did you bring me my message?” The color, deepening on her face, betrayed her anxiety. ‘Yes, senorita; here it is.” “ And you saw Julian?” “T did not; but found the note in the usual place, under the same stone. I hope the young master is well and safe?” Her quick eye had read the tiny billet, and as she refolded it, came her reply: “Physically well, yes; but hunted and driven only beast. What has he done, Pepe, so fear- ul? ‘* Does the senorita know his enemies are per- sonal foes, pursuing him for personal reasons and dislikes?” Helene’s face paled, anda murmured ‘‘Heaven save him!” fell from her lips. “Pepe, my friend, I will reply to this note, and will you see about giving it to him! Sit down a moment while I write.” ** Please hasten, for, should my abesnce be known, the consequences might not be remark- ane pleasant.” e Spanish — are disappeared, and Pepe Pinto sat alone in Senora Valencie’s door- way—Pepe Pinto, the colonel’s ‘‘ valuable mes- senger!” ven so; Pepe Pinto, the soldier, the com- mandante’s servant, his orderly, was a spy upon his officer’s conduct. Well he knew of Antonio Zarate’s ame for the beauteous Helene, of his deep hatred and jealousy of the accepted lover, Julian. He played his part well, and when the villainous officer told him to. search after the fortunate rival, and bring news of his whereabouts, it was a very easy matter to re- turn from an apparently fruitless inquiry; while at the same time it was quite as easy to carry a message from Helene and pring’ reply. en, too, when ordered to stop at the dwell- ing of the lady, and demand an answer to his questions, it was only a pleasant errand to step in, a while, and re with the message: “Dona Valencie denies any right of Senor Zarate to question her, or her daughter, regard- ing persons in whom Senor Zarate can have no possible interest.” Blind to everything but his own wicked pur- poses, Antonio Zarate never epee bis appa- rently trusty servant, and laid his plans in fan- cied a - Sent by the § vernment with a body of soldiers, and a r panies by nearly fifty families, he had co America, and, under the direction of the Spanish authorities, who then held Florida, settled Ma the shores of Pensacola Bay, christening their little town by the same so tly flowing name. Here, despite occasional attacks by the white man’s enemies —the terrible Seminoles—the young settlement flourished, and in less than ten years after its birth numbered nearly four thousand inhabi- tants, many American, some pure Spanish, but more Spano-Americano, or half-breeds, Julian St. John was an American—a North American; but a residence of eight years in the a ot eee
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THE EBON MASK. — capes | $3 Spanish settlement had changed his a pearance somewhat, while in custom and habit he re- mained true to nature. At the block-house, where were stationed the troops, under command of Colonel Zarate, all was gayety and animation. The wine ran in red streams, and loud oaths mingled with shouts of drunken laughter. The mirth was not un- usual, for among the officers revels were of nightly occurrence. Piles of Spanish currency lay on the table; beside them, soiled cards and glittering dice. Somewhat apart from the noisy group sat the commandante, his restless gaze bent toward the wost. se he arose, and donning his mili- tary hat, and drinking a glass of fragrant lemonade to remove from his breath all traces of cigar scent, strolled out the gateway, and down tke shaded road to a sinall white cottage. His summons was answered by a tall, dignified y. ** Ab, senora, I bid you a very good evening; and your charming pent also. Am [I in- truding? I hope not, for I had promised myself a pleasant cha’ ¥ Senora Valencie.” ‘Be seated, senor, although the poor cabin affords few comforts to one accustomed to lux- uries, The lady’s tone was cold and distant; but the determined lover was not to be thus re- pelled. “Did I not see your daughter as I came in? I imagined so.” “She was here, but left the room to attend to a caller just before your arrival.” At this moment, low tones were heard from the adjoining room, near the rear entrance. ‘Pepe, go; be quick! Your master is here now, and you must not tarry. Reniember, to- morrow at sunset, be at the orange grove. Adios,” ‘* Hold, rogue, villain! What do you here?” It was Colonel Zarate who spoke. He had heard the name “ Pepe,” low as it was spoken, and, forgetful of good-breeding, had darted to fe nak door, just in time to see his servant epart. _The secrot heart of Pepe Pinto was rejoiced at his being discovered. mg had he wished for an i sy sar to free himself from his severe superior in command, but, as yet,no chance had presented itself. But now, were he again to fall into the hands of the cruel commandante, his fate would certainly be imprisonment, probably worse, Of course he would never return to his bar- racks to meet that punishment. He was then free, though a deserter. But what of that? Once away, he would join his friend, Julian St. John, and-together they would roam the forests, bidding defiance to the colonel and his chivalric followers—a set of privileged desecrators, gam- blers, murderers, although in the service of the great Philip. ‘““What dol here? My business, sir, which is none of yours.” “Silence. Do you dare to reply thus to me?” ee reply was vouchsafed him, and again he asked: ‘* Do you dare, I say, speak thus to me?” “I do dare! What or who are you, that I should care for you? From this hour you num- ber Pepe Pinto no more as one of your tools. I go, I fly; not so much to escape your ven- Zeance as to aid the hunter in foiling you and our spies. Ha! ha! Colonel Zarate! Pepe ows a little more than you think for! Adios, noble sir; do not fear, you will see me again.” Laughing scornfully, he sprung away, leaving the trio in mute amazement. Rage etnpurpled Zarate’s countenance, as he turned to Dona Valencie. “What does it mean? I demand to know. Tell me.” ““When Senor Zarate so far forgots himself a to speak thus, he can scarcely expect an an- wer, ., Lhe lady’s voice was calm and dignified, but it rt blast o | ‘ ii nd you, gi | league with tae vilest rascal on the Ties of earth. But you will be foiled. Julian St. John shall never wed with you, and before many days Helene Valencie Shall be the bride of the commandante.” The girl was pale, but collected. She pointed to the open door. There, sir, is the way. My mother and { prefer our own society to that of a villain and a coward. Go, sir, and when you make Helene your bride, I will wish you much icy: Go!” Together with her mother she left the room, The aie their bedroom and securing the door. © officer was left alone, standing in the de- serted apartment. Fora moment only did he « fe oo | aa = thus wait, then striding angrily out, returned to the block-house, to chew the bitter cud of re- venge and baffled villainy. Not half an hour later, stealing through the green thicket, was a figure, its bright eyes gleaming in the starlight, and the long, heavy tresses of ebon hair rolling down the neck and shouldersin rippling waves. Withanxious eyes the woman scanned the low, thatched cottage, and then, as if satisfied with the reconnoissance, stole more boldly along till she came directly under an open casement, in which the moon- beams poured, revealing the figure of a young girl, attired in a loose flowing garment of white. The woman’s wild eyes were peering at the fair face while she spoke: ““Ah, Forest-Bird, you have folded your wings, but the night-hawk is prowling yet. Little one, the enemy is abroad.” Helene started, but regained her composure. “Oh, Nina, are you there? Wait a moment while [ come down and unbar the door.” “No, no; let the bolts and bars be. Nina wants no roof to rest under; the blue sky is her canopy, and the green savannas hercouch, But the Southern Blossom, the brilliant Forest-Bird, needs protection, for the enemy is prowling.” ‘Enemies have I, Nina? And what have I done that foes should lie in wait for me?” ‘What does the innocent doe, that the trap should be laid, or the little bird that the net should be spread ?” .The young girl’s face ey thoughtful, for she remembered the threat. ““Tf the snare is laid, how can I escape?” The woman’s eyes flashed; she drew herself to her full hight, and proudly replied: “Does the Forest-Bird forget she has Nina for her friend? and Nina, the ‘ Wild Wanderer,’ never forgets a friend!” “Thanks, thanks, and Helene is proud of her champion. She will never fear.” “And the hunter has a strong arm and a stout heart to defend the maiden! But, beware of him that comes when the sun is gone down; whose eyes are black and shining, and full of evil. Beware, Bird of the Forest, of the fowler who shall fix the net! But, remember, Nina is a true friend, and the hunter-lover has strong arms and a warm heart!” Stealthily and carefully the strange creature crept away from Helene’s presence, burying herself in the magnolia thickets; while to the young girl’s ear was wafted back the song: “Fear not, fear not, one heart is true, One arm will bear thee safely through; One heart there beats so true and warm, To guard thee from all ill and harm.” The tones died away in the distance, and all was still again, but the maiden’s heart was troubled. The fierce threat of the despised and unsuccessful rival was fresh in her memory; not that she feared for herself, but, oh, if Pe had told her truly when he said Julian would surely die if the commandante found him! The assuring words of Nina—the poor, half- crazed creature, who, since the settlement had been founded, had wandered, unmolested—com- forted her, and in a short time she fell intoa uiet slumber, the words of the love-song chanted by the departing i oa still ringing in her ears and coming again in her dreams. CHAPTER III. A ROGUES’ COUNCIL. ‘“ANnD you consider this new fellow, Ricovi, trusty in every way, and sure never to turn traitor?” te I do most certainly repose confidence in im. The friends, Zarate and De Leon, sat alone in the room keri | the bay; the same apart- ment from which, a few mornings since, the col- onel had watched and waited the arrival of his messenger, Pepe. The habitual cigar was be- tween the lips of either one, and both lay com- fortably back in their chairs, watching the tiny smoke-wreaths, as they circled up and away. Although the block-house was Colonel Zarate’s legitimate abode, nevertheless, an untenanted cottage facing the bay suited him better; and it was here that many hours were lazily spent when not engaged with his duties at the post. Pe be ess Set ad ae Pere ie each in , most pro , of the same : ee en Antonia,” said De Leon, again ee a somewhat lengthy pause—‘‘yes, I would allow Ricovi to act as spy were I as sure ot his worthi- ness as you say ee are. He is cunning, crafty, and faithful. hat more do you want?” “True; no more. I am only suspicious of Ricovi, because I have been disappointed in Pinto. It is hardly doing the former justice, I admit, to doubt his ability; but this treason in v # : ae. : ? ier Ps . i. = ” re gh eee Pepe was so unexpected. I actually detected him in his baseness; I was at the cottage of the beautiful Helene when I heard his voice, and found him about to convey a billet to the hun- ter from his lady-love. Since then, I have learn- ed that, for some time, when on errands for me to discover Julian’s hiding-place, he has served my lady by invariably carrying messages and mbAEHOE between them.” Za “So! I do not wonder you are suspicious. Anyhow, you can be revenged on Pepe: is he not a deserter, and, as one, liable to death if caught?” “Yes, if caught; but I don’t apprehend that. Before now, he has doubtless joined the hunter, and both will elude all vigilant search, I fear.” “True; for this St. John appears very retired in his habits.” ? é “Therefore, I shall immediately send Ricovi out and try what can be done. I shall have Pinto arrested as a deserter, and, if caught, the hunter Julian can be taken and brought here under the pretext of aiding in the escape of a deserter from the Spanish arms. How’s that?” “ Capital. What more?’ f 1. Pee ‘“‘T shall see Ricovi now, and give him his di- rections; this very night sees him on his way. we Here, De Leon, a glass of sparkling wine to our success; the overthrow of the rival, and the speedy possession of the jewel, the Senorita elene Valencie.” The brimming goblets were drained. “And is this lady really so beautiful, An- — i m here buta few — tonio? You know I have months, and never yet have I been so fortunate as to catch a a of her.” “ Beautiful? That doesn’t begin to express half her charms. I wish I could describe her; such hair and eyes— But, by my soul, that’s she now! Do you see, coming down there by the magnolias? There, De Leon, what say you? Does ‘ beautiful’ express it?’ De Leon’s e ros were fixed with startling ear- nestness upon the unconscious passer-by. “ Dios de mi alma ! Antonio, if I couldn’t swear it were another! { “Who? You mean, I suppose, that Spanish beauty there in Madrid?” “The same, man! You sit there very coolly, however, while I am perfectly thunderstruc I say, Antonio, the resemblance is positively ba Xe e “ Nonsense, fellow; just remember that Isa- bella and this lovel Helene, are both natives of the same soil; and besides there is always a great similarity between Spain’s daughters.” “But this is unusual; of course you have no- ticed it before, haven’t et By the way, Za- rate, how did you succeed with her?” “ With Isabella, Fr mean? Oh, married her, of course; a month of love and paradise, an that’s the last J ever heard of her. I expect she is the wife of some Don or other, for her face might make her fortune—or break it, for that matter. “So you were really married, eh? And the ceremony was valid?” “To be sure; Isabella was too sharp to allow a strange priest to unite us, and so Father Joa- quin performed the rite.” “‘T should think you would have been afraid to desert her as you did; besides, she would bave proved a good wife, I think.” “Yes, so-so,” drawled the commandante, re- lighting his cigar. ‘ But, about that time! left Madrid. and, for seven years wandered here and there; then t joined the army and was stationed at Gibraltar nearly five years, when I was or- dered to take command of a number of emi- nts to Florida. So you see, even if I had eared La Senora Isabella’s vengeance, I was es secure, moving from place to place, as I ia? ‘Has this new lady-love of yours been in the place long?” ’ “Only since the last arrival of settlers—not more than a year, I think. But, De Leon, the day is passing rapidly on, and you know I must see Ricovi ere noon, so he may at once. Send him to me immediately.” ' CHAPTER IV. ; THE MEETING IN THE GLADE. It was at the Hp hour, and the lovely night hung warm and pleasant. The full moon shone brightly down among the gloomy cy- , and cast but a faintly-traceable shadow upon the greensward below. Stretched upon the soft earth was the figure of a man, of pro- rtions at once firm and graceful. He was clad in a hunting-frock of dressed skin; his feet were covered with moccasins, and breeches of deer- skin enveloped his limbs. A rude cap, most probably manufactured by himself, lay under “> a i
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es oe Xe his head, and his hand grasped the ready rifle, Miers a ’pright-gleaming knife lay across his t Ss. e face could be but dimly seen in the flick- ering moonlight, but the open, manly expression was plainly visible, and one would imagine the other features were not wanting in comeli- ness. A step, so light as scarcely to be heard, fell upon the stillness of the night-air, The sleeper started to his feet; the slumber thus easily bro- ken proving him accustomed to be ever on the alert, possibly ever in danger. Another figure approachad, and cautiously en- tered the gloomy dell. ‘* Ah, Pepe, it is you?’ I feared it was astran- ger—probably a spy. When will the time come that I can lie down and repose in safety and quiet, and without my. rifle for a companion and pistols for my pillow?” ‘*When you substitute a bunch of feathers for the last, and the lovely Helene for the first, friend Julian, and I fear not much sooner. But I have news.” “You have? What?” ‘¢ Colonel Zarate has another spy upon us— ostensibly to arrest me, the deserter, but really to take you; and you know death will be our lot if captured—mine for desertion; yours for aid- ing in my escape.” ‘Another spy, eh? Who is he, and how did you learn it?” ‘t One of the friends I have in the town told me he heard the commandante giving directions to a fellow from, the block-house. He is not a sol- dier, but a sort of servant; his name is Ricoyi.” “Not, that. man, surely! Why, Pepe; you know him?’ ‘* Well—and to be the worst rogue living!” E st How ean that be, when the colonel declares am? A merry smile lighted the hunter’s face for a moment, a “True; but the opinion of one does not make it so, ‘«Ricovi!” repeated Julian, musingly; and, as if he associated unpleasant recollections with the name, he is rifle tightly. “ But, Julian; I must return to the cottage _ and get, back before dawn; so if you desire wor sent, tell.me now and let me be off.” A hurried message and a note were given to Pinto’) . Await the reply, and meet me in the ruins pn ae TER SE a epe de with cautious tread, leaving Julian to snatch his light slumbers or pursue his way as he deemed best. wiftly but silently the deserter hastened on, seeping: out of the brilliant moonlight, and care- fully avoiding the open spaces. Two hours’ walking brought him to the cottage; a few mo- ments served to awaken the inmates and secure the requisite reply from Helene, and he imme- diately took his way back toward the appointed place of rendezvous, He had retraced his steps nearly a mile, and was passing through a deep, dark cypress-glade, when a sound, as of an animal breaking its way through the underbrush, attracted his atten- tion. Nearerit came, and louder grew the breaking of branches, Filled with apprehen- sion, Pepe grasped his knife and looked to the priming of his rifle. “It may be an animal; I think it is. No pursuer would walk as carelessly and_ noisily as that when searching forme. But, if it is a PERSO if it should be Ricovi, his life or mine! ither my heart’s blood or his shall be spilt ere Pepe Pinto is.a prisoner!” uddenly, the onaehting sound ceased, and a deathlike silence reigned in the cypress dell. All was dim and dark, and Pinto’s figure was “scarcely visible in the midnight, but from the low, quick breathing one could tell of his eager- ness and watchfulness. Exactly opposite him, and not ten yards away, a dusky face peered through the natural thicket. In. the darkness the bright eyes could not. per- ceive the fugitive soldier standing so deter- minedly erect, but Pepe saw the gleam of those eyes, and, imagining them those of an animal, uttered a sigh of relief. The face was instantl , withdrawn, for quick ears had heard the sound, “which verified a former supposition. “Hey! tought hein dar; sure now. Guess ’im don’t know ’Covey so close by. Poor com- pny better’n none, any way!” Whe -face and form. were those of. the spy Ricovi, sent a short time. betore on his erran of blood and vileness. _Gold-was to be his re- ward, if successful, and a handful of the coin glittered in his belt, “ just.to toed his appetite,” as Zarate had said, when he it to him, THE EBON MASK. with the promise of more when his task was | successfully accomplished; and no more if otherwise. Consequently, in Ricovi he found a ready and willing tool—one who, if necessa would steep - his ds in blood for Coola, gold;” or commit any crime to satisfy his ava- ricious thirst. Such a man—no, such a fiend— lay motionless and quiet upon the ground just outside the glade. His mind was intent upon securing the man inside; that was his errand, and he must accomplish it. ‘Good for ’Covey! Cotch ’im quick, too! Guess don’t know spy at his heels, Hey, Mr. Julian, yowre trapped.” Silently as a specter he arose and glided around to the spot where Pinto stood, still gazing at the place where the beaming eyeballs ad peered through Suddenly a weight, heavy and ponderous, felled him to the ground, and a wild yell rung in his ear. ‘“‘Hi-i-i, ole feller! Wonder who’s got ’im now? Guess "Covey kin ketch hunter, too, what help d’sert’r run away!” Pepe made a desperate effort to free himself from the awkard ition in which he lay. His face was toward the ground, and the huge, sharp knee of Ricovi pressed upon his back, “Let go, you accursed rascal! Up, or I'll blow your brains out!” “Will, eh! Let’s see ye! Here’s yer gun where I knocked him, and thar’s yer knife where you frowed him. Hi-i-i! I got ye. Now I’m goin’ to tote ye up to Pensycoly.” “T am not yale , the hunter; so you had better let me go at once.” “Don’t fool this one, can tell ye! Think ’Covey so simple as b’lieve that?” “No, you are far from being simple, and I commend you for your sharpness. But, truly, I am not the hunter you seek; I am a traveler through here, bound to the next village; but I know where this hunter is, for he crossed my path not an hour ago.” The politely-sincere—or apparently-sincere— ech of Pepe was not without its effect upon icovi. Doubt entered his mind, and he really wondered if this was true. Pinto could easily have proven his words, that he was not the hunter, as the reader knows; but, to have ex- posed his face would have been to sign his own death-warrant, For, though Ricovi might not have recognized Pepe’s voice, still his face was familiar. Pepe thought a moment. “T have some gold. You may take it all if you will let me up. 1am not he whom you seek; see, these bands are dark and toil-worn, and you know the hunter is fair. to look upon. Besides, suppose I were your enemy, see you not how powerless I am—all unarmed : He felt the heavy knee slightly raised. “Gi? me gold now?” ANTI “Yes; see here in this bag the bright pieces. Take them and let me hasten on.” The wily spy removed his weight, and Pepe sprung up, with only the rude of the arm to remind him he was still a prisoner, until the lucre exchanged owners. The money was Ricovi’s, and Pepe was free. He darted for his trusty rifle, which lay already loaded on the earth, whither it had been thrown as Ricovi flung himself upon him unawares. Still doubting the spy’s honor, Pepe kept one eye upon him as He bent to secure his rifle; and well for him that he did; for the treacherous rogue intended no such good luck to Pinto as escape. So the moment his face was averted, he sprung toward him, but not in time; for Pepe saw his maneuver, and papning. suddenly, the blow which was intended for the back of Pinto’s head, fell wide of its mark, and Ricovi pitched sprawling on the ground. Quick as a acl the deserter’s knee was planted on his reast. ‘“‘ Villain, now who is in your power! Fool, dolt, to think to. outwit Pepe Pinto! Yes, stare and gaze; it isI, the deserter! Now, go to your master, the noble, the gallant commandante, and tell him of this. Go, for I scorn to take the worthless life from one who could contemplate the cowardly deed you did!” He had disarmed the spy, who sprung up, and, ere Pinto could give the parting salute he intended—a sound kick—was out of the glade, and crushing through the underbrush in e drection of Pensacola. __ Pepe stood a moment. Light was just dawn- ing in the east, and warned him to pursue his way, ere seen by those who might not prove too gather his d knife, be rapid! Gathering u gun an fe, he rapidly pursued an Sat opposite course to that the SPY had taken, resolved to keep his appointment at the ruins, whither Julian had gone b) . PRN ce CHAPTER V. THE CHIEF’S PROMISE, A sOLiTary light burned dimly in an upper room, aud gleaming out in the darkness, render- ed the black night doubly gloomy. Without, the murky clouds went scudding across the sky, and the waves of the usually pla- cid bay came beating and dashing, flecked with angry foam, against the hard foundation of the block-house. It was Antonio Zarate sitting in the upper room, where the faint candle-gleams vainly tried to throw a satisfactor ow upon the note he was reading, probably for the fortieth time. Near him sat a rough, villainously- visaged man, his elf-locks hanging wildly over his face, By the uncertain glare, Ricovi looked more the fiend than man. ‘* And you found this note on Pinto’s person after you knocked him senseless?” ‘¢- Yes: we fit some time ’fore he caved; then, when he keeled over, I just s’arched his person, and cum acrost thet thar. Preshus poor pick- in’s, too!” ‘“There were no valuablesgor money?” ** Nary an onza!” chuckled the liar, while his bens rested in his pocket on the well-filled pouch. Again Zarate perused the note, now torn and soiled. It was very brief: “My Jutian—(so it ran)—Pepe waits while I re- ply: I cannot commit my thoughts to paper here, ut meet me on Tuesday night at the orange bower, just before midnight. Then I will tell you all. Till then, my own noble Julian, farewell, and may eyed angels guard you. FiaNe The habitual scowl on Zarate’s face was re- placed by an eager, satisfied expression, as he read the lines, and an inward chuckle denoted his delight. He arose and looked out of the window. “The night is dark, but good for our pur- pose. Bring the horses to the door immediately, and we will be off. Remember, not a syllable of this, or—” and he touched the hilt of his sword. A few seconds and the commandante and Ri- covi were riding fast and furious from the sleep- ing village, plunging through the gloomy for- ests, or speeding along the open highways. One hour’s ride brought them to their destination, and they dismounted, tying their beasts securely to a stout sapling, It was a wild plain, deep in the Gpparontly inaccessible center of a wood, and the storm- laden wind, as it whistled shrilly through the aba ig tree-tops, rendered the gloom trebly ism Before them stood a small Indian lodge, the rays from a brightly-glowing fire gleaming into the dark night from between the irregular in- terstices of skins which served as door. The strong perfume of the inmate’s pipe came un- pleasantly out, and while the fastidious Zarate could not repress a sniff of disgust at the rather too odoriferous scent, Ricovi shrugged his gaunt shoulders and smiled, if a contortion of such distorted features could be called such, “Very good; he is in good ’umor when he smokes that pipe.” Another moment and the two were within the lodge, and the bear-skin fell between them and the gloomy night. Squatted before the fire, on a soft mat, his imperturbable countenance gazing stolidly in its bright embers, was the Indian, Once high in authority among his tribe, Tul- lona was once loved, revered and honored. In the discussion around the council-fire, the first voice was his; in the treaty-smoke, Tullona’s lips first touched the pipe. But, he had fallen from his high position, and now was an outcast from his kindred, a solitary wanderer, making his home now in the wilds of the woods, now in some hidden cave; lost to honor and right, Tul- lona was a fit tool for any evil. Among his dusky warrior brethren, he was an object of disgust, contempt and dislike; and in his turn he hated, with the fury of an In- dian hatred, the whole tribe; mht! When the two men, Zarate and Ricovi, en- tered his tent, Tullona gave no indication of his knowledge of their presence: and, not till Ri-~ covi addressed him, did he turn his piercing eyes from the fire to his visitors. ; “ Chieftain,” said Ricovi, for he knew it would fatter bie vanity to address. b bates Chief. tain, eat soldier 0 a } @ and wants, to say sum’thin’ to ye. Will the Injun nD 5! : is te intermingling of bad Enpjj with a etgeeapt at the beautiful Indien lar? guage, had no effect bs arn Tullona other than to cause his eyes to search the colonel’s face,
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He looked inquiringly at the officer, “Tullona, we came to-night on business of great importance; a mission is to be accom- plished that none but a brave warrior can suc- cessfully perform; and that is why we seek the Indian chief, knowing his heart is strong and his arm unfaltering.” He paused to note the effect of this flattery. A low “ Ugh” issued from Tullona’s lips. ‘‘ Besides, the man who goes on this mission maust have close lips and a silent tongue; the chieftain understands; will he undertake the task? Gold will be the reward, and a huge skin of fire-water: much tobacco, too.” Tullona’s eyes glistened as he spoke. ‘Gold, rum, tobacco?” ‘*Yes, all these to the Indian if he consents.” “And does the soldier want Tullona’s hands to be dyed in red blood before he can get these things?” ‘Oh, no—no, indeed. There is no murder, although the warrior chief is brave enough; but you will need no arrow or gun,” The Indian gazed curiously. n brief words Zarate explained the nature of the mission; told him of the girl he loved, and of the meeting in the pranee thicket; instrneted him what he should do and where to take her. Tullona consented. But the soldier says the forest-maiden has a lover; who is he, that I may strike him from my path?” “The pale-faced hunter is Julian St. John, the American.” Like a sudden flash of breaking from a black, heavy cloud, gleamed a fierce, esperate expression upon the stolid features of the fallen brave. His savage ire was aroused, and he grasped the handle of his long, murderous knife. ‘Julian, eh? Him strong friend to Indians; Tullona hates his brethren, but Julian is their friend. The white hunter is a great brother to Minoni. The Indian would murder Minoni, and his friend, the hunter, too!” “Then Tullona will come to the village when midsummer lightning 0 eee — rs ‘ * ss . 2 , a=
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we + ~ oh murmured the fair girl. “Let us hope so, at least,” was madame’s fer- vent assent. Helene leaned her head on her hand and gazed out the window; for a long time she remained _. 80 silent, that her companion addressed her: tue _— > , , _ ou _ sob burst from Helen’s bosom. “WwW ne is it, daughter, that occupies your ‘‘Oh, mamma,” burst impetuously from her lips, ‘‘ why did we leave pete Oxehy Spain— for this horrid country? ere we not happy there, in our cozy little home? Oh, that we were back again!” “And Julian?” softly whispered the lady. “True, dear mamma; I never would have known him had we remained there, and I am sure I couldn’t leave him now. But, why did we come?” ; “Tt was n , child,” Madame Valencie’s tone was chilling, and He- lene refrained from asking more. Another si- lence followed. Suddenly the maiden spoke: ‘‘Mamma, there is one thing that has often surprised me; it is this: the unusual love I feel for that pom unfortunate Nina. It may be pity it may strong friendship; but, whenever i see her, [ can scarcely refrain from throwing my arms around her and resting my head on her bosom. Oh, I am sure I do love her very much; more than any one!” “‘ Helene,” said the lady, gazing reproachfully at the eager, flushed face of the young girl— **my child, more than me?” There was something inexpressibly tender in Madame Valencie’s tone. “Forgive me, dearest mamma, for saying it. How cruel it was in me! More than you? As if ”—her cheeks grew still more scarlet, and her eye brighter—‘‘as if I could Jove any one more you! But I can’t explain it. “Oh, some- times—indeed, I cannot mind it, mamma, and you must forgive me for it—but when I think of poor Nina, so lonely and sad, and so beautiful and learned, my heart goes right out to her in such aos love—a great deal stronger than I ever felt for you!” She buried her burning cheeks in her hands, as though she anticipated the lady’s displeasure. Madame Valencie smiled sadly upon the bowed head, and a strange expression passed over her face—an expression at once tender and compas- sionate; but no word escaped her lips, and she oey caressed the bended head. io ene looked up, the tears trembling on her es. a Mamma, you are not angry? I did not vex ou? She kissed the ripe lips, and whispered an as- mnt, reply. “The lovely flower is bended to the ground with the dew, but Nina will show a sunbeam that shall dry the drops, and the maiden’s heart will be joyful again.” “ In the doorway, tall and commanding, stood the wan figure of the wandering Nina; her beau- tiful tresses falling, as usual, over her face, al- most concealing the features’ and completely disguising the expression. The large, mournful eyes gazed sadly out, being the only feature - visible Asien zi At the sound of her voice, Helene and the lady ‘turned quickly around, the warm blood rushing to the young girl’s face as she saw the tender mac of the lustrous, gentle eyes, so piercingly k, yet liquidly sweet. ‘“‘Fair maiden, Nina’s heart is made glad to- day; and the flower of love is springing up, for the first time in many years. A long while poor Nina has been a wanderer, with no one to love her, none to cherish her and comfort her. Once _ l—the crazy Nina—had a pleasant home and a daughter—oh, Forest-Bird, a darling daughter— fair as the morn and gentle asa gazelle. But she was gone, one day, and the wt i sword of sorrow rent in twain my heart, and my brain ger hot—hotter than fire. Then, poor, lonely ina started and determined to find her lost birdling; but all she found was, one morning, a little grave in the forest, and they said the ~~ my little song-bird in there, long ago. wander all over, now; for Nina has no home, and wants none but the blue heaven, where her darling is, and the green earth, where they laid her away.” The low, musical voice ceased, and a great Madame Valen- cie smoothed the excited girl’s hair, and, her eyes dreamily roaming over the room, the poor woman spoke again, in the same touching way: ‘*The lovely bird of the forest says she has a great love for the. wanderer. Nina heard her say it. Nina’s heart springs up fresh and young again, as in the days when her own babe lay on. A oe sul ‘Heaven will preserve him to guard me!” THE EBON MASK. her bosom. Will the gentle girl come and let Nina kiss her only once, just for the sake of the at pal hal ith a passionate cry, Helene flew to her, and twining her arms tightly about her, buried her head in her bosom. “Does Nina love my daughter so much, then?’ inquired Madame Valencie, as she gravely noted their actions. How Helene’s heart beat as she listened for the reply, while a vague feeling of die ig knew not what, thrilled through er. “TI do; because she is young and tender, as was my own lamb. Yes, Nina will ever be the forest-lily’s true friend.” A pang of eg pr leapicr smd quivered through Helene’s form, and she resumed her chair by the fee be The visitor’s mood changed as sud- enly. oF The night-hawk is ready to swoop down up- on the defenseless eke ae ““ What—not again?” asked seniora, who readily understood the figurative language. “Nina says it—then is it not truth?’ demand- ed she, in a dignified tone. “Of course, good woman, I do not doubt it, and only meant what I said as an expression of surprise. “*YTuesday night,’ ‘midnight,’ the maiden knows?” Helene turned in astonishment at the woman’s words. ‘* How did you ascertain that?” “Aha, Nina found it out! Nina spies when no one imagines it. But, the Forest-Bird must not go !” “Must not go where? I can not understand.” It was the senora who spoke. “* She knows; the lily understands if you do not. Nina says, not go!” “Why ?—will you tell me?” ‘Tbe white hunter, he of the strong arm and stout heart, will not come; he knows the dan- ger, for I told him. [ know how the prowling vulture will wait for the dove, when the inno- cent bird goes to meet her true love. Nina fol- lowed his ode ea steps of the man with the rare face and serpent tongue, and she heard them talk; she saw the tent in the woods, and heard the false men talk. Nina knows, and the maiden must not—shall not go; but the lover— just at midnight, when the air is cool and the moon is down, so they can not see him—the lover will here keep his tryst, and fold his love in his arms.” None of the three spoke for a second; then the woman asked: ~ ‘* Will she promise not to go?” Helene hesitated. The weird words held her in awe, and she feared to doubt them. “Does the forest-lily heed Nina’s warning, and will she give her the promise? Nina must have a speedy reply, for she must go and tell the hunter to come here at midnight. He will explain it all better than Nina can.” e€ promise was given, and, laden with the message, the strange creature set out on her toilsome way to the ruins, there to find the two refugees. “Nina wants no thanks,” was her imperious reply, when both Julian and Pinto would have deluged her with grateful words. “‘ Nina does her duty; her reward is here,” laying her hand over her heart. Again, as in the morning, she quietly, silently left them. The setting sun, eget the world in a radiant array of purple and golden glory, sunk calmly into the placid waters of Pensacola Bay; the warm, lingering brilliancy faded slowly away over the green savannas, and floated around the a aed hills; one by one the laughing stars dimpled forth, and the stately moon rose, in silver coolness, from the same waves beneath which so short a time before, the golden orb of day had disappeared. For a short time fair Luna reddind the earth with her brightest smiles, then, slowly and peacefully, retired behind the hills, leaving the myriads of twinkling stars alone with the night. It was just at this hour that Julian and Pepe left their retreat at the ruins, and cautiously pursued the path toward the cottage. For a half-mile they journeyed in company; then Pepe, leaving Julian to go on alone, turne aside into a by-path, and struck out in an Oppo- site direction. By a circuitous route, Pepe reached a secluded spot, not a quarter of a mile from the cottage. This spot was an orange thicket ; the place mentioned_in the ill-fated note as the trysting-place. Here it was that Pinto resolved to wait until midnight to see if his surmises and suspicions concerning Zarate’s motives were correct. Climbing to the top of a dense, spreading tree, he found a comfortable w F, = . — pe astride two branches, where he prepared watch and wait. Julian, meanwhile, {oun oe along unmo- lested to the cottage of Helene, his heart veetog high with anticipation. Nearly a fortnight h elapsed since he had seen her, and that, to lov- ers, is an age. His footsteps grew quicker and lighter, and as he reached the cottage, a bright light cheered him on to his loved one’s side. _ A low knock at the outer door startled the in- mates. ‘“‘Oh, mamma, it is Julian!” and she flew to open the door. A warm, passionate embrace, fond kisses for Helene. A respectful salute to Senora Valencie, who in sympathetic remembrance of former days, when she was in love, discreetly left the room on some trifling errand, leaving the de- lighted lovers alone to enjoy their greatest hap- piness—each other’s congenial society. CHAPTER VIII. THE BROKEN TRYST. At the same moment that Julian and Pinto started from the ruins, the former to visit his lady-love the latter to lurk in the orange- thicket, a party of four men sat in the cottage of Antonio Zarate, in the bas ea apartment, commanding a view of the bay; the same room our readers have already once or twice visited. The principal ag ae were two officers, Ra in all the elegance of full-uniform, even to the stylish crimson sash of finest silken texture, and glittering sword, dangling at their sides. They were Colonel Zarate and De Leon. At a table, on which was a limited quantity of liquors—just enough not to make the imbi- bers drunk, and consequently useless—sat two men, playing a game of dice. By each one’s elbow stood a half-filled decanter of the treach- erous rum; and between almost every ‘‘ throw” they stopped to quaff a draught of the poison. One was the part-human, part-fiendish creature Ricovi; the other, Tullona, the disgraced and dishonored chief of the Yamassees. In a corner of the room leaned two rifles, and at the belts of the players hung long, glit- tering knives; both were attired without much regard to fashion and taste; Ricovi’s suit being a simple coat and pants of army brown, dingy and faded. Tullona, however, with a lingering love for the olden time when he was one of the highest in rank among his brother warriors, still preserved some of the peculiarities of the picturesque Indian costume. A blanket, coarse and filthy, edged with a torn, moth-eaten fringe, fell from his broad shoulders, and over the rude breeches, made of the same rough material, a loose covering of skin, almost devoid of fur, enveloped his tawny feet; on his head he wore a strange-looking contrivance, half-hunter style; an otter-skin, hard and dry, was arranged in a sort of cap, the tail hanging over his shoulders. And these two perverted specimens of hu- manity were the tools selected by a Christian man in his dastard work of dishonor and crime. “Tt lacks but two and a half hours of mid- night, and I think it would be better for them to start at once. Don’t you?” Zarate consulted his watch, «Perhaps they had better be moving; I will tell them. ‘*Tullona,” said he, crossing the room to the table where the Indian sat, ‘‘ the time is come for you to start on your errand of secrecy and trust. Go now, and ere the midnight hour is long past I shall expect the brave warrior back, laden with his prize. Bring the maiden here, safe and sacred, then shall the promised reward ‘be Tullona’s.” Shouldering their arms, Ricovi and his com. panion, no longer the retired, quiet, stolid chief, but noisy, talkative and boisterous, start- ed out, accompanied to the gate by the com- mandante and De Leon. Into the open roads they took their way, the dim light from the stars barely serving to guide them. “White man walk first—show Tullona the way.” “Don’t know the way, eh? Jest foller ver nose, an’ ye’ll come to it!” The Indian made no reply, for the cool night air calmed down his previous excitement while drinking the fiery water, and he was becoming more reserved and silent. Pe es ‘Got any more drink, eh?” inquired Ricoyj, ‘“‘ Drink,” repeated the Indian, contemptuous- ly. ‘Is fire-water all the brown face thinks about?” A ee Ricovi regarded him with a ridiculous grin, “Guess Injun wouldn’t ject to a little if could git ‘im, eh?” « og
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a No reply being made, and Ricovi not — ing, the two walked on until they reached the margin of the woods. Here they paused and looked carefully about them. “‘This place,” grunted Ricovi. yere; I show ye.” “Tullona needs no showing. He is at home in the great woods. The brown-face is a fool not to know that.” “Who says ’Covy’s fool? Injun rascal?” Tullona turned upon him, and raised his knife warningly. “The brown-face must keep a civil tongue, or— Ricovi followed the gleam of his flashing orbs, and they rested on the glittering knife-blade. By this time the two-‘marauders had penetra- ted into the wood a good distance, and were now so near the orange-thicket that the sound of their footsteps crushing the twigs and snap- ping the low bushes was distinctly audible to he ear of the hidden spy, Pepe Pinto, ’way up on his leafy perch. From his perch he listened to the approach of Tullona and Ricovi. Not long did he wait for them, for a few seconds after, they entered the thicket. He recognized Ricovi’s voice. ““Not been here yet; not time for half-hour. Come, Injun, we’ll hide, then catch ’er when is going back. Here.” “Tullona can find a place without the brown- face’s help. Tullona will sit here.” In grim eek he seated himself upon the pea behind a thick tuft of orange-blooms. icovi, meanwhile, had discovered a rather low tree, in which he climbed. “When girl comes, ’Covy ’ll wait till starts for home, then run down, cotch her; me and Injun carry to Pensacoly; git lots o’ drink and much gold.” still? or “ec he Indian With stoical patience the two abductors waited the hour of twelve—long past that time, ras still they waited; but no maiden, and no over. Until the first faint tracings of dawn were visible epi sat; then, in disappointed ill-humor retraced the way to their master. Pepe Pinto, too, when they were gone, came down from his perch, rap convinced of Zarate’s desperate designs. He shouldered his rifle, and lunging into the woods, as on scarcely lighted y the first rays of coming day, returned to the in the woods, of him- “Come in 1 the foolish-mouthed bo meen else how can the bird be caged?” ‘ spoke severely. hidden covert, the retreat self and Julian St. John. CHAPTER IX. THE EBON MASK. IT was. about two o’clock in the morning, and the two friends, De Leon and Zarate, sat in their room smoking their cigars, and awaiting the return of the men dispatched on their er- rand of crime. ‘I wonder what detains them; it is long past widnight now; surely they should be back by this time.” _‘‘ Hardly, I think,” remarked De Leon, tap- ping his cigar against the window to remove the ashes. ‘‘Remember, the girl was not to be. there before midnight; and two hours—for it is scarcely more than that—are a short time to ac- bin ee such an errand.” : ‘* You are right, but I do wish they would re- turn.” “Curb your impatience, man; and console yourself with the thought of how well worth waiting two years, much more two hours, the fair Helene is.” “Tsv’t she, though? Really now, De Leon, don’t Be feel the least envious?” De Leon laughed. “A poor devil like me, Zarate, on such large ay, can scarce be supposed to indulge in a taste or such adventures, let alone participate in them.” The colonel smiled tionable mustache. “‘By the by, comrade, did you know she re- ae that Spanish lady of yours most fear- v y and stroked his unexcep- ‘““Pshaw, De Leon; you are possessed about her. Why, man, isn’t it perfectly natural that these two, Helene and Isabella, both being na- tives of the same sunny land, and even both born on the same beauteous river-bank, the famed Gaudalquivir, should possess the same general resemblance?” ‘Granted; but Antonio, the resemblance is more than general, it is icular; strikingly 80. Heigh-ho, what o’clock might it be? Three, and aoepin dawn, as I live!” ‘And they not back with her yet! By St. EN rad aoe “ is ~~ THE EBON MASK. Genevieve, comrade, what can have happened to detain them?” ; A reply was prevented by the sudden en- trance of the two men; Tullonaand Ricovi. The colonel sprung to their side, and in eager tones cried; ‘* Helene, the lady—where is she?” De Leon’s quicker eye had noticed the disap- intment and mortification depicted on the aces of the unsuccessful messengers, and at a glance divined the state of affairs. The Yamassee replied to Zarate’s question, “a No lady; the midnight meeting was not ere. ‘“ What, you have not brought her?” ‘* Could Tullona bring what was not to be brought?’ His voice betrayed The anger. ‘**Ricovi, what is it? Tell me; did not Helene and the hunter come to the orange-thicket?” “No; ’Covy and Injun waited long, but no lovers; guess deserter Pinto tell hunter not come.” ‘‘Sure enough; of course, colonel, some one must have warned them; but, it is aggravating to think that all this time spent in waiting by us, has most probably been occupied by the lovers in each other’ scene for, mark me, Antonio, they would starcely be cheated out of this interview, and to lovers, you know, one place is as good as another.” A frown settled on the baffled villain’s face, and a scowl darkened his countenance. ““You may go,” he said, abruptly, to the men in waiting. ‘‘Ricovi, take Tullona to the ser- eant’s quarters, and you will find plenty of iquor; hereis the money. Now go.” triding angrily up and down the room, his disappointed villainy plainly visible in his face, and scarce able to repress his intense rage, the commandante looked more a fiend than a man. **Curses on the fellow!” burst from his com- pressed lips. “ Who—Julian St. John?” carelessly inquired De Leon. “Yes, Julian St. John. But for bim—ah, when I once lay hands on him ’twill be to hang him high as Haman!” “So would I, colonel,” assented De Leon, consolingly. ‘But I must leave you, mon amigo; tis dawn and no sleep has visited my eyes for many hours. So, buenas noches.” Left to his own reflections, Zarate felt any thing but comfortable, and for a few moments paced the floor in angry excitement. Through the window faintly stole the very earliest streaks of dawn, so faint that objects in the room were undistinguishable. Tossing aside his nearly consumed cigar, and removing the superfluous military sword, sash and coat, the commandante Wade de a blanket about him, and lay down up- on the floor to secure, if possible, some sleep, ere the duties of the day began. He had lain but a few moments when the door quietly but softly opened, and a figure draped in unrelieved black, entered the room. Closin the door, it advanced toward the officer, an when near the center of the apartment stopped and stood in awful dignity. Zarate sprung to his feet, and, spell-bound with surprise, not to say fear, gazed at the mysterious voce **Colonel Zarate,” came in full, melodious. tones from the draped form, ‘‘ who and what I am you know not. I come on an errand of mercy, and shall not retire till I accomplish my business. Listen. Last night an attempt was made by you to carry away from a loved mother and a pleasant home, to dishonor and corrup- tion, a fair girl, the pride of her friends, the idol of a true, noble lover. Through my agency she escaped her doom: I it was who heard through an indirect way of your plans; I, whom you fancied you heard in the forest when you were returning from he's diabolical errand; and I, too, ‘ Leota of the Ebon Mask,’ am she whom you saw on the edge of the woods.” The lady pee but remained motionless as a statue. thering courage from her very human style of address and refined language— for Zarate had at first thought her a black de- mon—the astonished man replied: ‘* Well, woman, whoever and whatever you are, what business have you here at this time, and in an officer’s private apartment? gone!” “Be courteous, senor; remember you ad- dress a lady; and you know, for gallantry, the colonel commanding professes to have no equal, although he seems to have forgotten that fact.” “Silence. Your story of abducting a ‘fair girl’ as you say, is a base fabrication, without foundation or truth—a foul lie, by whom, or % _-- ee 7 NET A for what purpose invented, 1 know or care not. So, woman, I demand that you leave my pre- sence instantly, with your masked face.” “* Leota obeys; but before I accept your polite invitation, listen.” She glided forward and placing her mouth to his ear, uttered in distinct tones the single word: ** Isabella !” + Pale and trembling, the commandante heard it. ‘Surely, senor, your memory is not so treach- | erous as to forget your wife, whom years ago you left alone, weeping and mourning for a mis- creant husband, on the banks of the beauteous Gaudalquivir? Ah, I see you do remember; and, senor, by the memory you entertain of that injured wife, by the terror you now feel, the fear from which you can not flee, I command you to desist in your attempt upon the age ness, safety and honor of Helene Valencie. member, at your peril you disobey me; and know, too, the time will come when Isabella shall be avenged!” The graceful figure quietly withdrew, leavin the bewildered soldier in an agony of terror an rage. And ‘‘Leota, of the Ebon Mask ” disa; peared as mysteriously as she came. —-——— CHAPTER X. THE STRUGGLE. “Two miles south of the village of Pensacola, and half a mile east of the road that leads to the bay, are twvu adjacent. bodies of water, the former lying immediately south of the latter, with which it forms a communication at high tide. Between these two bayous or ponds extends a marsh, low and ation a filled with noxious weeds and poisonous shrubs; one of the many such spots so frequently found in the wilds of Florida. On the west of this almost wholly impassable marsh, there juts forward & narrow neck of land: to the south it runs off into a series of small rocks, sharp and irregular, before which and hiding them is a dense mass of trees —dark, gloomy eypresses—whose dismal shade renders the spot trebly wild and lonely. Following the narrow, rocky path, bordered on one side by the marsh, and on the other by ledge upon ledge of sharp precipitous crags, for the distance of one hundred yards, a large cavern is found, formed by the overhanging cliffs. The entrance is entirely hidden by a clump of trees, and the gray sides, rough and | impassable, resemble a huge rock risivg abruptly from the water below. In front the cave-roof is nearly twenty feet from the base; wide and capacious, it would have afforded a comfortable shelter for many persons. Entering the cavern, and approaching. the other extremity, the space gradually narrowed until, after a distance of thirty or forty feet, the cold, stony sides of the cavern almost touched each other. But this was not the end; for, after a narrow passage of some ten or twelve yards between the scarcely-divided rocks, the walls suddenly diverged, and another cavern, about half the size of the first, opened to the view. Upon the floor of this rearmost cave were spread blankets and strips of coarse ma upon the sharp, projecting spurs of rock, around the sides, hung various articles—knives, rifles, skins. clothing and dried meats. A large skin-bag, filled with water, stood in one corner of the apartment, and near by on a rude table, constructed by Jaying a roug board across two upright sticks, which were insecurely thrust into two chance crevices in the irregular floor- ing, were the remains of a simple meal, if the few crumbs of bread and potatoes, and the con- tents of a partly-emptied coffeepot, unenriched by a and guiltless of sugar, can be called! such. Evidently, then, this apparently inaces «i | retreat was inhabited, and by human wiry: \ and civ Even so; this wild, solitar , epou was the home and retreat of the hunter aud his © friend. Julian St. John and Pepe Pinto sbode together there—lived in security, for few i: ew of the place—so few that it was entirely ‘or- gotten. From the brow of this mighty natural pile z rocks, screened on the one band by the dense foliage of overhanging trees, on the other by the high vertical projection of. the same cavern that afforded them a shelter, Pepe watched the goning of Julian. Nearly two hours had elapsed s pigmise was to return ere nightfall. That hour! had come and almost passed, and the dark even- ing shades were gathering closer‘and denser, j +* : ay" ince the hunter had-been gone, and his|_ Be
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iets 3, * . 4 o “TY wonder what can detain him? Heaven guard him safely back,” A low crushing through the bushes caught, his attentive ear, and he grasped his rifle tightly. Peering cautiously around, he endeavored to discover the cause, but was unable. Suddenly, however, a dark, beautiful face shone through the thicket, : _ Pinto raised his rifle. - ‘“Who comes? A friend? If not, I fire!” The figure came slowly into view, ‘““The white hunter’s friend would shoot poor Nina?’ ** Never, my good woman; but one must. be. cautious, you know.” “ Yes, one must be very cautious. The white hunter’s steps are traced, Nina says; and unless he heeds the warning he will step into a pitfall Where did the lover go?” “‘Timow not; he left the cavern some time | ago, promising to return before dusk; but he has not, you see.” The mournful eyes searched Pinto’s face. se the hunter’s friend tell him what Nina says?” ‘Of course; and were he only here now to hear it for himself, 1’d be glad.” ‘““Do-not forget; Nina will come again.” Another hour of apprehensive anxiety, and then came the tardy Julian. es ‘Why, what could detain—” Pepe suddenly stopped, staring in amazement at the hunter’s face. “St. Genevieve, what is the matter? Speak, tell me!” Pauting and excited, agitated and exhausted, Julian‘could only point to the woods below. “Well, what? The Senorita Helene is safe, is she not? but we are in danger, for crazy Nina was just here and compelled me to promise I would repeat her message—that we were traced, or rather you were. But, Julian, I treated it as an idle‘alarm, yet your face, your agitation— can it be: true? , + = so; and at this moment they are‘on the _ trail.” And the aan way to escape from this place is down the path by which you came, and that. ar leadius to them. What do you propose to ‘Nothing, but resist to the last,” responded Julian, his eye gleaming ominously, and his voiceJow and thrilling. 2 But, ” queried Pepe, anxious to catch at any straw, ‘‘are you sure of it?” “ Of what?” ‘That they are on the trail; who told you?” “‘ My truest friend—one who has never yet failed to give me warning.” _ “TV don’t understand” _ “The forest wanderer, poor crazed Nina.” ‘But, how does she learn Ae TT “* Ah, that I know not, indeed; I often wonder. I can not solve the mystery, that, to me, ‘always. involves her.” “cc I sup sufficiently cunning to elude danger, and equally alert in learning news.” « r be so. But, Pepe, let us waste no “nore tithe, but prepare for the defense. To at- coimpt to leave would be madness. We have ' one advantage over our énemies, a knowledge of thegrounds, which to them must be entirely strange.” Carefully examining their trusty rifles, and looking. to the pistols in their belts, each. a knife, and silently awaited’ the coming of the enemy. A wild shout arrested their attention, and, glancing quickly up, they perceived the faces of half a dozen men half-way up the nar- row path. The foremost one was s five yards from the spot ree by the refugees; and, as his tall figure slowly advanced, they recognized the Indian, Tullona. A fearful fire burned in his wild eye, the meaning of which Julian too well under for he was the friend of the Indian’s hated ene- filled |. , Minoni, the noble warrior who now the fallen chieftain’s place. This fact, simple as it was, caused Tullona’s vile heart to swell with hatred; and the fact that the death of the noble hunter would grieve Minoni was sufficient reason for Tullona to risk much for his revenge; which reason, added to a natural love for such adventures, and the large reward offered, had secured to his employer, the no less revengeful Zarate, a willing tool for this nefarious enter- prise. Behold him, then, the guide and leader of half'a dozen soldiers sent by the colonel com- mandante, ostensibly to arrest and bring back the deserter, Pepe to, and Julian St. John, as his aider and abettor, but really to capture for private, pe deers. lover a ee she is'a sort of harmless lunatic, | th THE EBQN MASK. Julian saw that dull gleam in Tullona’s eye and he knewits meaning. Compressing: his lips still more tightly, he exclaimed: ‘Back, or I fire! Not a man passes that spot.” The hunter's. voice was loud and his face determined, Still the tall form of the Indian remained in the same Siren, his faded plumes nodding in the twilight, and the hand grasping a hatchet, ‘* Back!” again shouted Julian. A second, and the sharp crack of his rifle resounded and reéchoed among the rocks; the helmet of feathers rolled down, and convulsively ° throwing up his arm, the Indian fell, with a dull, rushing sound, down the descent, striking the stagnant pool with a low, dull thud. His, co those who had followed him to the top of the path, ran back, hiding behind the ledges. “Save your bullets, Pepe; there are but two loads apiece, you know, and there are six yet to I. “Tullona has gone to his long rest, Julian, thanks to your unerripg aim. See, there is a head— "Abt he ducked before I could fire.” For @ moment no one moved or spoke, be- siegers.or besieged; then a movement was visi- ble among the soldiers, Cautiously changing their positions they gradually moved nearer to- gether until the entire squad, six in number, were in quite a solid body. Julian and Pe could not fire, as they dared not approach the ledge, thereby. losing command, of the defile, through which but half their number could peTRe ener reneayark ing the h e hunter was rly scanning the hanging cliff of rocks; a sudden thought struck him. ‘Heavens, Pepe, if these ragamuffins should discover that they can scale the shelves, we are lost! Don’t you see? they are entirely hidden, and unperceiyed could easily climb to the top and burst in upon us, while the other three can enter by the path!” Pinto’s eyes scanned the cliff. It was even as Julian said; should they discover their advan- tage, to surrender would. be the only alterna- tive—or death. “Let us hope for the best; but, Pepe, should I fall, and you escape, go to Helene and tell her all, If you are the victim, what shall I do? any thing you say. But if both—” A wild yell i age OY him, and ere he was well aware of their intentions, the space in front of them was filled with soldiers! Half had scaled the penjecting rocks, and, skulking behind them, had waited till the re- maining three crawled up the path, then, in concert, they jumped, yelling and shouting, upon the prisoners, “Surrender, surrender!” yelled the sergeant, ‘and your lives are safe.” “‘Never, while a shot remains! Fire, Pepe!” Two of them bit the dust, and both the rifles were raised again, when an expert blow knocked them aside, barging their contents wide of e mark. Two strong arms felled Julian to the und, and he was defenseless—a prisoner in e hands of his foes, ainly trying to rush to his comrade’s aid, Pinto beat back the soldiers with his knife. “Escape, escape, if you can,” shouted Julian. Snatching his unloaded rifle with one hand, and brandishing his knife in the other, Pepe leaped for the opening. A brawny arm inter- cepted him, and a violent grasp on the wrist detained him a. second, but only a second. Wrenching his arm free by a mighty effort, he struck at the man with his knife, and plunging through the entrance, ran, shouting and yelling, down the dangerous pass, leaping from ledge to ledge, while the bullets of the enraged soldiers —the two who were not holding Julian down— whistled against the cliffs and rebounded down the rocky chasm. CHAPTER XL AT LAST. NEARLY two weeks have passed since the night of the attempted, but fortunately unsuc- cessful abduction of Helene Valencie; a fort- night since the mysterious ‘‘ Ebon Mask” had caused such a hee disturbance in the com- mandante’s mind; two weeks of planning and plotting, of scheming and devising. Stratagem upon stratagem had been concocted only to. be rejected, and Zarate was at length compelled to renounce as Bopalges the possession of the treasure he so coveted. “But it is only for the present, mind you, De Leon, that I thus desist, After a time, I shall try differently. Meanwhile, I do not intend being lazy. . What's on the carpet now?” inquired his charmingly indifferent eom es uttered a cry of terror, and | UE peak Rg Ta eT AOR RE FNS AL TAT *** Who’s on the grass’ you'd better say; for TI warrant he doesn’t set foot upon carpet very: of Reall 1 ds d H y, quite a play upon words, my dear Antonio; scat eres more obtuse than I not to at once perceive your meaning.” ‘A truce to joking, De Leon; I have good: news to tell you; tidings that will surprise and. delight you.” “What? Do be quick, for I am all impa- tience.”’ ‘* De Leon, we’ve tracked our noble lover to, his haunt, and even now a squad of men are on the trail.” ‘‘You don’t say it! Surely, that is splendid news. But how, and why, and when, and where?” ‘‘How, why, when, and where?” repeated Zarate, bewildered. His companion laughed long and heartily. ‘T don’t wonder at your astonishment, really, for my question was ambiguous, not to say confounding. But, let me speak more plainly, and ask one question at a time. First, then, you say you learned his retreat—how was that: accomplished?” ‘‘Through the agency of Ricovi and Tullona, who, since their previous failure, have been un- remitting in their efforts—thanks to their for- mer mortification and my strong whisky.” “Good; now when shall you capture him‘: But, I forgot, probably he is in durance this moment, ou say you sent a party out— when?” ‘‘This noon; the cave where he hides is full two miles from here, and the men required time for a reconnoissance, you know. They were under the command of Tullona.” ‘““T should judge it was time they were back; would not you?’ ‘* Half-past eight; well, yes; but I shall nof: expect them till nine.” he two officer's leaned lazily back, puffing their cigars. “This will be quite a feather in your cap, Antonio—arresting the deserter and an accom- plice, too.” De Leon’s black eyes twinkled peta ym ‘*T understand, though; between you and I, I must confess the deserter’s escape would affect me but little. But it’s a cover—a good cover, you know, this vigilant searching after one of my soldiers; it looks just about right, too; and the people all agree with me in regarding the hunter as criminal in aiding a soldier to escape from his majesty’s service, as said soldier is culpable in deserting from the army.” ean a short pause, disturbed only by the puffing of the fragrant cigars. ‘* Zarate, do you recollect the last time we sat here together, waiting the return of Tullona and Ricovi with the lovely Helene?” ‘“‘Remember, eh? I guess my memory is capable of recalling so recent an event. Perdi- tion, but that was a confounded failure.” “« Sust so, and I couldn’t help wondering whether this expedition would prove as futile. ‘Never, by my mother, or lll shoot every man I sent!” ‘Nonsense, colonel; of course it wouldn’t be their fault, for Pll warrant it he is there, they will bring him. I only thought, what if he isn’t there?” “T don’t paprehere a failure at all, and, to tell the truth, I am too desirous of securing him to allow myself to think of sucha result. If I can’t have the lady, [am determined to punish her by securing the lover.” “* Can't have the lady, Antonio?” ; “Well—that is—I hardly think I shall ven- ture soon again; in fact, I rather guess I won't. Some few events have transpired rendering ita little inadvisable.” ‘*So? Inform me, do.” . Zarate hesitated a moment. ‘Really, De Leon, Imeant nothing; of course T can have the girl by resorting to unfair means; but, for the present, I prefer tormenting her a little by keeping the fool of a boy—that Julian —in one of our strongholds down there in the guard-house.” ‘‘ Hark!” said De Leon, assuming a listening attitude. A noise, as of the tread of many feet, was distinctly heard outside, , “Tt is they! and— Yes, by St. Genevieve, man, they have got him !” ‘ The men gazed eagerly out of the window. Truly, there was the hunter, at last, securely bound, a captive in their midst, subject to the commandante’s pleasure. “ Bring them up,” he shouted to the sergeant, A hurried movement, then their feet were. heard on the stairs; the door opened and Julian
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ar rs eee Reo and the Spanish officer Tod faa S ae And Pinto—where is he?’ he demanded of the » sergeant. in ee senor, and fled, I know not whi- er. Zarate’s eyes darkened, as if in displeasure. “You may return to your quarters: you and your men.” Profound silence reigned in the room, un- broken even by the low murmur of the breeze. His feet fastened by a-chain, and his arms tightly bound, Julian stood proudly defiant, his ee face blazing with scorn. Opposite him, in languid hau ghtiness, sat his captor, carelessly aot tit, as iF in utter con- tempt of his prisoner. A sarcastic smile shone over all his features as he addressed the hunter: “Well, sir, I suppose you perceive you are in my’ ower at last?” n your presence, Colonel Zarate, but in your power—no!” replied Julian, fixing his eyes on the coionel’s face. he officer smiled, and pointed significantly to the chains. “These matter ,little to me!” returned St. John. “ And, bound and fettered though I be, Task no favors of you or any one in your ser- vice. If you think to intimidate me with words, you are mistaken; for I scorn you and your power.” J A an’s oe flashed upon his rival. Peace, oy; remember who you are, and what Jam; just—” Pray, what are you, but a contemptible Specimen of depraved humanity?’ burst. forth from the hunter’s Jips, with all the impetuosity of his nature. ‘‘Who are you, indeed, that send your spies out after a lady, a pure-minded girl, that you may compel a love which you can not win? You, who—” Fired with fearful rage, Zarate strode across the room, and with the flat of his sword Struck mise a blow, bringing his words abruptly to a “Hold, Zarate! You are hasty—that is un- kind,” interposed De Leon, who had remained a silent spectator of the scene, For a half-second Julian’s self-control well- high deserted him; then, with a mighty effort, he calmed his rage. ‘“ Pitiful coward!” said he to the colonel. ‘‘I can forgive that blow of one who so far forgets his manhood as to strike a defenseless prisoner.” “You dare call me a coward, 2 you dog of an American? But your pretended courage will brought low; remember, Julian St. John, there are deep,’ dangerous and gloomy . cells where such as you are confined.” “The heart of the hunter—the heart Helene holds—never yet pulsated with fear.” A spasm of rage crossed Zarate’s countenance. y Proudly spoken, but it avails not. You are a prisoner, ummoning a guard, Julian was led away; and the first dawn of morning’s light found him securely fettered in a filthy cell in the house, with the allowance of musty bread and unpalatable water standing all untouched and unnoticed, where it had been placed. CHAPTER XII. THE CAGED BIRD. Rapipiy as a young deer, lightly as the nim- ble-footed chamois leaps over its native hills, Pepe Pinto sprung from cliff to cliff, from ledge to ledge of that wild descent, stopping for naught but to yell back upon the ears of the soldiers his shout of defiance. Fast as the gath- ering darkness would allow, he sped along ata the dark aisles of the forest, crashing, in his haste, among the tangled bushwood; now upon open pounds now over the marshy brook, then over the roadside. Here he slackened his Tee somewhat, but only to rest a moment. ightening the “belt. around his waist, and heated the oeeE ne perspiration from his eated face, h Be orth all his speed, hastening towne he vi ne of Pensacola. He had completed about half his journey, and Was hurryin ying along beside the edge of a dense Wood, when he was suddenly accosted by a wo- ey arrayed in robes of midnight blackness. er tones were polite and courteous, and her &Xpressions refined and intelligent. nor, may a stranger inquire your haste? Yet hardly a Matitnts er’; for, if I mistake not, a are a Y friend of the lady Helene, and her iends tS call not strangers, but brothers,” » you can surely ‘aiings my haste; for 1 go:46 hear hen wa d news 0 her lover, the brave ian, "Mio fi cape Nell a... THR OAS SPSL RTOS Tae ment, a soldiers.” ‘*A prisoner? impossible! detain you. longer; but bid her be of as or, under God’s blessing, all s be we She turned aside to let him pass, Respect- fully raising the gloved hand to his lips, he bowed and again pursued his way. A short time brought him to the end of his ourney, and his message to Helene filled her ents with terror and grief. “Oh, Pinto, you are sure they overpowered him? you are confident he did not. escape?” she importuned Positive, my lady. Isaw him in the hands of his captors. i The tears fell upon Helene’s fair cheek as she thou ht of his fate. epe,” she said, vehemently, ‘‘ we must re- ‘hes him; it must be done. Julian St. John shall not languish in the prison cell while I pos- sess life and will.” “Gladly, lady fair, would I aid you, and even go alone to rescue him. Only tell me how.” Helene remained in perfect silence. On my way here,” continued Pepe, “‘T raked my brain’ to devise some plausible mode of aiding in his escape, but I did not suc But I speak truly, signorina, when I assure you, if no other plan can avail, and my substitution in his place will, gladly, willingly, joyfully will I obtain his freedom **God bless you, "Pinto, and make Julian and I more worthy of your disinterested friendship, May you never lack such a friend as you are to the poor hunted hunter!” Helene caught his hand and bathed: it in grateful tears. “Pepe, I must go and intercede for him, who is disaleee than life to me. Yes, I must, T will go, and if Colonel Zarate is human, he cannot refuse my prayers. I have decided; ‘and ere to- asighee? '$ sun goes down, I shall have presented prisoner in. the hands of Colonel Zarate’s. Then I will not Oy pe “4 y dear lady, do not! I implore you de- sist. Indeed, you risk your life—ay, pardon me, my dear lady, but you risk more / Colonel Zarate is a man of whom you know little; of whom I know much. Therefore, I beseech you lady, by the love you bear Julian, by the rega: you entertain for your unworthy friend, refrain from so rash an act.” The lady’s face reddened as she listened and replied: “Thanks, many, many thanks, dear Pepe. But I must go, my friend, trusting in God to protect me.’ “Then, hay: I bid you adieu. My errand is accomplished, my message, delivered. I shall return to the forest until I can learn what had best be done. Farewell, dear lady, and may Heaven’s purest spirits attend and guard you. Shouldering his Hyak lava he left the eae cottage in the orange bower, and returned to his lonesome haunts, in the silent depths of the woods. Slowly and tediously passed the hours to the almost distracted girl, who, pacing her chamber floor, wept and prayed. he morning came, and with. it rose the sun whose setting should witness the success or failure of her mission. ‘OTis true,” she murmured to her own heart, as in the silent night-watches she had com- muned with herself, ‘‘’tis too true, I fear, that the commandante will deny my request; but be that as it may T shall go, and if ever mortal shall plead, it wt be me. And I know. the an- gels of innocence will guard me, and God grant to touch the captor’s stony heart, The morning hours Boe by, and the midday sun shone high in the heavens, and completed half his downward course, ere Helene startedto the colonel’s presence. It was about four o’clock of a most lovely af- ternoon; the air was warm and fragrant, laden with spicy sweets and scents of flowers. The beauteous bay in placid smoothness rippled softly on, and cooled the air with its moisture. On the shore bloomed the gorgeous southern flow- ers; snowy orange blossoms, mingling their de- licious perfume with the ripening fruit whose golden globes gleamed among the deep, rich, prrer foliage, contrasting with the cream uds, and resembling rare emeralds, and cool, glowing pearls floating in a sea of molten gold. Through the sweet-breathed m partie avenue, and tender grass cool and grateful to the tread, came Helene, all unmindful of the heavenly glory of ya afternoon; only knowing, only caring that she went to plead for one dearer than life itself; beauties of linda Florida were as a desert place.: She reached the cottage on the bay shore, and ood: one without whom the fairest,, tremblingly alana the widely-opened door. Of a soldier lounging near she inquired for Colonel Zarate, “He is:here, signora,; in hisroom. Be seated. and I will tell him.” ‘Say that Senora Helene Valencie desires au- _dience,” she directe In a moment he returned. ‘Please to follow me.. The colonel is alone and willsee you.” Almost apprehensively she followed, and was conducted to his—the villain’s— ce. The soldier withdrew, carefully closing the door, leaving the two, purity and. vileness, innocence and galt, alone, Be firm!” she whispered to her heart, as she pressed her, hand, against it to still its wild throbbin The officer arose, well knowing the reason of her coming, but be determined to assume a bold demeanor, as, though friendship’s silken tie united them. Deferentially he advanced, and extending his hand with friendly nonchalance’ a ral fair lady, I am signally honored. Can it a possible I see you Goes senses deceive me?” Calmiy and. firmly she refused his offered hand, and. then drew back, removing from her face her vail. “Wh what does this mean?” he inquired, in a well-simulated tone of honest surprise. ‘“‘T wonder, sir, that my presence here at this particular time is not s * gong explanation,” said alors, with quiet dignity. “True, by St. Genevieve,” replied | the “mt mandante, with a sarcastic voice. “ Truly; had nearly forgotten, in my delight at meg you, the probable. reason ig thus honor me; had well-nigh forgotten that—” ‘That Helene Valencie came to plead for one you hold captive—came to implore you by all you hold dear and sacred, to remove the awful weight of sorrow and agony pressing on my heart, while he, my loved one, is a captive and uncared for!” She had advanced a step nearer to him, in her enthusiasm; her beautiful black eyes, brighter than the most lustrous ebony, were suffused with tears; the smooth, polished cheek first glowed, then paled with emotion; and Zarate, as he gazed upon the. lovely features of the noble earl felt the baleful flame warming in his heart and bubbling up in hot streams till his rain was turned; and, despite the warning of “*Leota, of the Ebon Mask, ” which, till now, he. had under a vague fear regarded, he deter- mined to possess this beautiful maiden. “Ob, Helene, my beautiful bird!” was his only response to her petition, as he reached out his arm, his handsome ayes subdued and tender, dreamy in the passion that filled them. With a low, frightened cry she sprung back, and an awful chill curdled her heart. “T might have, known, oh, 1 might have known! Heaven preserve me!’ She did not speak, only thought it, and shood with vailed eyes, apart from the man. “Helene, Helene, my only love, listen. When I spoke those. bitter words that night I dis- covered my servant at your cottage, I was mad, crazed, to have used such words to you, my fragile beauty, But, ob, oh, Helene, lovely daughter of Spain, you do not, can not, under- stand the great, the might love I bear for you. Oh, lady, angel star, I would not burt one beau- tiful curl of your shapely head: I would be calm, respectful; but can you behold my pas- sionate love, and feel no returning, responsive affection?” She remained perccotly quiet a moment, then suddenly broke ‘“‘ And when I plead for one whom J love, even as you profess to regard me, will you turn a deaf ear to my entreaties?” “But it is because I love you, adore you, Heleve, and cannot, will not suffer myself to think of you as anothev’s. Oh, answer me, lady, if J were in his place, would you thus plead for me?” ‘* Ah, then,’ (i she quickly, ‘‘ you admit he is her ©; which you pretended not to know!” He bit his lip in provoked silence, and paused a moment to reflect upon the answer, Then he renewed his importunate entreaties, until, tired angi sgusted, Helene replied: our conduct and language, Colonel Zarate, are distasteful to me, and | command you to de- sist.. I do not love you, which you well know; and, sooner than marry one who can do as you. are "doing and have done, I'd thrust my hand: should consume to ashes!”—in. in the fire till i a tone of unflinching firmness That reply aroused the ee devil in the: “i > ate ‘ 2 : or em or do my td 40". RES “ ut J Z
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a) Tee f , r eee : Spaniard’s soul, and in a paralysis 10 h Jess to turing iggoet rage, he s , powerless to move, g g upon her with all the flendishness of a demon. “Very well, girl; and just in proportion as you despise my love, you s feel my power!” She shuddered, but firmly replied, in a low, undisturbed voice: ‘Sir, I can pity you, who threaten a woman. But let me assure you that, even as I despise your love, do I defy your power.” oh you pretend to abuse my authority— me ? ‘‘ As the commander of the post you certain- ly are in possession, and, rhaps, further. ut I do, most emphatically, deny your author- ity in daring to coerce me in any possible way ; and I doubt, also, the expediency of your de- ie eee prisonér—Julian St. John, upon grounds you know are false!” There was a gleam in her eye, but she seemed unmoved. sfx agua sir, I demand—will you release “* Never, unless—” . “What?” she eagerly inquired. “‘You promise to become my wife.” Her face grew ashen pale, while he continued: ‘Consent, and he is free within the hour; refuse, and you leave not this house till you are my wife. e will see what force can do.” elene drew her slight form proudly up, and regarded him with a look of ineffable scorn. ‘Sir, I know not what you intend to do, nor what you expect of me ; but this I do know, and can say, that you, nor any mortal on this earth can compel me to be your wife! Sooner than that, I would die!” “Indeed!” and advancing a step he reached forth to catch her. But he had miscalculated ___ his distance; she had waited for this, and stoop- ng, like a spirit she gl latched the door an glided out of the house. For a single second Zarate stood, a statue of 1warted passion and rage. His face was livid his eyes wild, and he reached idly out as if clutching after her. For a second he stood speechless, silent; then, as the slight form lided past the window, volition returned and fer- tile brain commenced plotting. ‘“Ho, there, boy, send Ricovi hither instant- ided under his arm, un- noiselessly and rapidly ly. Instantly, d’ye hear?’ he shouted to some _ brightly in poor Nina’s hut ever sin _ she felt the sweet lips of the Singing B ed to hers,” one underneath the window; and, ere the com- mand had left his lips, Ricovi stood before him, “There, d’ye see that girl, Helene Valencie, just entering the myrtle avenue? Well, follow her, and when she reaches the furthest Fie overpower her and bring her back to me. Come in the back way and avoid disturbance. Take a trusty comrade, and make no delay, for the sun is down and the road lonely for a distance. Hasten, and you shall be well rewarded.” Chafing like a caged tiger, he dispatched Ri- covi, and watched him and a companion enter the avenue. Leaving him to his not over-agree- able thoughts, we return to Helene. “Safe, safe, thank God, but what a risk!” murmured the trembling girl, as she emerged from the inclosure surrounding the comman- dante’s cottage. She drew her vail over her face, and walked quietly on, until she entered the fragrant myrtlepath. The calm beauty of the early twilight, unnoticed before, filled her soul with a sweet, refreshing sense of its quiet coolness, and she went leisurely on, living over again the exciting scenes of the afternoon. “No, Julian, Julian, my beloved! I have done what I could, but it was of no avail! In answer to my plea, I received an insult, and when I eagerly demanded the only price of your freedom, my loved one, ’twas an alternative you would indignantly have rejected. His wife! Oh, heavens, what a destiny! ‘But, despair not; other means shall yet be tried and other plans devised which may be suc- cessful. Until then, oh, heart, be calm and trusting,” Thus the sweet girl communed with her own thoughts as she pursued her way toward her home. “ e ird of the Forest, it has been long since Nina gazed upon your fair face, and listened to your musical tones.” It was the crazy Nina who suddenly appeared in her path. ye whence come you, Nina?” Helene in- quired. ‘‘From the forest where the sun has shone the day press- . LORRI esis Om . “> THE EBON MASK. Nina looked significantly at Helene, her large, ee black eyes filled with unutterable ove. ‘‘ Helene’s heart is light if she brightened a sister’s home.” ‘Yes, the hut in the forest is beautiful now, for it is capi by the kiss of a pure maiden, and the dark woods seem less lonely when Nina wanders through, because in her heart, like twin angels bearing her company, are the remem- brance of a fond caress and loving words,” The gentle girl blushed. ‘‘Nina’s words make me happy, and—” “ Hark!” interrupted the woman. The two bent listeningly. ; “T hear nothing; what is it?’ resumed He- ene. “ Footsteps; hist,” returned her companion. Helene screamed loudly, for a heavy hand was laid on her shoulder; she turned toward Nina, but she was gone, and Helene was alone with the ruffians. Screams fell from her pallid lips, as she vainly endeavored to free herself from Ricovi’s grasp; but that rude hold was strong as iron, and she was an infant in strength under it. ‘* What do you want? Oh, let me go!” “No; mus’ go with ’Covey back to cottage. Come, not far. Oh, no, no, I cannot. Let go, you hurt my shoulder.” “« Be keerful, man; you know what the kurnel sed, not to be overly rough.” It was a harsh voice that inte d, but there was humanity in its tones; at least Helene im- agined so, and she turned to him. “Oh, sir, what does it all mean? Why am I detained? Let me go, L[implore, I beg! Do not be so cruel; it can do you no good.” “Dun’no nothin’ ’bout it, gal; only we must obey orders. Be stiddy and come along quiet- like, or mebbe ’twon’t be so pleasant.” Helene’s heart sunk within her, for she felt another hand tighten on the fair arm, and she was a close prisoner. ““May God preserve me!” she prayed. More dead than alive, so overcome was she from terror and apprehensive fear, the men found it no difficult task to bring her, unob- served, to the presence of her tormentor. a , faint and trembling she stood before m. d “ Ah, Signorina Helene,I see you have returned to msider that too hasty decision,” was his ng. ‘* Silence, sir, I command you! The mask is off, and I see you now even more plainly than before, the villain that you are.” ‘*Rail on, fair beauty,” replied Zarate, con- temptuously ; ‘‘ but know that the time has come when I shall no longer use honeyed words or sweet pleadings; but, you in turn are at my feet —are my suppliant. You will sue for mercy, but in vain. Even as you spurned me, will I reject you; but, something worse than contempt is your destiny. Mark you, lady fair, your fate is decided. You love a man—no, not a man—a fool, a coward, whom I despise, hate; and if only to torment him, you shall suffer! ‘“Corporal, remove this woman; she is an enemy to the Spanish government. Place her in the lowest dungeon, and see that you have an efficient guard to be relieved every two hours till midnight, when you may call me.” Helene had fainted, and was carried, all un- conscious, to the place of confinement. Under the same roof with her lover, both secure in his hands, what wonder that the villainous coun- tenance of Colonel Zarate expressed what his black soul felt, fiendish satisfaction? , CHAPTER XIII. THE MYSTERIOUS VISITANT. Wuen Nina thus suddenly, and apparently in cowardice, left her terrified companion with the two it was with an eye to Helene’s own ultimate safety. With a natural shrewd- ness she su the object of the men’s presence, and well knowing the unfortunate girl would need assistance—also remembering the grief and apprehension her_mother would experience—determined to aid Helene as best lay in her power, and that was to apprise Senora Valencie, and if possible procure assist- ance. She found the matron in her cottage, anxious- ly awaiting the return of Helene, who had gone on her errand to Zarate in opposition to her desire. True, her mother had not absolutely forbidden her going, yet she strongly objected to it; leaving, however, Helene to use her own discretion. “ Ah, (I might have known it! Fool that I enemies mer are apnea are was to permit her to go!” she said, bitterly, when Nina told her. Further conversation passed between them, and then the forest-wanderer left the home o Helene and plunged again into the dark woods, gloomy with the night shades. Down in a dismal cell, which looked all the more ghostly from the faint rays of a candle, whose beams sought in vain to penetrate the furthest corners, upon a rude couch of straw covered with a soldier’s ape lay the ex- hausted form of a lady, fair and lovely. Her long, curling tresses, unconfined by comb or cord, fell in luxuriant abundance over her white neck and arms; the eyes, dim and swelled with weeping, were fixed upon the floor, and the long lashes swept upon the cheeks pallid as the newly-fallen snow in our cold Northland. Bowed with anguish, filled with indefinable terror, Helene Valencie looked the picture of beautiful despair, as alone at that midnight hour she held communion with her soul. From the death-like trance into which she had fallen up- on being carried to Colonel Zarate’s presence, she had recovered only to find herself in that awful place. Consciousness gradually returned, bringing with it full possession of her faculties. She re- membered the threats made by the command- ante, that she should be his wife; and even in that lonely spot, the burning blush rushed to her cheeks as she dwelt upon it. ‘*So help me Heaven, I will be true to Julian, my first, my only love; and sooner than unite my destiny with that man I will perish here, inch by inch, amid the dirt and horrible loneli- ness. A shudder quivered over her frame, but in her eyes gleamed the high, holy resolve, the firm, unwavering determination. The hours passed slowly on to the captive, and the midnight bell had ceased ringing, its low echoes reverberating through the dark night, and still Helene sat, sleepless and watchful. As she gazed upon the long, flickering flame of the solitary candle whose untrimmed wick, which had burnt since it was carelessly set there, to- gether with the scanty allowance of fare, seeing naught, but suffering, oh! so much, she im- agined she heard the heavy wooden door creak on its hinges. She turned quickly, and a low scream escaped her lips, as she saw, standin within her cell, a figure arrayed in robes of mid- night hue. long, gracefully adjusted vail completely covered the head, face and body, defying recog- nition. The heavy folds of the thick blac dress swept voluminously around the form, and lay upon the damp floor at her feet. Under or- dinary circumstances, this sorrowfully-arrayed person would have passed unnoticed along the public streets, for her toilet was that of a mourner; her whole manner denoting extreme grief, nothing mysterious or weird about it. ut, at this peculiar time, under the particular circumstances, and when it seemed atterly im- apc that any one could gain admittance, the lack-robed lady’s sudden Se oneiee startled Helene, who, as she uttered the frightened cry sprung to her feet. ‘Fear not, my child. I seek not to harm you, but, if possible, to prove myself a friend.” The sweet, gentle tone reassured the trem- bling prisoner. ' ‘*Oh, dear lady, whoever you are, save me; for the love of Heaven, aid me in flying from this fearful place.” ‘No such urging is necessary, my poor caged dove; Phe are in trouble, and my heart aches when } think of what you are underguing. But, be of good cheer, my child; be comforted, and, under Heaven’s blessing, you will be [free, free as air ere many hours.” “¥ take me now! Let me go away now, instantly, from this damp, lonesome place. Mysterious stranger, do not refuse my prayers!” elene clasped her hands imploringly, “Not now, or even tonight, can you leave your captivity behind you. It would be inex- pedient, yes, impracticable, were Antonio Za- rate to find his lovely bird flown when he pays his first visit.” The shiver that greeted her last words did not baa her eyes. “Fear not, Helene—you see I know your name—when he comes, ‘Depend upon my word that no harm can or will come to you; and, pardon me for suggesting, but an humble de- Imeanor, one in be you must necessarily disguise your feelings even at the expense of personal pride, would be the surest to blind him as to your real motives, thus rendering him less suspicious, and our intended escape more certain and i = ——" ~
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“Tt shall be as you say, for, oh, unknown lady, I am trusting you infinitely. Every word you say I believe as though it fell from my mo- ther’s lips. Do nut disappoint. me, and the warm love of a true heart shall ever reward you. | ‘Escape!’ Sweet sound! God grant suc- cess. ‘** Leota of the Ebon Mask’ never fails to ful- fill a promise, and ere two more suns shall rise, you will be far from these prison walls.” Helene gazed in wonderment upon her mid- night visitor. ‘* Leota ’—is it possible I see her of whom I so often have heard? One whom people look upon as almost supernatural, so mysterious are her comings and goings, so silent and ofttimes unexplainable her appearings.” Leota laughed. It was like a low, rippling wave of melody. “‘And do the villagers regard me with so much awe? Really and truly, though, I do not much wonder at it, for my business leads me in — — and at peculiar times. How- ever, Helene I can assure you I am no spirit, no uneasy ghost unable to rest quietly in m grave, but a mortal, of genuine flesh and blood, quite as human as yourself. See!” She drew off the black glove and disclosed a pretty hand, small and dark-hued. Helene ex- tended her own and the two met, both warm and clinging; and as the fingers closed over each other, in a Sympathetic embrace, a feeling, strangely akin to that which filled her soul on the day when she lay on poor Nina’s bosom, swept over Helene’s entire being, and she im- ulsively pressed the delicate hand to ber lips. esolutely she controlled her emotion and again addressed Leota. But, dear lady, you are a mystery to me. Who are you, and from whence did you come, and why that mournful garb?” she eagerly questioned. _ Leota drew her glove on again, and replied, in a strangely sad tone: “Who I am no one knows, at least in Pensa- cola, save one; people call me ‘ The Ebon Mask’ ause I ever wear these sad-colored garments, and habitually vail my face. For long years, Helene, no human being, save one, has looked = my features; the mysterious vail repulses 1 curious glances.” “But, why?” persisted Helene. “T can not tell you that, except that Iam a aa! bath and shall remain so until my task, my self-appointed life-work is accomplished; never does this mask arise and disclose the face be- neath until my vow is completed. Not until I unmask another before the world, a despicable villain, do I show who or what I am.” Her earnest language filled Helene with ad- miration, not, however, unmingled with awe and a desire to learn further. You called me by my name, Leota; will you tell me how you knew it, and why you came to aid me to escape from his power?’ I know you, my child, and have known you for many years; and, ever interested in the good, the pure and innocent, I came.” ‘But how you came is a deeper mystery still, for a sentinel guards the door, and it is securely fastened by a massive lock and keys.” Leota smiled, and held before her astonished gaze the key of the dungeon. ' Helene trembled. pe Sines poame es ss mpi ences fear you n as I now am mystified. ek i you obtain et y ey, how did y enough, doubting maiden; just as intend returning it when a leave sea, whieh must be now, for the morning dawn will soon be upon us, and were I discovered here, our lans would prove futile. I will tell you when : “ae again; but I had quite forgotten some- She drew from her dress a small parcel Sas food for Helene—oranges, figs and eS. Laying her hands on the maiden’s head for a second, she turned away.. Helene watched her slowly swing back the ponderous door, fit the key in its p ace, and then the door closed, leav- ing the captive alone in the place rendered doubly gloomy by the late mysterious presence, She heard the click of the lock, and the grati nolse as the key was withdrawn; she Fetoned as the bolt, an additional security, was shot Into its place. The faint echo of light footsteps, rapidly gliding away, grew fainter and fainter; then solemn stillness. reigned. omewhat encouraged, Helene allowed her- Self to fall into a light slumber, from which she , “not awaken until almost noon, ju rou the few crept in through Ty @ thin rift in the dungeon ae, Se L dging raceling nee of light that é Te: : SET eet se wall, which served to light and -ventilate the place. : “Tf I were only a man, how easily I could get out of this dungeon; but Zarate wellknew when he put me here, how feeble is woman’s strength. Oh, that my brave Julian were only in this room, so he might recover his freedom. Gladly would I exchange places with him, even though he be loaded with cruel chains. Oh, dearest Julian, you little know your own Helene is un- der the same roof .as, yourself, and a prisoner, too; confined for pleading in your behalf! But. courage, courage! for, when I am free, I will make another effort to release you!” . Her soliloquy was rudely disturbed by the turning of the key, and in an instant the door opened, admitting the hated person of her per- -secutor, the commandante. He advanced to the bench on which she was sitting, while she recoiled in horror. But she remembered the advice of her midnight. visitor, and nerved by the thought of escape, and eventually obtainin: Julian’s release, by a mighty efforts ealidititined her emotions, and, to the eyes of her admirin jailer, appeared more the subdued, conquere maiden, than the loathing, terrified girl she was. Much—every es depended upon her demeanor, and well did she play her part. “T hope the lady rested well last night, al- though the accommodations are hardly what she is accustomed to.” ‘“* As well, senor, as could be expected.” “But you look pale and careworn,” he ob- served, with a searching glance. “Ts there not sufficient reason for that, senor?” she replied, averting her head. “True, true, fair lady, and I assure you it causes me intense pain to be compelled to use that same reason in order to convince you of my truth.” ““ Truth, senor?’ ‘* Ay, that I passionately love you, and desire | it returned.” He bent close to her; her delicate cheek flushed painfully an instant, then the warm tint receded, leaving her pale and wan. She made no reply; and he continued: “‘Signorina Helene, you are hard with me, and misunderstanding, as you do, my motives, it could scarcely be otherwise. Fair one, you know not the grief in my heart when I see you here, my prisoner, when I fain would grovel at your feet, a very slave. And yet, who is to censure? Ah, Helene, the door flies open at your command; speak but the word, and, as my promised wife, you walk forth a queen, a sovereign.” - ‘*T can truly appreciate your condescension, senor, but it is not. for’ the high, noble com- mandante, the gracious king’s own messenger, to stoop to wed a poor, untitled maiden. Oh, no, no! for there are many high-born ladies who would be meet to become of the knightly house of Zarate.” Was there covert scorn in that remark? His piercing eyes could discover no traces of it in the cast-down, saddened face, lovelier in its sor- row than ever before. “Not so; and the name of Zarate would be honored by a Valencie assuming it.” j “ Ah, senor, spare me, and seek not to cast reproach upon my humble name. Do not press me, my lord, for lam unable to give you the required answer.” . a “ Perhaps, now, you are unable, but I do not despair of it eventually.’ “Let me undeceive you, then, and tell you my heart is another’s, and my vow has been ir- revocably given to him. Consequently you perceive the impossibility of consummating a union with one beneath you.” She said this quietly, carelessly; almost defer- entially. “Good,” thought he, to himself; ‘this im- Lanse fg business is just the thing. I knew it would take the starch out of her, and here, af- ter one night’s confinement, she is materially subdued—quite different from the impudent young termagant I thrust in here but yesterday. Another night, and I’ll warrant she’ll submit to any thing. -I won’t press her this time, but come again to-morrow.” Thus thought Zarate, as he gazed upon the pale flower so crushed and drooping through his cruelty ; and to his credit be it said—for it is the only good thing we are able to chronicle to his memory—a pang of remorse shot through his heart at the thought of his tormenting wicked- ness; but ere the thought was full-born, it died, and his heart grew callous again. ‘*T leave you, fair lady, to meditate upon my offer ; till this time to-morrow I give you to con- sider and decide. Then I will come, Buenos | dias, signorinal” ; 11 He was barely through the door when Helene fell upon her knees, the fast-gushing, grateful tears anton down her cheeks. ‘Thank ! thank God, it is over! I shall not see him again, for to-morrow, when he comes, I shall be far away!” The hours of ‘that beautiful day passed un- heeded by; the setting sun went down upon its royal couch of poxple clouds, curtained by the azure waves of the bay; the stars came out one by one, and went trooping across the heavens. Some of them bad but just reached the zenith, and the late evening wind swept refreshingly : among the leafy trees, when a me oe figure gli- ded through the doorway of the dwelling on the bay-shore, and up to the room occupied by the commandante. A dim light was burning feebly, scarce shedding any beam upon the corners of the room. Upon a low settee, wrapped in @ light covering, and but partly divested of his uniform, lay in sound sleep, his handsome fea- tures turned from the intruder, Colonel Zarate. _ His profuse curls were brushed from his fore- _ head, still fair and smooth, despite forty years of dissipation; the heavy mustache did not con- ceal the smile that played upon his lips; and as he lay there, all unconscious of the presence bending over him, a tear fell on his upturned face—a pearly tear, from the eye of the myste- eapiacleealy he—his midnight oiselessly turning away, she—his midni guest—advanced to a small table, upon which stood a square tin box; she tried it, but found it locked. With a sad smile upon her face, she went to Zarate’s coat, which lay carelessly over a chair, and without delay produced a tiny key, which she fitted to the lock. A moment, an the lid opened, exposing naught but papers. No- nies unted, she pushed them aside, and touching an invisible spring under the lock on the inside, drew the bottom of the box out. Under the false bottom were two drawers, the A key of which was the same that unlocked the — box. She opened one, and found it empty; sh unfastened the other. That drawer contain the object for which she was searching. It w a key, rusty and heavy. She placed it in her bosom, re-closed and . i 7] locked the secret drawer, slid the false — to its place, and secured it by the —. Care- — fully placing the papers as she found them, she fastened the lid, and returned the key to its former place. All this time Zarate had pe quietly and un- disturbed, all unconscious of the tear on his face, or of the silent presence. And now, her object accomplished, thelady again advanced to his side and gazed earnestly upon him. Her lips moved, but no sound escaped them; and her eyes seemed suffused with tears. “Oh! Antonio—Antonio! how is your soul steeped in crime, blackened and seared almost past forgiveness. And yet, no! For she whom you most wronged has forgiven, and she will quard your innocent victim. Not for your sake, ntonio, will Helene be guarded, but for her own; she who little knows you, little knows the fearful accursedness of your love for her!” He turned in his sleep and in moving awoke. The lady drew back and slowly retired, pointing at her heart:as she did so. He rubbed his eyes and gazed after her. “‘Confound that she-devil! What did she want here, prowling around in her death-robes? ‘Leota of the Ebon Mask,’ she calls herself. Well, if I don’t unmask her it will be strange?’ and he settled himself to sleep again. Down through the lower halls glided the noc- wanderer, to a dark, damp cellar, where were the cells of the prisoners. Up and down the ghostly corridor, lighted by the struggling rays of a meager light, trod the guard, a Es sleepy-looking fellow. Up to side g¢ ided the lady, and laid her hand on his arm. ‘‘ Jose, will you let me see your prisoner for a few moments? Your master has let me have > the key and I am at liberty to enter provided the sentinel offered no objection, which of course he would not be so ungallant as to do, particularly as I have brought a little gift.” She smiled and held out a generous flask of liquor. Jose eyed her suspiciously. : ‘* It’s all very well, ma’am, but I must say it looks queer.” “Why, Jose, how you talk! Surely you know me, Jose?” “Well, yes, ma’am, I think Ido. Ain’t you the woman nobod knows?” She laughed, and looked serious instantly. “ But, pe rosy I must see Signorina Valen- y knows and everybody cie, now. pass?” He hesitated. ‘ Here is the key, Jose, taken, as I said before, ae oe é; x
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P -t88 SaaS SEES ROE” Nene teen sseetetserse roars Teas from your colonel. Ta he allowsme to have the key, surely no soldier has: a right to deny:my authority. When he will permit me to enter, with your permission, 4 course; Jose, that’ is } equal to a command: Besides, youean regale yourself with this until T return.’ She toppeetys leaving’ the flask in his hand. Adjusting’ the key, and’ shooting back the bolt, she swung open the'door'and stood in the presence of Helene. ; bs maiden’s cheeks were flushed with excite- ment. ‘Then you are come! Oh; I am‘so thankful.” ‘* Hush; the d: is) just outside; be per- eis silentanit in fifteen minutes you will | be ree ; “ But how, tell’ me how, Leota, will we pass him?” “TT gave him rum; thatrum is drugged, and’ bys ice rson can! counteract its effects.for many ~ hours,’ he peered cautiously out. Upon the floor, with the partly emptied’ bottle beside him, lay: Jose, already overpowered by the potent drug. ““Come, we can:go now,” and supporting’ the trembling girl, Leota’ stepped past the uncon- scious’ guard, through the musty hall, up the stairs and out the door, Helene was free; free as the air she breathed! CHAPTER XIV, _ THE SHADOW OF COMING EVENTS. Wuey Julian St. John was rudely flung upon the floor.of his prison, it would be almost 1mpos- | sible to.deseribe, his feelings. The cold, damp, filthy floor; the cruel chain about his. limbs im- peding, the circulation, and rendering him faint and exhausted; the low ceiling, under which he could barely stand erect—these were the griev- ances, but minor ones; greater sorrows than r pers di orts absorbed all thoughts or e r. self, Helene! was. she safe, and would Pepe: keep promise to guard her. vigilantly? 10ughts of her filled bis soul ‘with intensest 3 on ae he pomeuapere’ ed to ls ng words, the impetuous eaped to ; eye ast indignant Blood to his face. ‘‘ Villain, rascal, traitor! but.if I ever get clear of this foul hole, the life of that miscreant will pay for it!” But he grew. calmer. and, more. reasonable as . day after day passedon. Helene had presented her petition to the cruel commandante, only to __ be insulted; Helene, the queen;of Julian’s affec- tions, had been rudely caught and thrust into a dreary dungeon, and a ' tedious hours under the same roof that sheltered his head, and not twenty, yards from his cell-door. And of all this the hunter was in profound ignorance; better it was so, perhaps. It was the morning after Helene’s escape that Julian, stood by the narrow aperture, that served, in a style peculiar to itgel the double purpode of yentilator and. window. The cool auty of the Say had no charm for him, and he | gazed listlessly forth, scarce. ering, certainly not noti the clear blue.of the clouds, or the gleaming fo iage in its emerald freshness. é Suddenly alow whistle fell upon.his ears. He started,and_ listened. in if came, low, ver low, scarce more than a whispered echo. It sounded familiar, anda vague hope thrilled his heart.as he allowed himself to think it might be a signal for him. Once more it came; and, urged by.a strong impulse, he answered. ll was.quiet for some time, when suddenly a.. tiny stick, struck against the iron bars and fell just outside them... Quickly as he could free his. chained feet, he reached and tookitin. Around the twig was twined aslip of paper, and upon, f a written, in a chirography he knew was Pin- 8: brother, help is athand. Be at the window’ dusk,”’ a“ ij tovitig he just after That,was all it said, but it was enough, and tie el he awaited the appointed hour. lowly sunk the sun, and then followed the lovely twilight, that delightful hour so we for repose and quiet, when it seems as thoug through the realms of ‘space angels had passed, leaving behind an impress of their presence; that hour when the day seems reluctant to re- sign its scepter to night, yet lingeringly obeys. The: darker’ shades gathered, and, watchful and expectant; Julian stood:at the window. A lew whisper startled him, “ Julian!” ‘‘ Here, Pepe, waiting for you.” ‘Hold up your hands, and take this:” — A knife gleamed before his eyes. ia ‘‘ My hands are.cbained,; and I eannet.” i +. ee ee ‘knife. ‘tors the a hands of THE EBON MASK. — A silence followed this’ reply. “Tf I could grt your fetters off your arms, you would be all right. Think, Julian; can you not devise some plan?” ‘‘Can’t you slip it betw ‘‘No; the hilt is much it; waita second.” Probably half an hour elapsed ere Pepe re- turned with the blade. ‘‘T saw the guard, sol was delayed longer than I expected. Now, your arms; reach them up, can’t you?” He could not, and Pepe threw the knife through. Fora while he tried to snap his chain, but was unsuccessful. ‘Here, Pepe, I willstep on this roll of matting and straw; there, you can reach my wrists.” He bent his head, to avoid collision with the ceiling, and laid his hands against the bars. Without a word, Pepe applied the keen-tem- pered saw, and in a moment Julian’s arms were free. ‘‘ Now, your feet,” commanded Pepe. The chain that held them was, after consider- able trouble, divided, and he could walk once more. “The time to escape is not yet; you must the bars?” thick. I will fix ‘use that knife whenever you have an opportu- nity. The walls here are nothing but wood and hardened clay, which will not long resist your The next night but one from this I will come with horses, and you can fly. The guard is‘coming again, and I must hurry off.” Pepe was gone ere Julian could reply. He turned to his dismal cell again, and adjusted his chains about his limbs, to give any chance visi- rance of being bound firmly, yet allowing himself free motion. Cautiously he began his task; a, he tried various places in the wall, endeavoring to select the best. At last, about a yard from the window he concluded to begin his mining ope- rations, so, listening to see if he could detect any sound, he went to work with no feeble arm. For along time he continued his task, until heated and tired, he carefully removed all traces of his work, hid the knife, and sat down to recover from his fatigue. ‘‘This. being bound so long, and so tightly, too, makes me weaker than I would have thought,” he murmured to himself, as he care- fully arranged the fetters upon his legs and arms. Left onee more to his thoughts, they quick] reverted to Helene, who, even at that momen was eagerly, anxiously awaiting the midnight eh when she would be freed from the prison walls, f The night slowly passed, and the mornin dawned—dawned upon Julian in bis lonely cell; upon the commaudante, sleeping as Leota had left him; and upon the inmates of a lodge built in the most quiet recesses of the cypress grove. Gathered around a humble board, upon which was spread the frugal ee repast, were Senora Valencie, Helene, and the mysterious a haa Leota. Near the door stood Pepe into. “ And to-night, Pepe, did you say he would conae?”’ ‘“‘ Perhaps to-night, signorina; may be not until to-morrow. I shall, if possible, visit_ the window again when dusk comes, and, if all is ready, I don’t see why this midnight will not do as well as to-morrow’s.” “Do bring him as soon as you can; and brin him here, Pepe, to Leota’s hut; may he not?” asked Helene, turning to the lady. ‘* Most certainly I shall expect him; and then ‘we can fly to a more secure retreat if neces- “It grieves me so, dear lady, that you should risk your personal safety for me,” returned the maiden, looking sorrowfully at Leota. ‘Say not so, my child; do you not remember the words I told you that night in your prison- cell?) Remember them, but allow me to pursue my own course.” 1 ‘ Always and ever will [ gladly and willingly saa you; and so long as I live will you be gratefully and lovingly remembered.” - The impulsive, enthusiastic girl caught the er deliverer in her own. i ‘There; there, child, you are foolish;” but Helene saw a happy, fond light scintillate from the vailed eyes. “Finish your breakfast, daughter; do!” in- terrupted her mother. ‘ ‘“‘T am done, thank you, mamma. But I wish to ask you a question which I had almost for- tten:; I want toknow where Nina is; do you ow? Poor creature! I saw her last just as they—they took me.” elene’s eyes gleamed in excited re- membrance. Her mother exchanged glances with Leola, and seeking to pacify her daughter, replied, carelessly: ‘‘ Somewhere in the woods, I suppose. I have not seen her since she told me of your seizure.” ‘Then it was she who conveyed.the news? I might have guessed it. And did you leave the cottage immediately to come here?” “The same night, daughter. Nina directed me to this spot, and here I found your generous deliverer, who insisted upon my remaining witb her while she brought you to me.” “‘ And the villagers; what do they say of our sudden flitting?” “‘T know not, but I suppose nothing. They would very naturally suppose we had gone on a visit to our friends; no one except those inter- ested know of your troubles.” . While this side-play was being enacted in the cottage in the cypress grove, another of entirely different character was transacting not far distant. Zarate and De Leon were the chief actors. “ And so your peneen ener right auspicious- Vy, colonel?” remarked his brother officer, with the almost indifferent air so peculiar to him. ‘“‘ Auspicious, indeed, comrade; gentle, quiet and subdued! Ha! ha! I know how to bring her down a peg or so.” He rub his hands in glee. ‘Gentle and quiet, you said, friend?” ‘Remarkably; why, man, 1 wish you could have witnessed our interview yesterday—” ‘‘So you had the impudence to visit her in her cell, eh? Ah, Zarate, I fear you are a bad fellow.” The colonel smiled, and complacently stroked his mustache, as though he enjoyed the compli- ment. “You must not be hard on a fellow, mon amigo. Just as if it were possible to remain from such a dainty little poo of dimity. But confidentially, De Leon, I was a little surprised at her demeanor. and my reception; so much so that I positively forgot my errand. However, I promised to see her again this afternoon, and then I’ll lay an onza she is willing enough.” His companion puffed away at his cigar. ‘Changed her tactics to throw you off your guard. Depend upon it, colonel, that the Sig- norina Helene is no less cunning than daring. — She only assumes—” ‘‘ What mean you, De Leon?” interrupted the commandante, turning pale with surprise. “Tf you will wait until lam through, possibly = may understand what I mean—that is, un- ess you are too intoxicated with your imagin- success to be rational, and listen to reason.” e Leon’s voice was cool, and betrayed no dis- position to hasten, although he noticed the im- patient scowl on his companion’s brow. ‘* Well, then, if you are at last ready, do pray condescend to impart this wonderful piece of information,” sneered the colonel. For a moment De Leon fixed his piercing eyes upon Zarate’s face, and rising, threw his cigar out the window. “‘ Colonel Zarate, I am not accustomed to be: ing addressed in that style, and, consequently, do not consider myself at all bound to reply to your insolent remark.” ““TInsolent remark, sir? Be careful, and re- member whom you address,” returned the com- mandante, now thoroughly enraged. “T most certainly do recollect that I address one who would gladly call himself superior; but, it fortunately happens that Colonel Zarate ranks the same as Colonel De Leon.” ; ‘Tis a lie, and you know it! You know well that the commandante of the Spanish troops in Florida is the highest authority, the chief exeeu- tive power.” ‘Sir, you have dared to call me a liar, you have used words no gentleman, no true Spaniard will receive from any one. Itis past; it is be- yond recall, and you will hear from me without fail. Good-morning, sir.” De Leon’s lips were compressed and pale, and his eyes bright and flashing as he left the apart- ment. He had just touched the latch when an order- ly came excitedly in, and, barely stopping to salute, hurriedly exclaimed: ‘Colonel, the prisoner has escaped!” ““ Waar?’ demanded Zarate, with ashen lips. ‘* She has escaped, and—” ‘He raised his eyes toward the door. There stood De Leon, who had heard it all. A sarcas- tic smile played upon his lips, and a triumphant light a in his eyes. For a moment he gave the enraged officer the full benefit of both, then withdrew, and passed down the stairs, “Ten thousand curses on him!” growled the colonel, gnashing his teeth im impotent rage. _ ~ Fr ip? " bie aie. a mes» —_ in,
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- 3 7 , hegre ‘ * ® ir > ee Sy eee fh ae at T_T fT a 2 (RDON APA. ‘‘ Your prisoner has escaped?’ he demanded rey of the soldier. ‘“* Yes, sir; the woman, the spy.” “But how, man, how? Who was on 2 Send me thesergeant of the guard instantly. A thousand maledictions on his head who could not attend to his duty better; and may I die by inches if a hair of his head remains unhurt!” He fairly foamed with rage, and it was Py a superhuman effort that he received, listened to and gave orders to the sergeant who had just entered. ‘Is the orderly’s report true?’ he demanded. “Yes, sir, and the key of the cell is in the door.” ‘‘Per todos santos! the key in the lock?” and with a cry he sprung to the small tin box on the stand. Quickly he unlocked the lid threw aside the papers, touched the spring and moved back the bottom, There were the two arava veth locked; applying the key, he in- stantly “opened them. orror of horrors! the key, pee he had himself placed there, was gone With glaring eyes he surveyed the box, and faint sounds issued from his lips. “The hidden spring—the false bottom—who knows that secret but myself? I, who made the box? Not a mortal could find the key unless they knew the secret!” But, there was the box, and there was not the *T have it with me, sir.” ‘He handed it to his superior, who took it with a sort of mysterious awe, as if fearing it might escape from his grasp. It was the selfsame, veritable rusty old iron he had secured in his most private stronghold, not ten hours before: As he gazed upon it, there came to his mind, like a flash of lightning, blinding and scathing, the recollection of his mysterious visitor on the Ppresions night, and a cold sweat stood on his row. ** Madre de dios ! it was she, the black mask!” and unmindful of the presence of the men, he supk upon a seat, covering his face with his hands. Strange thoughts passed through his mind while he sat there, and he remembered her first vague warning. “ But the secrets of that box: could she, fiend though I believe her, thus secure the key to a pryonar's cell? And the guard—how pass the guar ‘This train of thought suddenly aroused ‘Bring me the key, sergeant, immediately.” m. “Sergeant, who was on duty last night when the woman made her escape?” “Private Jose Escobedo, sir,” and he pointed to a man by his side, who cringingly saluted. “Well, and what report have you to make?” sternly asked the colonel. Ina plain straightforward manner Jose re- lated the events just as they transpired, so far as his knowl went, which, of course, was limited, as after the door had closed on the Ebon Mask, all further consciousness on his part ceased, for he had not been slow in partaking of the rum. “A likely story. Had.you not better confess your complicity in this affair and admit you were bribed?’ “So help me God, I have told the honest truth,” ejaculated the man, in abject terror. “Bah! Sergeant take him away and confine him in asecure place, and fasten a fifty pound ball and chain to his feet, and allow only half an allowance of prisoner’s rations. My honest Jose, we will comfort you with a court-martial some of these days.” The two left the room. “Sergeant, come back when you have obeyed my orders; meantime dispatch the boy Luez for Ricovi, for I desire him immediately.” Twenty minutes later, and the rogue stood before bim. “You are sure you understand my directions, and will execute them correctly and speedily?” “Yes, sure. Want me and my man, Lope, to find where pris’ner ’sca: to; then come back, git more men, and ge otch ’ex, eh?” ‘That is just it. Now be off, and hasten.” At that moment the ser t returned. “‘ Well?” demanded the imperious colonel. “You desired me to return, sir.” “Yes, Remove the lock from the other pris- oner’s cell, and bring it to me. See that hare are massive iron bars put up, one in the center, and one at each end. Be careful, and assure yourself they are as strong as iron will make them, Also detail two of trustiest men to stand guard until midnight.” Once more alone, Zarate’s thoughts were none os ES AL NE aaah mm FF IE EE 8 Ee a SS RE - Sa es Se ee eee ed ee ee eo ee |s e of the pleasantest, and the heavy scowl on his brow was blacker than ever. ‘‘Vexation! everything unpleasant seems to pour upon me now, just as fortune favored me so lately. Not twenty-four hours ago I-was gloating over the possession of the bird; now I can console myself with the empty cage. Then I called De Leon my friend, now he is my bit- terest enemy. Fool, fool that I was, to alienate him, for he spoke truth when he affirmed that our ranks were equal; and had he said his influ- ence with the ministry exceeded mine, com- mandante though I am, ’twould have been strictly true. But now, now I fear I must dearl pay for my rashness. However, De Leon shall never know it, even though I am recalled and ee led aa he has influence to do even at ! His reverie was cut short by a low knock at the door. ““Come in,” was the moody response. A boy, evidently a stranger, entered. “ Are you the commandante?” he inquired. Zarate nodded, and. the boy handed hima slip of paper. “The warning was unheeded; be prepared for the consequences. Sooner than you eonicipadas the vial of wrath will be poured blightingly upon ee Re- member. j OTA.” This was all the note said, but it was enough to eause a sickening sensation to creep over the man’s heart, anda faint vague terror to fill his soul. Was ita premonition? was it the shadow already falling over him, the awful shadow of the almost accomplished vow of ‘‘ Leota, of the Ebon Mask?” We shall see. CHAPTER XV. THE REUNION, Two persons sit conversing on .a.rude bench: just outside the d-house. ““T sincerely hope you will pardon me for the disagreeable duty Iam about to perform. You know, colonel, such things will happen, and must be satisfactorily accounted for. My friend, De Leon, recognizing you as an equal in the service, feels that he can require isfac- tion, or an aveple apology.” “And am I, then, e ted to retract the words I uttered?” demanded Zarate haughtily. “Or else accept the alternative,” { believe. “Very well,” replied he, coolly. ‘‘Tell him whom you represent that Ido not intend re- tracting anything I said, and do not anticipate making the slightest apology. I accept his challenge, as a soldier—as a gentleman.” : He bowed stiffly, and received a similar salute PTS the éhallenged rty s the challenged party, have the choice of weapons, sir. “* And I select rifles, sir.’ De Leon’s second eyed him in astonishment. “My dear sir, I beg you will not think of it. Rifles! ier are only fit for huntsmen and robbers. words !—certainly swords—such elegant toys for gentlemen of rank.” - “Yes, and be cut to pieces without mercy,” thought Zarate; then aloud he replied: ‘“*T have named rifles, and shall abide by that decision.” Senor Rosales bowed. “To-morrow morning, sunrise, one mile from Pensacola, on the bay-road. Any further infor- mation you will learn from Signor Jacinto, who will act in a friendly capacity toward me. Buenos dios ; hasta manana !” Not twenty yards from the spot where Zarate and Rosales were sitting, was the cell of the hunter, and, as he stood by the narrow aperture, with the cool air refreshing him in his feverish anxiety, the voices of the two men were borne to his ear, a confused murmur of inarticulate sounds. Directly he saw a horseman dash through the gate, and he recognized him, in the gatherin wilight shadow, as Ricovi. A gleam of awf import flashed across Julian’s face; but his com- pee lips gave forth no sound. Had the orseman seen and correctly that glance, you, of course, ? he would not have ridden with such alacrity to |. the door of the guard-house. The colonel still sat there, and as he noted the approach of the horseman, he arose to meet him. ot ten paces from Julian’s window they met, and, although their voices were low and cau- tious, yet the night wind favored the prisoner, who strained every nerve to hear; for, with a ience, he felt it concerned her. r ‘ou were successful, my good Ricovi. I read it in your face. Tell me, quick.” “Trailed ’em, kurnel; brung up at the old cabin in the cypress ve; see ’em in winder, inother and a ‘coman in black : ith a vail over er. " ’ yr 13 The commandante trembled with excitement. ‘Did you see any men with Signora Valencie and herdatighter? Frightfully gleamed a pairof dark eyes in the cell-window, and fingers clasped the Ss con- vulsively. “No men; git hereasy ‘nuff. Me and Lope, we kin do it. Go’bout midnight, ’sprise ’em, carry her back here. ’Covey’ll do it.” “See that youdo; here is gold, and when ou deliver the girl tome, you receive more. @ very cautious, Ricovi, for you remember you disappointed me once—the ‘ ‘*‘ Was that *Covey’s fault? Could he git her when she no come, eh?” “You are right; it was not your fault. But it will be now, for you say yourself you saw her. When may I expect you back?” The man studied a moment. ‘Sunrise to-morrow.” “‘ Ah, sunrise!” and a pang shot troup i 4 heart. ‘Sunrise; and what else do I meet then?’ he thought. “That is late; can’t you.come sooner?’ “ Will try. ” He rode off again, and Zarate returned to the doorway of the guard-house, little thinking upon whose ears the entire conversation had fallen. A note was dispatched by him to his friend, Captain Jacinto, informing him of the, liberty he taken in nape eine im ‘“*second” in the coming passage of arms; begging his pardon for the seeming freedom, yet gently men it was la commandante who thus favored Cap- tain Jacinto, ete. : A speedy reply came by bearer, accepting the honor, and promising to see: the colonel before the meeting, and thus it was arranged. The midnight hour was cool and cloudy; a few straggling beams flitted over the face of nature, as the scudding clowds now ae now revealed, the crescent moon. 3 By the window stood Julian, anxiously await: ing the arrival of his good friend Pepe, who. ae the hour he left the knife, had not been near the apeenesnnne The bell had rung twelve, still he came not. Ever and anon, Ju lian heard the heavy tread of the sentinel, as he neared him in his tiresome beat, and the chal- lenge of the outside guard fell distinctly on his ears. During the afternoon he had heard mysterious noises, grating, pounding and filing, and had wondered what it meant. Little knew he that it was intended the more securely to hold him: and that the extra sentinel on duty was for his rticular benefit. But it availed little to either Ein or the colonel. Suddenly a dark form appeared on the edze of the woods, which lay about a hundred yards from his window. Creeping stealthily along in its protecting shade, it gradually approached nearer and nearer the long, low step on which the sleepy guard. moment after, and it was crouching under the shade of the spread- ing shrub, % Now if the moon would only bide at the same time that guard is turned, I could clear — that open ce in half a second. As it is, I must wait. Poor Julian must be tired of watch- ing, I wonder if he has the hole dug out enough, although, of course, he wouldn’t dare break the outer wall until after dark to-night.” At that instant fortune, or rather Providence, favored the waiting deliverer. The guard was half-way down his beat, and just then a heavy, lowering cloud passed darkly over the moon’s disk With a skillful _ Pepe alighted near the window at which Julian awaited him in burn- ing, unrestrainable impatience, for sinée he had heard the vile plotters arrange their plan, the minutes had seemed years. { ‘ Julian,” was whispered from outside. “Here, Pepe. For ’s sake, let us hurry.” ‘Climb up and stand on the matting again.” As he stepped up, a light clanking noise wes heard in hisfeet. “‘ Your fetters, Julian—you have forgotten tf remove them.” “Hist! No; perhaps we may find use for them.” “What! Do you apprehend immediate li and re-arrest?” inquired Pepe anx- iously. ‘No, no. I-will tell you when I am out. Your hand », Pepe—there ; old fast. Iam near- ly through. In a second he emerged through the narrow aperture, scratched. and , the small splinters of wood and flakes of crusted dirt ad- 1 hering to his clothing. He paused a single sec- Be
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ie ‘ a a i: ————_ 14 ont drawing in long, deep respirations of fresh ‘Thanks to our kind Father, Pepe, that I can embrace you again.” A hurried but earnest clasp of the hand fol- lowed. ‘“‘Where are the horses? We have not a mo- ment to spare. If you only knew the agony of suspense! ““¢ Agony,’ Julian, when you are free, and . \ she—” ‘¢ Hist! the sentinel is near. Crouch lower, , there, a moment, and when he turns we will glide across the open lot to the pine tree, yonder.” “The horses are near there.” They watched their time, and in a second were safely mounted on the waiting animals. Cautiously they rode along, keeping in the dense shade of the roadside bushes, until they had left the scene of their escape nearly a mile behind them. Meantime their tongues had not been silent. Suddenly Julian said: __ ‘* Where do you intend taking me? To the 2 ‘Indeed, no; but to Helene and her mother, who await you in the cypress ve.” ‘‘Oh, Helene! Heaven qaiard hes till we reach her. Pinto, her life depends on our exertions to-night !” “What do you say?” inquired the astonished com on. ‘*T repeat, if we wish to save Helene from a fate worse than death, we will not spare sd horses.” And he hurriedly related the story. * My God, and can it be? Sosoon on her track, when ’twas but three days since—” Pe suddenly paused, almost forgetting that Julian knew naught of his lady’s impris- onment. » ‘Since what?’ demanded he. “You will swear eternal revenge on him, Julian; but listen, and I will tell it all.” Terribly calm and unnaturally composed, he heard the story; not a word esca) his lips; but even in the dark night gleamed the light in ' that eye. ‘¢ And now, lest she fall |we will to the rescue, an pe! not be too late.” ith difficulty rie hewn a wild yell of de- fiance and challenge, the hunter sprung forward, ain into his hands, Heaven grant we followed by his trusty friend. a." CHAPTER XVI. THE BAFFLED FATE. - Ararin the grove shone a light, now bright, - now dim, as the waving branches rewbaled or La ' obscured its gon: “ Almost there. Spur up, Pepe. Who knows but. that, at this very moment, the villains are within?” A they dashed on, and in a few moments alighted close by the humble entrance to the hut. The door burst open; Helene sprung to Julian’s arms, almost insensible from her great joy. A-single glance had sufficed to show him was, as yet, safe, and extending a hand to Senora Valencie, with the other arm he pressed his beauteous betrothed closer to his heart. The scene was one of bliss and joy; language were feeble to portray the deep, overflowin happiness that filled each breast. But, it was o short duration. __. Sounds of approaching footsteps, stealthy and indistinct, alarmed them, and Julian, tenderly removing Helene from his side, started sudden- ly to his feet. “Your rifle and knife, ready?” An assenting nod satisfied him. Pepe—are they ‘“Come, then, we must hide, and let them get | fully within. Do not be alarmed, my darling at whatever may happen. Trust to us, an you are safe.” They crept behind a partition that divided ,the room into two apartments. Hardly had they accomplished this when the door opened, _and a face, hideous and contorted, was thrust partly in. A second, and two men, armed with ready weapons, stood inside the door, staring maliciously around. With a. scream, Helene rushed to her mo- ther’s arms. ‘Oh, mother, mother, they are the men who took me that day!” Clasping her protectingly, the lady confronted the intruders. i _‘* What do you here, and whom do;you de- | “There’s wat we’s after,” grinned Ricovi— b te . eae THE EBON MASK. for the reader will readily perceive who the men were—‘‘ come ’long back home, eh?” “Do you dare threaten us? Leave this cot- tage instantly, as you value your lives,” vote commanded the signora, her eyes blazing wit indignation. ‘“‘ Women can’t skeer me, nohow!” He advanced to Helene, and his companion turned to her mother. ‘‘Hold there, or you are dead men!” yelled Julian at the instant, and rushing impetuously upon Ricovi, he leveled him senseless with a well-directed blow between the eyes, while Pepe, with equal precipitancy, had surprised the other rogue who pier against the wall, and held him by the point of his bayonet. “ A motion of your finger, even, and this runs ou through,” fiercely declared Pinto, pricking im slightly as he spoke. A moment sufficed to bind the ruffian, hand and foot, with the fetters Julian had brought, and the bayonet placed under his chin, he was unable to move his head without suffering a pretty sharp prick. Ricovi, too, being senseless, was easily se- cured, and laid under a table to wake to con- sciousness and captivity. “ And now, Julian, what remains to be done? These fellows are our prisoners, yet we dare not report to Colonel Zarate.” “True, for he would, without hesitation, transfer the bracelets to you and I.” “May I be permitted to advise?” inquired a sweet voice. They all turned quickly in the direction from which the tones came. A graceful, black-robed lady stood in the cen- ter of the apartment. “Leota, dear lady, when. did you return?” joyous! queried Helene. ‘ And how gain access to this room, without our knowledge?” asked her mother. ‘Oh, Iam a mystery yet, you know, although I imagine any one could noiselessly enter the door when you were all so engaged with your com ; rien She pointed to the prisoners. In astonishment Julian looked on. “T beg your pardon, my friend, for neglect- ing to address you, but you see how utterly im- possible it was. However, I warmly welcome you, uniting in the general joy your return occasions.” He tfully bent over the extended hand. ‘But, lady, remember I am in entire igno- rance of your name; therefore can not address you as I should. Please accept my warmest thanks for your kind interest in the welfare of a ee: ““Oh, no; you are no stranger, my boy; a long time have I watched over you and noted the growing friendship existing between Helene and yourself, which, under my blessing and Heaven’s permission, has ripened into love.” ‘‘ Bless you, dear lady, and may you be eter- nally rewarded for your disinterested kind- ness to an orphan boy, whose only friends save these lie sleeping side by side in the far North. His voice was husky and tears stood in his eyes. ‘‘ Disinterested kindness, Julian? No, indeed, for 1 am anticipating an immense reward,” | smiled Leota, archly. ‘ “Don’t look so surprised, Julian,” said He- lene. ‘She means all she says, but you will | not be able to comprehend her. ‘Mysterious’ she claims to be.” “My friends, ’tis almost day, and we all need rest. Let us part for a brief time, and seek re- pose. The prisoners will need our friends for Serb we will retire to our beds; the advice I tend will do as well a few hours hence. Buenas noches !” The first gray streaks of dawn were visible in _ the east; the stars were gone, and the restless ‘clouds of the night before had scurried off, pestiii promise of a pleasant day. It yet wanted an hour of sunrise, but_an impatient form might be seen pacing up and down before the officers’ quarters at the block-house. Within all was silent; the officers were sleeping on their bamboo-settees, and the guards drowsily whiling at the unoccupied hours off duty. _ ; ithout the solitary figure, clad in bright, ‘shining uniform, walked to and fro. His gaze was up the road in the direction of the cypress | grove: a cloud of impatience, discouragement | and fear shadowed his face, while from the | haughty lips fell the oft-repeated expression: “What can detain them?” — . For the fortieth time, probably, he had ejacu- lated the same question, and at each repetition, his face grew darker and more apprehensive. | Sounds of footsteps startled him; eagerly he turned; an expression of impatience escaped him, for ‘twas only a boy, and he surely thought ’twas Ricovi. But the lad, instead of passing on, came up to him and handed him a note. “¢ An answer if you please, sir.” The frown deepened as he read: ‘*CoLONEL ANTONIO ZARATE: By order of Colonel Aguierie De Leon I am com- manded to request that sou will meet him near the hut in the NAR, hin grove at the 12 Bingen time, in- stead of the bay-road. Begging that you will not decline to thus favor him, 1am happy to have the extreme honor to remain, ‘‘With profound respect, “Your obedient servant, | ‘*“MANUEL ROSALES, “Captain, etc.” “The hut in the cypress grove!” By what strange fatality had that place been selected? Surely De Leon could not possiblygknow of it? Of course not: the idea was preposterous. He had doubtless selected the place as being more private, and, in case of anything more serious, the hut was conveniently near. Besides, sup posing Helene were there now, and her mother too? Ricoyi and his accomplice would soon be back with one or both in custody. “Tell Captain Rosales, yes.” ‘Ts that all I shall say?” “That is all. Vaya!” Just as the boy turned away, a carriage drove up to the door, and an elderly man sprung out. ‘* Ah, Jacinto, I am rejoiced to see you; punc- tual as usual. Come in, and regale yourself with chocolate.” The two officers entered the apartment, and were passing through, when an orderly in hot haste advanced to Zarate. “ Colonel, the prisoner, Julian the hunter, has weg ot through a hole cut in the wall!” . “ Bscaped, orderly? You tell me he has es- caped? Can it be possible after the extra pre- cautions I took last night?’ ‘He went by the outside, I said, sir—dug a hole in the wall. His chains are gone, too.” “Detail fifty men and scour the woods, and bring him back, dead or alive.” That terrible baffled look. was fearful to be- hold as it settled ashily over Zarate’s face; a pale rage seemed to possess him, and his eyes were cold and stony, his voice shrill and unnat- ural as he addressed Jacinto: ‘otis almost sunrise signor, and the time is come. Letusgo. And if Ricovi or the orderl returns with either of the escapades,” he add turning to his lieutenant, ‘‘ have them secured until I return.”- Donning his hat, and shouldering the heavy, awkward Spanish rifle, he and Jacinto and ahs post-surgeon, Dr. Viscarra, entered the carriage and rode to meet—what? CHAPTER XVII. A LIFTING OF THE VAIL, ‘WHAT, awake and up so early? Surely you can not have had sufficient rest. member it was well on to the morning when we retired.” Helene turned her bright face to the ques- tioner, Leota. “Might I not ask the same of you? But I will confess [ should have indulged in a little more sleep had not. the movements of these men disturbed me,” she replied, pointing to the captives. ota glanced at them, and an expression of satisfaction flitted across her face. “Oh, Leota, who is that coming?’ suddenly asked Helene, who had gone to the window to inhale the fresh morning air. ‘‘Do you think they can be emissaries of the commandante?” she asked, apprehensively. ““What if they are—are not we well pro- tected?” : She glanced at the sleeping hunter and Pepe, who had watched their charge till day, then finding them perfectly quiet and secure, had indulged in a slight slumber. “Yes, yes, but if they should prove hostile and overpower us! “ Nonsense?” cheerfully laughed Leota; “to me their occupation is not hostile—to us.” Silently they watched the movements with- out. It was about fifty yards from the window that two men were busily employed pulling up bushes and clearing the ground for the space of afew rods. At that distance the features were indistinct, but that they wore officers’ uniforms was evident, the glittering straps and buttons | being sufficiently prominent to dispel any doubt on that score, The men had. desisted in their work, and seemed awaiting something or somebody. Sud- denly the sound of carriage-wheels came crash- ; ‘ yA
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h the bushes, then stopped. A mo- ment elapsed, and three gentlemen entered the cleared space—one, tall, haughty and elegant, the others, less so in their appearance. _ Some conversation ensued, and the watchers in the hut saw one, the handsomest gentleman in uniform, turn and gaze toward them. Helene saw his features plainly, and her face was pallid with terror as she gasped: ee arate!” Julian and Pepe sprung to their feet, but Leota’s reassuring smile was sufficient to stay them, and gently removing Helene and placing her on the settee, she took the young men aside and communicated something to them—some- thing which prevented any surprise when they joined Helene at the casement to watch the proceedings. The parties had changed positions and their situation was suspiciously indicative of their intent. “A duel, oh, a duel!” murmured Helene, pale and sick. ‘Indeed, I cannot witness it. : see, the rifles are raised! Quick, let me go before they fire!” e rushed from the window and gained the other room just as a loud report fell upon her ear, and a heavy fall was distinctly heard at the hut. It was Zarate who fell, his right side pierced by the ball from De Leon’s rifle. He had in- stantly fallen, exclaiming: ‘‘I’m shot; De Leon, you’ve killed me.” Jacinto, his second, and Dr. Viscarra rushed to his side. Rigid, and apparently lifeless, he lay upon the ground, yet damp with the morn- ing dew. ‘Remove his clothes, doctor. Is he dead?” asked Jacinto, bending over him and assisting to strip off his clothing. Viscarra carefully ex- amined the wound. G “I fear the ball has penetrated some vital part his pulse is nearly gone, and you can see hat respiration is entirely suspended.” De n came forward and gazed earnestly upon his fallen enemy; his fine features were sad, and his voice, though betraying little emo- tion, was low and feeling. “*T almost regret this unfortunate termina- tion of affairs. et it is better so. Better if he never returns to consciousness again than to learn his future if he recovers. Doctor Vis- carra, he needs water—does he not?” “Tt is his only chance, but where is there any?” De Leon pointed to the hut, almost hidden by the trees. Carefully they lifted the wounded soldier and conveyed him to the hut. “They are coming here; let me go,” strug- gled the affrighted Helene, as she saw the slow, sad procession move toward the door. She was too late, however, for the party had opened the door. “Come, we will leave the room together,” and only too glad, Leota and the ladies vacated the apartment. For a long time no signs of life were visible in te; but vigorous bathing and strong stimu- lants at length seemed to resuscitate him. He gasped for breath, then sighed deeply, seemingly sensible of his condition. Later his energies seemed to return, and he gazed won- deringly around. , _With quiet demeanor the little group watched his motions, as he slowly revived, and at length spoke. Even at that awful hour, his words sent a chill to every heart. His first glances had fallen upon Julian, who had been foremost in Seng him, and a deadly fire lighted his dy- in es. a ool, you dare stand there and triumph over me? Never mind, but ’ll—” His breath failed him, but he glared fiercely at him. Julian’s face was full of pitying com- on. * ‘Poor, mistaken soul,” he said to De Leon. And yet we can not pity him, so devoid of any humanity as he is; although 1 must confess my heart shrinks when I contemplate the reve- lations he must hear before he dies.” Gradually the wounded man revived; mo- mentarily he grew stronger, until, after the lapse of an hour, he conversed with the physi- cian and Jacinto. He had several times essayed to address Ju- lian or De Leon, but Viscarra forbade it. A movement was visible near the rear of the room, and the men stepped back. One gaze, and Zarate sprung to his feet with superhuman hee ony to sink helplessly back. _ “Helene Valencie, you escaped once, but you do not now! Seize her, seize her! Where’s Ricovi? Did I not see him?” ‘Here I is—all tied up,” came from under the THE EBON MASK. Helene hung estore A upon her mother’s arm. By her side stood Julian, and a little in advance the mysterious Leota. Zarate’s heart beat with a vague terror, and his vile bosom swelled with hatred and jealousy he beheld them, sweet Helene and her noble over. De Leon stood by Leota’s side. Waving his hand to enjoin silence, he fixed his stern gaze upon Zarate, and addressed the group: ““My friends, it may seem inopportune to some of you—those of you who are unacquainted with what I shall shortly reveal—thus to harass the last moments of a dying man.” The wounded officer started and shivered, De Leon continued: ‘“To us who know, who are familiar with the course pursued yy him, no punishment is un- merciful. Now, Colonel Zarate, to you I speak. Listen.” He stepped nearer the dying man. “Know me, not as colonel in the Spanish army—not as ‘ an equal in rank’ with yourself, but, as one who has watched your most secret doings, who has known much of your private life of wickedness. OW me as one who ap- preciates your entire incapacity as commander of i troops, as one who understands you thor- oughly. * Look upon me, Antonio Zarate, and recog- nize the secret agent of our king, who was placed here to guard the royal interests, and spy the actions of many who little suspect m purpose. You, Colonel Zarate, have been watched, and through the agency of a few firm friends your victims have escaped your machinations. our conduct has been reported, and the kin declares you removed and cashiered, shoul ee survive this; such is your doom. And, my riends,” he added, turning to the group, who, astounded and surprise-stricken—with two ex- ceptions—listened to his words, ‘‘I am also in- structed by the same authority to grant full and free pardon to Pepe Pinto, charged with desertion; and to Julian St. John, accused of aiding in the same, but which is, I know, a base fabrication.” De Leon paused, and it would be impossible to describe the awful look in the wretched Zarate’s face. Horror, consternation, incredu- lousness and shame were blended in his counte- nance as he gazed, helplessly, at the king’s agent. “Tt appears to me, gentlemen, that this pro- ceeding is unkind. ~ You must perceive you are endangering the patient’s life—that a well per- son would sink under it.” “You are wrong, Viscarra; it is is that aa: ‘‘Other revelations, the blackest of social crimes, stand against your name, Colonel Za- rate, and as you seem before a sort of tribunal, you shall hear them before you ree to the ter- rible presence of the Judge of right and wrong.” Noiselessly a eful figure, clad in deepest mourning, glided up to Zarate where he lay, his head reclining on Viscarra’s breast. *“Do you remember ‘ Leota of the Ebon Mask,’ whose warning you despised? I am she; and I will honestly confess, in thus coming to you more pain is experienced than pleasure. But, for humanity’s sake, for her sake, the spotless Helene, I come. ** Antonio, it is many years ago, but don’t you remember the shady co on the banks of the softly-flowing Guadalquivir, where the sweet flowers bloomed, and balmiest breezes blew? Don’t you remember another flower, a human blossom, whom you swore to protect and cherish, love and guard? One who gave her youn heart in all its freshness and girlish pu- rity yous her husband? Yes, Antonio, you have not forgotten her, though you thought she had ceased to think of you. Do you remember your wife—Isabella?” She threw off her a ae ““My God, Isabella! do you here?’ he groaned. : Helene darted forward, and gazed earnestly in Leota’s face. — : ‘“* My promise is fulfilled, dear child, never to unmask till I disclosed his wickedness.” Of the assembled group but two seemed calm eet rye oo a Leon and the Senora Va- encie. “ Another word, Antonio: would you look upon the features of a beauteous maiden, spot- less and pure, despite your machinations? Would at see her a who bears the name of Helene Valencie? She is here; gaze upon her, not as such, but—listen and thank God you es- caped the awful crime—as Helene Zarate—your child and mine!” _ a aa She turned to Helene, with a cry of rapture. “Darling, darling, my daughter, my own sweet child!” and she pressed her wildly to her heart ‘Thank God, my mother, my precious mother! How sweet it is—mother, dear mother!” ; The two seemed almost exhausted in their heavenly joy; the sight was one angels would smile upon, and bless. In _ speechless astonishment the assembled friends looked on; Julian stood like one in a dream, gazing first upon the mother, then u the weeping child; from them to Signora Va- lencie, who nodded pleasantly upon the tableau, and to the dying colonel, his blanched face and staring eyes glued upon Helene. j One gaze was sufficient to read his soul. He was overwhelmed. It was too much, all this overpowering news, and he sunk beneath it, as a child cowers under a blow. Gradually his frozen lips framed one word—“ Helene!’ She turned her tearful eyes upon him, then buried them in her mother’s breast. But Julian stood like one possessed. “T can not understand it,” he ejaculated, passing his hand bewilderingly over his brow. “But ’tis true; true as the Scriptures; and ; the proof, look at us!” Leota—or Signora Zarate—turned her face and Helene’s toward the lover. He gazed scrutinizingly at them. ’ “Yes, it is so; the same lustrous hair; the same beautiful eyes, the expression, the voice, the manner. Mother—my mother; I am your son, You will not reject the love of another child?” “Never,” she replied, tenderly. ‘‘ Here, Ju- lian,” she said, uniting their hands and clasp- ing them in her own, “receive my blessing—a mother’s warmest benison. May He who has so signally favored us and restored us all to each ot er, ever love, and guide, protect and bless ou! Jutta bent and pressed.a loving kiss on Helene’s fair cheek, tears of joy coursing down their faces; the mother and foster-mother em- braced her in silent joy, while the rough men, the hardy soldiers, could not repress the rising tears, and struggled vainly to conceal their emotion. All but Zarate, who, in his abject grief, was more repulsive than when defiant. e did not seem to relapse, and the surgeon posed bee again to his quarters, — ro where he could be cared for. # “No, no, I won’t go,” he whispered. ‘Let me die! Ruined, disgraced, what have I to live for? A wife who hates me, a child who fears me, enemies on every hand. No, no, I won't live; I must die!” % Something of the old spirit had returned. _ “ And, again, Zarate,” said De Leon, ‘‘let explain why I appears so pleased with your diabolical plans. It was policy ; you remember I never suggested any thing. It was necessary I should do so, in order to prove what was long And with the aid of your injured wife, or ‘Leota’ and ‘ Nina,’ I took good care that no ultimate harm should befall your vic- tims. The challenge to the duel was accidental, but a well-fitting link in the chain of events that has led ‘to this d result. a ‘““Where is Nina?’ asked Helene, of her mo- ther. “She is here now, darling. I will call her.” Leota left the room, and in a second Nina, with her beautiful vail of flowing hair, entered. “Did not Nina tell the forest-bird the hunter had a strong arm and a stout heart to save her?” Helene started as she heard the voice. There was something, a memory of an indistinct past, to for something, a vague, unsatisfactory f . pe Nina will say adieu, forever, to the forest- flower. But the warm sun and the refreshing dew will ever invigorate and enliven and beau- tify her. Nina goes forever. Adieu!” She hey thdrew, as Leota returned, her vail lai aside : “‘ Has she gone so quickly?” asked she. “No, ora; ‘Nina’ still remains, no less loved than ‘ Leota’—no less admired than ‘ Isa- bella.’ Allow me,” said Julian, archly, with a wise smile. He unpinned her wealth of hair; it fell almost to her feet, shading her sweet face, and “Nina” smiled from under it. : The illusion was complete, and the triple mask was unmasked! ; s “ A few words of explanation might be inter- esting, and if you are willing I will tell you.” arate, may I tell them about it?” asked his wife, gently. wee He essayed to speak, but his strength seemed ee $ “6 “i a | aa I EE ee ee — eS —<— lll
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- soul.. Oh, m Sa i al yy. . Kf F r “ t ' ; Re =e . ad ? ono ad > unequal to the task. His: face had; lost, every trace of its former fiendishness, and he looked like a weary child. . “Husband, will you listen to me—to Isabella, ‘your wife?” How strangely tender, how unspeakably re- proachful.in its sweetness, sounded that long unused title. His eye lighted suddenly, and he whispered to Viscarra. “Lady, he requests a last favor—one he-feels utterly unworthy of. He would beg you to take my place.” ; ‘The request created the intensest surprise, and they gazed at him in undisguised astonishment. He, the lawless villain, so humble? Impossible! They knew not the change the immediate, vicin-; ity of death can arouse. nhesitatingly she arose, and motioning Vis- carra away, tenderly took her husband’s head and rested it on her bosom, smoothing the damp, disordered hair. He grasped her hand tightly, and lovingly caressed it. ‘“‘Tsabella, mia cara, Iam dying, dying; go- ing down to my doom with a heavy load on m wife, I don’t blame you for the misery I have experienced this day, for I have caused you a thousand-fold more.. De Leon, we were friends once, over in beautiful Spain, were we not? Then, for the sake of that past, forgive me—me, who twenty-four hours ago would have scorned asking forgiveness of any one. And oh—” His voice grew faint, and a cold sweat stood on his brow. Even those who had been most severe wept at the. sight, and. De Leon, the stern soldier, turned to hide a tear. Truly it was a strange sight, this strong man just in the prime of life, so lately the incarnation of all that was vile, now subdued and dying, with his head reclinin on the bosom of her he had so cruelly injured. The lion had been transformed into the lamb; and Antonio Zarate was what. years of * i ment never could have made him—‘“* Repent- ant, . ‘ And all in so brief a time?” queries a doubt- ing reader, T would answer to such, even so. Haye you never seen the mighty giant oak, the lord of the forest, rear its lofty head in almost conscious superiority over its less aspiring neighbors? Have you noticed, when in all the glory of bvill- ijant bloom, of massive strength, the crashing tning-flash split. the proud forest-king, in a ngle instant laying it low, even lower than its, ble neighbors? ° - That is like Antonio Zarate; the one blow so sudden, so fearful in its concentrated strength and bitterness, had been-more than even his proud nature could bear; he had sunk under it, . conquered and dying. “But your promised explanation, senora?” She gently caressed the ‘head lying on her forgiving bosom—and what can not a wife for- ive?—which soon would be forever at rest un- Ris the cold earth that waited to receive him, and in a low, soft voice related her story: . “Tt was twenty years ago that ideal of manly excellence in my humble home at Xeres de Fontana, in beautiful acm ju where the proud Guadalquivir poure a roa wavesintothesea. It was there where I learned to: love him, there where he whispered to my willing ear the oft-told tales of love so sweet to me. In six months we were married, at the little chapel in Xeres de Fontana, by our priest, and as his wife I was blissfully happy; ‘ Isabella St. Al- bian never dreamed of. such joy as Isabella Zarate experienced. But only a short fort- night did I live thus. One morning my hus- band went away, as usual, but he never re- turned. How well I remember the agony of the time when I was compelled to believe he had left me, left me alone! Never.can I forget the utter desolation of my heart when I could no longer blind myself to the fact that I was a, cai tain wife! eaven alone witnessed. my burning agony. + “Months rolled on, and then I knew I would he a mother—of his child and mine—of -nim | ojo _ who had Jeft his girl-wife, who never would look upon his baby’s face. 7 “T prayed then that we might die, I and my child—that a kind Father would take me out of this cruel world; but it was a wicked prayer. - | A ‘And then Helene, my black-eyed darling. came to console my worse than widowed heart with her baby sweetness. Me Antonio, you aida ‘know it, did you?” she | as him. . ‘ it in beauty and health, and it was , ‘. ge? : ; ; d . * at pe ahs ax , _ _ »'THE EBON MASK. RR : met my, +.late his di j or him. So, accompanied by my widowed sister, Elise Val- encie, whom I persuaded to appear as the babe’s mother, I started after my husband. “Hor some fime I was unsuccessful; from og to place I journeyed, but the regiment ad. always; left; and at length, discouraged, I was, about abandoning my design, when I learned. he had gone to America; and to Amer- ica I came, leaving my child and her ‘ mamma,’ as she called my sister, in Spain. “For a long time { remained in Pensacola, acting my role of ‘Nina,’ thereby frequently seeing my husband, Then I sent for Elise and my daughter—a beautiful girl of sixteen, who had acquired, a superior education in her native land. As ‘crazy Nina,’ she became interested in me; and oh! the anguish of my soul when I watched her budding loveliness and yearned to have her call me ‘mother!’ But I only could sate her, and I did; then, when she first met ulian St. John, how I watched him to see if he were worthy my peerless Helene. That he was, you may know by the present engagement ex- isting between. them. “‘ At last I formed in my mind the plan of pea ag another disguise, and, as ‘ Leota of the Ebon. Mask,’ I appeared on various_occasions, still preserving my character as ‘Nina,’ the more to mystify the villagers. j “You know how I succeeded; my story is one, _ As. she finished, Zarate spoke, in a husky voice: “My injured wife, I feel you have forgiven me, else I could not lie here, I am dying, and soon shall be gone, But there is one request I would make. Helene, oh, Helene, my child, my daughter, can you, can you forgive me—your dying, repentant father?” He reachéd forth his hand, and his eyes beamed tenderly upon her. She clung to Julian in her agitation, and looked inquiringly at her mother. “My daughter, come hither. You and Ju- -lian,” said she, gently. They obeyed, and stood before the dying man, who gazed long and earnestly at her sweet face, so like her mother’s, *Tell.me, daughter, I am going rapidly— quick, tell me, am [ forgiven?” He held’ his hand to her; only a second sho hesitated, as the awful recollection came surging over her; but that was over; it was a thing of -the moment, and this seemed an act of eternity and death, so near did they all feel to the river. Then she took his hand in hers, “As T hope to be forgiven, so do I forgive all, my father,” and stooping, she imprinted a loving kiss,on, his lips... J An expression of ineffable delight swept over his face, and making a violent effort he grasped Julian’s hand, joined it to Helene’s and pressed them feebly to his lips, He, turned to vie (aa NOY , ‘Tm going; good-by—so unworthy—forgiv- cai Haight 4 -The soul took its flight, as the last breath lingered lovingly on that sweet name, It had pone, and with his head on his wife’s bosom, his and clasping Helene’s, he passed away. The commandante was dead! And now our story 1s almost done; yet loth to leave. our readers at. a death-bed, we beg them. to linger. a moment while we _ hastily sketch. a scene in the large room on the bay shore, where Isabella Zarate resided, Three months elapsed, and then the garb of mourning was replaced by the gaxments of Ae ee A. fair bride was uteous Helene, in her snowy robes, and fragrant orange-buds; and Julian not a whit, less. handsome in his proud manliness, The priést has blessed the blushing bride, and-together, under fairest auspices, they “commence their Jife’s journey. . Heaven’speed them! De, Leon. is there, and» the peerless Isabella; epe Pinto and the fair ‘‘ auntie,” Elise Valen- ; and rumor says strange things about an- other nuptial party, when Julian shall congratu- ified ‘Uncle Pepe!” Ricovi was justly punished, while Jose Esco- bedo received his meritorious acquittal, _ - Thus each in the cause of right and virtue meriting the deserved reward, as all who valor- ously fight for the victory in the same battle pe nobly .recsive, in maintenance, we _| leave them, . when she acquired the age of two hag ls that I | Waverley Library. 1 Tae Masxep Brinn. By Mrs. Mary Reed Crowell. 2 Was Ir Love? By Wm. Mason Turner, 8 Tue Girt Wire. By Bartley T. Campbell. 4 A Brave Heart. By Arabella Southworth. 5 Bessiz Raynor; tHe Work Girt Wm.M. Turner 6 THe Secret Marrisce. By Sara Claxton. 7 A DaueuTer or Eve. By Mrs. Mary Reed Crowell. 8 Heart To Heart. By Arabella Southworth. 9 ALONE IN THE WorLD. By Author of “Clifton.” 10 A Parr or Gray Eves. By Rose Kennedy. 11 Envaneitepd. By Henrietta Thackeray. 12 His LawFrun Wire. By Mrs. Ann 8, Stephens. 18 Mapcoap, THE Litrin QuaKEREss. By Cushman. 14 Wuy I Marrizp Him. By Sara Claxton. 15 A Warm Face. By Bartley T. Campbell 16 Trust Her Nor. By Margaret Leicester, 17, A Loyau Lover. By Arabella Southworth. 18 His Ipou. By Mrs. Mary Reed Crowell. 19 Tue Broken BerrorHay. By Mary Grace Halpine. 20 ORPHAN NELL, THE ORANGE GirL. By Agile Penne. 21. Now anp Forever. By Henrietta Thackeray. 22 Toe BripE oF an Actor. By Author of ‘‘Clifton.”” 23.Leap YEAR. By Sara Claxton. 24 Her Facr Was Her Fortune By Eleanor Blaine. 25 Onty a ScuHootmistress. Arabella Southworth. 26 Wirsour A Heart. By Col. Prentiss Ingraham. 2? Was Sup a Coguette? By Henrietta Thackeray. 28 SyBrt CHASE. Mrs. Ann §. Stephens. 29 For Hrr Dear Sake. By Sara Claxton. 30 Tar Bouquet Girt. By Agile Penne, 81 A Map Marrracr. By Mary A, Dennison. 82 Mrr1aAnna, THE Prima Donna. By A, Southworth. 83 THe THREE SISTERS. By Alice Fleming. 34 A MarriAGE or CoNVENIENCE. By Sara Olaxtcn. 35 Sunnep AGarnstT. By Clara Augusta. 36 Str ARCHER’s Bripe, By Arabella Southworth 37 Tae Country Cousin. tp Kennedy. His Own Acary. By Arabella Southworth. 39 Furrration. By Ralph Royal. 40 PLepGEp To Marry. By Sara Claxton. 41 Bump Drevorion. By ce Fleming. 42 BraTRICcN, THE BEAuTIFUL. By A. Southworth. 43 THe BARONET’s SECRET. By Sara Claxton. 44 Tue Onty Daceuter.- By Alice Fleming. 45 Her Hippen For. By Arabella Southworth, 46 Tur Litrte Herress. By Mrs. M. A. Denison. 47 Because SHE Lovep Him. Sar Fleming. 48 In Sprite or Herserr. By 8. R. Sherwood. 49 His Hrar’s Mistress, By Arabella Southworth. 50 Tar Cusan Herress. By Mrs. Mary A. Denison. 51 Two Youne Girts. By Alice Flem ng. 52 Tus Wincep Mussencer. By Mrs. M.R. Crowell. 53 Acngs Hopr, tom Actress. By Wm. M. er. 54 One Woman’s Heart. By George 8. Kaime. 55 tae Dip Nor Love Him, A. Southworth. 56: Love-Map. By William Mason ‘iurner, M. D. 57 A Brave Gtrt. se ae Fleming. 58 Tur Enon Mask, By Mrs.. Mary Reed Crowell 59 Wipow’s Wixus. By Rachel Bernhardt. A new issue every week. — For sale by all Newsdealers, price five cents each, or sent, postage paid, on receipt of six cents. BEADLE AND ADAMS, Publishers 98 William street, N.Y. The Fireside Library. 43._A Woman’s Heart. By Mrs. M. V. Victor. 44 Tur Drap Lerrer. By Seeley Regester. : 45 Lorp Listr’s DaventmR. By C M. Braeme. 46 A Woman’s Hanp.: By Author of ‘‘ Dead Letter.” 47 ViaLs or Wratu. By Mrs. Mary Reed Crowell. 48 A WiLp Giri... By Corinne Cushman. 49 Tae MAppEsT MARRIAGE Ever Was. ' By Burton. 50 Love in A Maze. By Mrs. E. I’. Ellet. 51 CATHOLINA; or, WALLED Up Attve. By Robinson, 52 A ROMANCE or A Poor Youne Gir. By Mrs. Ellet. 58 Tur Lockrep Hrarr. By Corinne Cushman. 51 Tum Pripr or tHe DowNEs. By Me senet Blount. 55. A Srraner Girv. By Albert. W. Aiken. 56 Tar Prerry Puritan. _ By Parson’s Daughter. 57 Dip Sue Stn? By Mrs. Mary Reed Crowell. 58 Dovusty Divorcep. By Mrs. Jennie Davis Burton 59 A Wickmp Woman. Lillie Devereux Umsted Blake, 60 Biinv Barpara’s Srcret. By Mary G. Halpine. 61 AN AMERICAN QuEEN., By Grace Mortimer. 62 Marcoun, THE STRANGE. By Wm.M. Turner. 63 Wire on Wipow. By Rett Winwood, 64 Tur CrEoLE Cousrms. By Philip 8. Warne. 65 Pursurp To THE AuTAR. By Corinne ‘Cushman, 66 Tar TerriBLe Trurs. By Jennie Davis Burton. 67 Exeaanr Earert. By Philip 8. Warne. 68 Lapy Hrvrn’s Vow. By Mrs. E. FP, Rilet. 69 Bowrn, Tar Kniaut of Cutvatry. By P. 8.Warne. 70 Drirrine To Rum. By Mary Reed Crowell. 71 Tum Parson’s Daveutrer. By A Parson’s Daughter 72 Tue Mysterious GUARDIAN, Pie Cushman 73 Was Sup A Wire? By Rett Winwood. 74 ADRIA, THE ADOPTED. By Mrs. Jennie D. Burto 75 PRETTY AND Proup. By Corinne Cushman, » 76 Tur BirteR Frup, By Mrs. Jennie 'D. Bu¥ton. 77 A Woman’s Work. By Mrs. E. F. Hilet..~ 9° 3 "8 Tue BLACK Rippiz. By Corinne Cushma 79 CoRAL AND Rusy. By Mrs. Jennie Davis Parton, 80 Drvorcep Bur Nor Drvipep. By A: Parson’s Daughter. : Others Issued Every Two Week. For sale by all nee Brice ten cents, or sent, postage paid, on receipt of twelve cents. BEADLE AND ADAMS, Pub 98 ‘William street, N. Y. 1a, gi ad 4 ee ee a