The Boy Soldier; Or, Garibaldi's Young Captain — page 206: what you’re looking at

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200 THE BOY SOLDIER; OR, GARIBALDI’S YOUNG CAPTAIN. “Such a terrific noise, confusion, bustle, cursing, and swearing, and general babble you could never conceive, “The whole town was soon alarmed, and the house was besieged by an angry, excited mob. “What came of it all I didn’t stop to see, so hurried down stairs into the street, and, dressed as I was, never stopped running until I got to our camps again, “Tf that wasn’t a ghost or a spectre,” said Fatty, out of breath, ‘‘ there never was one.” “An excellent story,” said several, in a breath, “Yes ; rather an exciting one,” said Frank, “ But it only lacks one thing to complete it,” said Hugh, laughing. . “Then there is some secret about it,’’ said the Count, 6c Yes,”’ “What is it?” “Why,” said Hugh, “the truth is that the Black Spectre of the Ruins that Fatty saw was none other than the clerk of the next village, who had called to pay Fatty a visit.” “T won’t believe it,” said Tony, “It is true, though ; but you were so tight you could not distinguish anything that night.” “Well, but it was a real skeleton, anyhow,” said Fatty, “no one can dispute that.” “Yes, J can,” said Hugh, laughing: “I had heard so much nonsense about our bravery in fight- ing ghosts, that, when I was informed of your going to the bal masque, I got into the mansion, hid myself in the old chest, where I knew the old noble- man kept his masque suits, and, with the aid of a few human bones, and a skull, I attired myself as a skeleton, and almost frightened Tony out of his wits. ‘“‘T know the affair created a great noise at the time, but now that we are far away from Italy, the truth does no harm,” Hugh’s explanations were received with much merriment and laughter. CHAPTER LXXX, WARNER STILL GROPES HIS WAY IN THE? LEFT WING OF BROMLEY HALL—THE PLACE IS HAUNTED, THE position of Warner in the deserted wing of Bromley Hall was not by any means an enviable one, He would have given a thousand pounds to have got out of the mouldy and damp place, for where- ever he went he only encountered fresh horrors, What had become of his companion Puggy he knew not. Time seemed to have no change, All was darkness and perpetual night. ‘Am I to die here ?”” thought Warner, as he sat down, prostrated with weakness and fatigue, “ This place is filled with horrors, “‘ Whichever way I turn I encounter some strange and supernatural spectacle, ““What brought me here at all? ' “ What has become of my companion, Barney ?” Thus he thought, and on- whichever hand he endeavoured to grope his way in the darknegs, he found no possible outlet for escape, ‘I am entombed alive !” he gasped. | The memories of all the villanies he had committed in his whole life flitted through his mind in a ghastly, dismal procession. 24: 5A OF These recollections were, worse'than deathiitself to Warner. reds He could have torn his hair in madness. The ghost of old; Ford, and the spirits of the murdered policemen darted across his staring eyes. Each hole and corner seemed peopled with devils, who on every hand were shouting out— ' “Murder ! murder! murder !” Days passed, and yet he could ‘find no escape. : He retraced his steps as best he could, without a. lamp, and he only, wandered about in the inxy darkness to find himself still,;more puzzled and baffled. ait D6 | The position of. Warner was terrible indeed, way. to Had he not fortunately discovered a few dozen © bottles of choice old wine, he must have died fro sheer starvation, | The nutritious juice of the grape, however, sus- tained his tottering limbs, | A week passed, and yet: he could not liberate himself. He had, in this time, grown haggard and old- looking. , His hair, and brow, and limbs, were bathed in a clammy sweat, and his knees shook from under him, Now he would grope about. like a feeble child, Again he would sit down as if to die. He tried to resign himself to his awful fate, and resolved to hang himself if possible. Anything was better than the agony he was suffering. Sleep forsook his eyes. His brain was almost reeling. He fell upon the stone pavement of a dark chamber, and his head knocked against it with — so much force that the sound re-echoed again. ‘‘T must die at last!’ he gasped. “I have no further strength ; my brain is all on fire'!”’ As he thought thus, he distinctly heard two voices conversing outside the door, He started like a man in a terrible dream. “T tell you he cannot escape,” said the faltering voice of an old man. It was Giles, the gardener. “T tell you he cannot'escape, Mr. Gale, if he has once got into this old deserted wing, for it has been shut up for half a century or more, and has never been opened as far as I could ever find out.” “But I tell you that he mill escape, if there is but a rat-hole through which he can crawl.” “Gale!” thought Warner. ‘‘Why, that is the celebrated detective. What brings im here?” “It is doubtful if he zs here,” said the old man. “Tt is more than a week since we captured the other one.” NOW READY, THE BOY SAILOR; OR, LIFE ON BOARD A MAN-OF- WAR. A most interesting and powerfully-written Tale, to be completed in about 80 Numbers. No. 2 with No. 1, anda LARGE EN- GRAVING, GRATIS. cGComicboo on a a ; | : | ’ ‘| a com