The Secret Shot; Or, The Rivals Of Misty Mount — page 30: what you’re looking at

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

: te a et -, A Sa —_— 28 THE SECRET SHOT. found it. Its blade was hardly rusted, and its hilt was thickly crusted with real gems. A stern smile flitted over the maiden’s fea- tures as she concealed this priz within the bosom of her dress. She felt stronger, more confident, than before. With a vigilant eye, and faculties quickened by her peril, was she not now safe—at least in one sense? Her heart beat rapidly at the thought; but it beat braver, firmer, with the hilt of that small dagger pressing against it. She could not, however, help thinking of the manner in which the weapon had been lodged on the side of the chasm, and morbid images of conjecture flitted through her mind. If the dagger could speak, what dark history of murder might it not unfold? She leaned out of the lattice again, and looked at. the niche from which she had taken it with a gloomy curiosity. She shuddered at the idea that perhaps it was the sole, silent wit- ness of some terrible deed—some foully - murdered human form which had been flung from the dizzy brink above—perhaps from the edge of the lattice from which she gazed | —and had gone thundering down to the unknown depths below. But, the grating sound of the withdrawal of bolts at her prison-door quickly changed this train of thought for an anxious expectancy, and she hastily reclosed the little window, got down from her perch, and stood waiting. The last of the massive bolts clanged back from its socket, the door creaked open, and Judith entered the apartment. Her de- meanor was much different from its usual pride and gloom. There was a gentle, al- most sweet, expression on her lips, and the old wild beauty of the quadroon maiden seemed to shine out through the attenuated lineaments of time with a subdued luster which was wonderfully winning and trust- inspiring. She was also dressed more neatly than usual. Her jet-black, profuse wealth of hair was gathered up plainly, neatly, and yet with a certain elegance, which added to the quiet charm of her whole appearance. Ida scarcely recognized the Judith she had been accustomed to know and vaguely fear, in the trim respectfulness of the pretty wo- man who now entered her apartment. In- stinctively the forlorn heart of the captive maiden leaped toward her with an impulse of sympathy. She sprung forward and caught the quadroon by the hand, while her large blue eyes looked trustingly in the dark orbs of the other, as if seeking and bestow- ing confidence at the same time, “ Tel] me—tell me, Judith,” she faltered, “why I am treated in this inhuman man-’ ner. Oh, think of my father (if he be yet alive). Oh, think of the anguish my absence must cause him! Help me to es- cape! Iseeyouare kind and good. Pray, help me! What is the meaning of this? Who. brought me here ?” “One, sweet: maiden,” replied Judith— and her tones. were as gentle as a dove’s— ‘one who would sooner die than cause you pain. If you could behold the brimming heart that prompted to this deed, you would forgive the means by which it sought to woo you. Alas! it is the heart of one grown mad with love.” : “ His name ?” “ Heartstead Gleason. Nay,do not blame till you have heard,” purred Judith. “ La- dy, he loves you as a poet loves the stars in heayen. He will do any thing—he will die for you,” “ Does he think to win my love by tear- ing me from my home—by maiming or slaying my protectors?” asked the maiden, with bitter sarcasm. “ We donot hurt that which we love; we cherish it with gentle- ness and kindness. Why does he, then, tear me from my home? Why am:I abused, insulted, in this way ?” “Lady, because he is mad /” whispered Judith, with an air of mystery. “TI do not use the word merely as it applies to hearts distraught with passion. I mean to say that, at this moment, Heartstead Gleason is mad —utterly insane through grief and jealousy.” “ But I can not help it,” said Ida, remon- stratingly. “Ido not love the man simply because I can not. I suspected he was in- sane when he met me the other day in the forest, and offered me violence. I suspected this, and forgave him in my heart. I am sure I am sorry I can do nothing to restore him to reason; but—” “Lady, you can—you can do every thing. You are the only one who can restore him,” “ How ?” “ Give him your love—give way but an jota to his blind, blazing passion, and he will be restored,” said the wily quadroon. “ Most certainly I will do nothing of the kind !” exclaimed the haughty heiress of Misty Mount, indignantly. “I demand to be instantly released from this dismal place ! Let me go immediately! It ill comporte with your seeming gentleness, Judith, that you thus play the jailer to an innocent being who neyer wronged you in thought or deed.” Eecomichooksicom Mt oa es ~~ oo