CHAPTER VIII

The scene we are now about to describe was in a room of a hotel; the time, five o’clock in the morning—the persons present were Belcher Kay, Maretzo, and two or three other noisy and dissipated revellers, whose flushed countenances, blood-shot eyes, and other equally striking symptoms, showed plainly enough that they had been ‘making a night of it.’

Kay and the Italian appeared to be the most sober of the company, not that their potations had been less deep or frequent than their companions, but that constant practice had so inured them to the wine cup, that it was long ere they showed any ill-effects from it.

They certainly were particularly noisy and merry, and their companions lent their aid to the conviviality, by knocking down everything the aforesaid said or did, in the most tumultuous manner.

One individual, in the classic language of the drunkard, was ‘quite done up,’ and was stretched at full length upon the floor, under one of the tables, with his hat for a pillow, and a portion of the carpet for a coverlid; and every now and then he added to the general tumult by a loud snore of the most hoggish description.

The proprietor of the hotel had several times requested the party to break up, but as the said party threatened to break his head instead, if he interfered with them, he thought it was best to desist from his importunities, and after supplying them with enough wine for the night, he retired to his own chamber, and left them, very reluctantly, to the indulgence of their noisy revels.

At the time we have thought proper to open this scene, it was, as we have before stated, about five o’clock in the morning, and the landlord of the hotel had arisen, and his servants also, and the usual bustle in such places prevailed, but still the debauchees continued their riotous mirth, and it appeared as if they had fully made up their minds to make another day of it, at least.

‘The song, Kay, the song, the song; we will have no excuses;’ shouted Maretzo.

‘Ay, ay, the song, the song, we will have no excuses;’ chorused three or four voices, and the man under the table gave a loud snore.

‘Oh, the song, ah! well I don’t mind trying one, just to keep up the conviviality;’ said Kay, who was seated on rather a high chair, with his legs negligently deposited on one end of the table, and twiddling a fine-flavoured cigar in his finger and thumb. ‘The song—let me see—ah, what shall it be? Oh, I have it—very good I think you will admit.’

And then without any further ceremony, Kay, who had an excellent voice commenced singing.

The demonstrations of applause that greeted this bacchanalian display, were of the most uproarious kind, and by the time the companions of Maretzo and Kay had given full scope to the exuberance of their delight and approbation, they were one and all ‘done up,’ and one by one dropped off to sleep, leaving the two above-named gentlemen to the uninterrupted enjoyment of their own society.

‘Ha! ha! ha!’ laughed Maretzo; ‘they are regularly floored, poor devils!’

‘Completely finished and done up,’ coincided Kay;—‘ha! ha! ha!’

‘They are not half fellows to be done up with one night’s carouse, poor devils ha! ha! ha!’ observed Maretzo.

‘Poor weak creatures to be knocked down with a dozen or two of wine; ha! ha! ha!’ again laughed Kay.

‘Not like you and I, Kay;’ added Maretzo.

‘Not a bit of it.’

‘No comparison.’

‘A loco-foco to the moon.’

‘Half a pint of beer to a pipe of wine.’

‘They cannot stand anything!’

‘Positively nothing!’

‘They’re twaddlers!’

‘Drivellers!’

‘Noodles!’

‘Boobies!’

‘Nincompoops!’

‘Humbugs!’

It may be as well to observe here that these compliments were bestowed upon the party at large, who had been liberally carousing Maretzo and Kay, without expecting the latter to pay a cent of the reckoning, and consequently they may be considered fully entitled to the elegant epithets that were lavishly bestowed upon them.

‘You and I are the fellows to do it, Maretzo,’ said Kay.

‘Positively the very fellows,’ coincided his friend.

‘We are no skulkers while there is plenty of good wine before us,’ added Kay.

‘Never think of such a thing.’

‘It would ruin our reputation, if we were known to do such a thing.’

‘And that would be a most melancholy thing.’

‘Positively awful!’

‘We will never let the enemy beat us.’

‘No, d—n!’ returned Spangle;—‘but down with it, down with it, and at it again.’

‘At it again! Hah! ha! ha!’

‘We are wine proof!’

‘Full proof?’

‘Above proof, by —’

‘But talking about women,’ observed Kay, ‘That Blodget was a devilish fortunate fellow.’

‘Cunning rogue!’ replied Maretzo; ‘he managed his business famously, and has contrived admirably to elude the vigilance of Monteagle and the lady’s friends.’

‘They have not heard anything of them yet, I believe?’

‘Nothing!’

‘Poor Monteagle! Ha! ha!’

‘Ah! poor fool!’

‘I wonder what has become of Monteagle?’

‘Oh, he is doubtless still making every inquiry after the lady.’

‘And it is my firm belief that Inez will never live to see her father, her lover, or her friends again.’

‘I am of the same opinion; a sensitive, high-minded woman like her, will never be able to survive long the misery and degradation which Blodget has heaped upon her.’

‘He positively must be a smart scoundrel.’

‘I never heard of one equal to him.’

‘Such a systematic way as he went to work to accomplish his villainy.’

‘The ingenious and complicated plot he devised to bring about the gratification of his wishes.’

‘The artful manner in which he contrived to make the simpleton, Jenkins, his dupe, too; the ready tool to further his deep-laid stratagem.’

‘He must have had his education in the school of art and vice, certainly.’

‘Yes, and been a ready pupil, too.’

‘But is it not strange that every stratagem has failed to find the slightest clue to the place of retreat?’

‘Wonderful!’

‘And then the attempt upon Monteagle’s life.’

‘Doubtless by some ruffian employed by him.’

‘There cannot be a doubt of it.’

‘To be sure. Revenge has incited him to it.’

‘He is a dangerous fellow to offend.’

‘A very devil.’

‘At any rate, he does not fail to play the very devil with those who excite his enmity.’

‘True.’

‘But he must be defeated at last.’

‘Certainly there is not much prospect of it at present.’

‘Oh, no doubt he will be caught in some of his own snares by and bye.’

‘But do you think he has ruined the girl?’

‘He is villain enough for anything.’

‘He must be a monster, indeed, if he could perpetrate such a crime as that. I must have another glass of wine.’

‘Do you think that he who did not hesitate to attempt the life of the father, and the violation of the daughter, would shrink from any thing.’

‘But, then, her youth—her innocence.’

‘Psha!—he is a stranger to such feelings as they ought to inspire.’

‘Why, to be sure, from his general conduct, we have an undoubted right to suppose that he is.’

‘And yet I think that he has had some other motive for getting the girl in his power; that he has found her necessary to advance his base schemes.’

There was a pause.

‘But that Blodget is really a most terrible fellow,’ said Kay.

‘Every stratagem, every scheme of rascality, I do believe, that that rascal of rascals is up to.’

‘Positively every scheme,’ said Maretzo, ‘but this is a dry subject, and I must have another glass of wine.’

‘I feel to want one myself, too,’ observed Kay, filling his glass from the decanter: ‘Well, here’s wishing that Blodget may soon be here.’

‘And Inez restored to her lover and friends,’ exclaimed Maretzo.

‘Quite safe.’

‘Quite safe,’ repeated Kay.

‘And yet I am afraid there is not much chance of that.’

‘Nor I.’

‘Leave that consummate scoundrel, Blodget, alone for that.’

‘Ay, ay.’

‘He would not fail to enforce his wishes.’

‘To be sure he would not.’

‘And what resistance could she make?’

‘None at all.’

‘She is so completely in his power.’

‘Completely.’

‘Without a friend at hand to fly to her rescue.’

‘Not a friend; and besides no one knows, or can form the least conjecture whither he has taken her.’

‘Not the least shadow of an idea,’ said Kay.

‘Any person would positively imagine that the fellow had some dealings with the devil,’ added Maretzo, ‘and that she was conveyed away by magic.’

‘That they certainly would,’ observed Kay.

‘I would not mind a hundred dollars to know where the fellow is.’

‘Why, that would be rather awkward, I imagine, Maretzo,’ returned Kay, with an expressive grin.

‘Ha! ha!’ laughed Maretzo, clapping his hand significantly to his pocket; ‘finances rather queer, you think? Ha! ha! ha! I understand!’

‘Funds low.’

‘Ha! ha! ha!’

‘It is not a very laughable matter though.’

‘Very unpleasant.’

‘To be straightened for a few hundreds.’

‘Very disagreeable.’

‘And people have no faith in the word and honor of gentlemen, now-a-days.’

‘But we must do something to raise the wind.’

‘That is very evident.’

‘Quite certain.’

‘Quite.’

‘We must make good use of these boobies,’ said Kay.

‘To be sure. Leave us alone for that,’ replied Maretzo.

‘Oh, yes, I am certain of that.’

‘They are very easy.’

‘Poor devils.’

‘Fit sport for us.’

‘Just the sort of game we like to hunt,’ returned Maretzo.

‘They have got a few thousands, which they seem bent upon wasting.’

‘And we might as well reap the benefit as any other persons.’

‘To be sure.’

‘And we will too.’

‘Oh, there is not the least doubt of that; ha! ha! ha!’

‘By the by, we ought not to feel much obliged to Blodget for that affair—’

‘No, that was a d—d bore.’

‘Remarkably unpleasant.’

‘A few hundreds out of our way.’

‘Yes.’

‘We have mingled in some strange scenes together.’

‘You may say that.’

‘We have been in luck together.’

‘In debt together.’

‘In prison together.’

‘Damme! we have shared all the smiles and frowns of fortune, and may we soon be on more friendly terms with her than ever.’

‘Bravo!’

The two friends quaffed off glass after glass, with as much gusto as if they had only just commenced a night’s carouse; and then each crossing their legs in an indolent and careless manner, remained silent for a short time. The sleepers were snoring in concert, and did not seem likely to awake for some time, but to monopolize the coffee-room for a chamber, for that day at least.

After the lapse of a short interval, Maretzo looked up with an expression of countenance, half solemn, and half humorous, and, addressing himself to Kay, says:

‘Kay, my boy!’

‘Well, my dear fellow,’ said Kay.

‘I have been thinking, Kay.’

‘And what have you been thinking?’ interrogated his dissipated companion.

‘Why, that we have been a pair of d—d scoundrels!’

‘Ha! ha! ha! what a discovery!—why, I have known and felt that long ago, Maretzo,’ returned Kay.

‘We have taken that which did not belong to us,’ added Maretzo, ‘and borrowed that which we never repaid.’

‘And never meant to repay;’ observed Kay, with a laugh.

‘We have diddled our tailor; broken the fortunes, and the hearts of innumerable bootmakers, hatters, frizzeurs, laundresses, and other creditors.’

‘Very true,’ remarked Kay, ‘and we are likely enough to break the hearts of a great many more, if they are silly enough to trust us.’

‘Ah!’ ejaculated Maretzo, and he fetched a very deep sigh, reflectively.

‘Ah!’ mimicked Kay; ‘why, confound me, if you are not getting melancholy.’

‘I am becoming penitent,’ replied Maretzo, in a tone still half serious, ‘I am becoming penitent, Kay.’

‘Penitent!’

‘Yes, downright compunctious.’

‘Ha! ha! ha!’

‘Don’t laugh, I feel a touch of the serious,’ remarked Maretzo, ‘I think it is high time that we began to think about a reformation, Kay.’

‘Well, positively.’

‘Ah! it may be well, positively,’ repeated Maretzo, ‘and, positively, I wish it to be well.’

‘And what is your plan of reformation?’ inquired Kay.

‘Why, matrimony.’

‘Matrimony?’

‘Ay, sober wedlock,’ answered Maretzo, ‘it would be advisable for us to do the steady and the amiable for some time, until we can meet with a favorable match; a handsome sum in the shape of a wedding dowry, and a handsome wife, and then we may settle down into two worthy gentlemen, very patterns of domesticated virtue.’

‘Not a bad plan,’ said Kay, smiling, ‘but it is almost too soon to think about that, yet.’

‘Not at all.’

‘That is only your opinion.’

‘And I have no doubt, as we have hitherto generally agreed, that it will be your opinion also.’

‘I cannot make up my mind to be shackled just yet, my dear fellow,’ replied Kay.

‘Nonsense, you may let the opportunity go by, and then you would repent it, take my word for it.’

‘Probably, I might,’ said Kay, ‘but I shall e’en trust fortune a little while longer.’

‘But fortune will not trust you—we owe her too large an account already,’ observed Maretzo.

‘But I am determined to jilt the jade still further, yet.’

‘Mind you do not deceive yourself.’

‘Leave me alone for that.’

‘After all, if a pretty girl, with a handsome portion is thrown in your way, I do not fear but that I shall be able to make you a convert.’

‘Well, we’ll leave that till the opportunity offers itself.’

‘Be it so.’

‘But you are really serious?’

‘Cursed serious.’

‘Ha, ha, ha! we must have another glass of wine after that,’ laughed Kay, ‘here’s fortune and matrimony.’

‘Fortune and matrimony,’ responded Maretzo, raising the glass to his lips; and then another pause of a few minutes took place.

‘I have been thinking, Kay,’ at length Maretzo broke silence, ‘that, after all, the whereabouts of Blodget, and Inez may not be so difficult for Monteagle to trace out as hitherto it has proved.’

At this, the door opened, and the landlord entered, saying that a man wished to speak to Kay.

‘Tell him to come in. Who the deuce can it be?’ said Kay.

‘Doubtless one of our fellows,’ said Maretzo.

The man now entered.

‘Well,’ said Kay. ‘I’m the person you asked for.’

The visitor went to the door, and turned the key. He then said, in a low tone, ‘Is your companion to be trusted?’

‘True as steel,’ said Kay.

‘Blodget is in trouble and needs your assistance. He is at Gordon’s house.—Jenkins has informed on him, and he can’t leave the house without almost certain death. He wishes you and a person he called Maretzo, to be there to-night. With your aid he can get off, carrying the lady with him. He says he won’t mind a couple of thousand, if you can get him out of this scrape.’

‘Now, my good fellow, how do we know that this isn’t all gas. A trap, may be?’ said Kay.

‘He told me to tell you, if you doubted me, to remember the old man in the old house!’

Kay started, but quickly recovering himself said, ‘All right, we’ll be on hand.’

The man left the house, and mounting his horse rode to the Mission. At a small house near the church he found Joaquin, by whom he was conducted to Jenkins, who was in company with Monteagle and some Californians, friends of Inez and her family.

The party speedily set off across the country towards the house where Inez was confined. But speedy as they were, they found they had been anticipated by Kay and Maretzo, who had set off to aid Blodget the instant the man had left. On arriving at the house they knocked boldly at the door. Gordon opened it, but upon seeing who the visitors were he attempted to slam it in their faces, but ere he succeeded a long Spanish knife was driven to his heart by Maretzo, and the wretch fell a bleeding corpse on the floor. Blodget was soon released.

‘Bear a-hand,’ cried Kay. ‘We must be out of this d—d quick. If Jenkins or any of his gang arrive, we’re gone chickens.’

‘One moment,’ cried Blodget. ‘I’ll have this d—d stubborn Spanish b—h if I have to carry her corpse across my saddle!’ as he spoke he sprang up stairs.

Alice had overheard what passed for she was sitting by Inez’s bedside watching her slumbers.

The brave girl instantly determined to save Inez, even at peril of her own life.

She extinguished the light, and throwing the veil of Inez over her head, and her mantle over her shoulders, she stood with beating heart, as she heard the villain Blodget’s steps upon the stairs.

‘Inez!’ cried the ruffian, as he opened the door of the chamber.

‘Who calls me?’ said Alice, imitating the voice of Inez.

The ruffian made no reply, but seizing her shrinking form in his arms, he bore her to the front of the ranch, where Kay and Maretzo stood ready to mount, holding a spare horse that they had brought to facilitate Blodget’s escape. The ruffian sprang to his horse’s back, dragging Alice up before, and dashing the rowels into his horse’s flanks, flew off at full speed, followed by Kay and Maretzo.

They had not been gone many moments, ere Jenkins, Monteagle, and their friends arrived. The bloody body of Gordon, which first arrested their attention at the threshold, filled them with dreadful forebodings.

Lights were procured, and Monteagle sought the chamber in which he was told he would find Inez. He burst into the room. A lady lay on the bed. ‘Inez!’ he shouted.

The lady turned her head, and his eyes fell upon her countenance!

‘Gracious Heaven!’ he almost shrieked; ‘is this some beauteous vision got up to torture me to madness? Inez!—My Inez!’

A wild shriek answered him!—It was no delusion! He sprang forward with delirious speed, just time enough to clasp the fainting form of his long-lost betrothed in his arms!

How shall our weak pen essay the task to describe the scene which followed this strange, this unexpected meeting?

Insensible, Inez was conveyed to an apartment in the cabaret, whither Monteagle followed, and could not be persuaded to leave her sight for an instant.

Again and again he enfolded her in his arms; pressed warm kisses on her lips, her cheeks, her temples, and laughed and wept like a child, by turns!—Then he threw himself upon his knees, clasps his hands vehemently together, and poured forth an eloquent prayer to the most High!

Joaquin began to entertain a fear that the sudden surprise, and so powerful a shock as it must be to his feelings, would have a fatal effect upon his senses; and he did all that he possibly could to calm his emotions.

His efforts were, however, for some time unavailing, but at length he became more tranquilized, and resigning Inez to the care of the persons who had been called in to attend her, he sank into a chair, and covering his face with his hands, gave full vent to the emotions that overflowed his heart, in a copious flood of tears.

Joaquin in this did not attempt to interrupt him, for he well knew what a relief it would be to him, and he turned his eyes from Monteagle to watch the progress which was being made towards the recovery of Inez.

His joy was scarcely less than that of Monteagle, although it did not exhibit itself in so violent a manner, and his heart teemed with gratitude to the Almighty, who had brought about their restoration to each other in so miraculous a manner.

It was not long before Inez was restored to animation; and, looking eagerly around her, she exclaimed:—

‘Where is he?—Was it a dream?—Oh, where is Monteagle?’

‘He is here, my love, my long lost one!—My only hope!’ cried Monteagle, and again they were enfolded to each other’s hearts, while further utterance was denied them by the power of their emotions!

We must hastily draw a veil over that scene which the imagination of our readers can depicture far better than any language of ours, however powerful, we could describe it!

Those moments were a foretaste of Heaven, succeeding the torment of purgatory! Their extacy was so great, that they could scarcely believe the evidence of their senses. It was some time ere they could satisfy themselves that they spoke, they breathed, or that they were still inhabitants of this sublunary scene!

But when, by the joint efforts of Joaquin and others, they became more tranquilized, the scene which followed was affecting in the extreme. They rested for a few hours, as they were not sufficiently composed to resume their journey to that home in which they had not together met for so long a period, and where they had never expected to meet again; and their friends, after a short time, left them to themselves, to enter into that mutual explanation, they were each so anxious to obtain.

With what feelings of horror, disgust, and indignation, did Monteagle listen to the recital of his love, but how did his heart overflow with gratitude, when he heard of the manner in which Inez had been enabled to resist the diabolical attempts and importunities of the villain Blodget; and as he pressed her to his heart, he again poured forth his thanks to the Almighty for her preservation from such accumulated and fearful dangers.

‘The monster! the fiend!—for he cannot be anything human, although he bears the form of man,’ cried Monteagle, speaking of Blodget; ‘oh, how I regret that he has been suffered to escape my vengeance!’

‘But he will not that of Heaven, dearest,’ ejaculated Inez; ‘oh, most assuredly that will ere long overtake him in its most terrible form, for the many, the almost unequalled crimes of which he has been guilty!’

‘True, my love,’ returned Monteagle, and his eyes sparkled with rapture as he gazed upon that dear countenance he had never expected to behold again; ‘and oh, if ever atrocity deserved punishment, dreadful will be his doom. To concoct so infernal a plot, by which he tore you from my arms.’

Inez smiled beautifully through her tears, and throwing her fair arms around the neck of Monteagle, the kisses she so fervently pressed upon his lips, convinced him powerfully of her affection.

‘Say no more upon that painful subject, my dearest,’ she ejaculated; ‘let it from this joyful moment be for ever buried in oblivion.’

‘It shall, it shall, my sweetest,’ replied Monteagle; ‘but oh, what a debt of gratitude do I owe to your generous preserver, Jenkins. Would that I could see him, that I might to himself express the power of my feelings. Nothing can ever sufficiently reward that man for the inestimable service he has rendered me.’

‘I need not assure you,’ rejoined Inez, ‘that I most warmly concur in your feelings; and I trust that at some future period, Jenkins may be able to visit us, and receive the demonstrations of our mutual gratitude, and, moreover, be persuaded to quit the life he is at present leading.’

‘Pity it is that he should, by some cursed fatality urging him on to crime, be driven from it,’ observed Monteagle; ‘but I dare say that his offences have never been so heinous as to exclude him from all hope of earthly pardon.’

‘No, I cannot believe that they have,’ replied Inez; ‘but he is so much attached to his present wild life of freedom, and his reckless associates, that I am doubtful whether he will ever be induced to abandon them.’

‘My influence and exertions to induce him to do so, shall not be wanting,’ said Monteagle. ‘Still I am sorry that he should have changed his first determination, namely, to deliver the wretch Blodget into the hands of justice. While I know that villain to be living and still at large, my mind cannot be entirely at rest, for, however watchful and vigilant we may be, after what we have experienced from his villainous artifices, have we not reason to fear that he will devise some means of further annoying us, and gratifying his demonical revenge?’

‘Do not, I beg of you, my love,’ said our heroine, ‘harass your mind by apprehensions.’

‘Heaven grant that your surmises may prove correct, Inez,’ observed Monteagle; ‘but I candidly own that I cannot entirely divest my mind of the fears which I have described; and should anything happen again to you, my love, all my manly fortitude would entirely forsake me, and I should never be able to survive the shock!’

‘Pray, Monteagle,’ urged Inez, ‘if you would not make me miserable, endeavor, struggle to banish such gloomy imaginings from your bosom, and trust to the goodness of Providence which has hitherto so mercifully preserved us, when the darkest snares of villainy sought to ruin and destroy us.’

‘For your sake, my own love,’ replied Monteagle, once more affectionately and passionately kissing her cheek, ‘I will endeavor to do so; still you surely will not blame me for not placing too much confidence in our security, which might prevent me from being watchful and wary to defeat any base plans that might be devised against our future peace?’

‘Oh, no, in that you will only act with prudence and wisdom, although, I must repeat that I sincerely trust there will not be found to be any necessity for that precaution. But my poor father—what of him?’

‘He is well in body.’

‘But how has he supported my absence?’

‘Oh, he suffered terribly.’

‘Did he give himself up to grief?’

‘At first he did—he was as one struck to the earth by a sudden, violent blow. Joaquin, however, roused him from his despondency, by urging the absolute necessity of pursuing the abductors. Thus urged, your father shook off his despondency, and appearing to forget his years, joined in the search for your abductors with all the ardor of youth. Indeed it became almost necessary forcibly to restrain him, lest he should become totally deranged.’

‘Totally deranged! Then his mind was affected by my loss?’

‘Oh, my love,’ ejaculated Monteagle, ‘Would that heaven had spared me that painful task; but pray be calm and bear the melancholy intelligence with fortitude and resignation.’

‘Speak on, speak on; I’m prepared for the worst,’ ejaculated our heroine— ‘Tell me of my poor father.’

‘When I left your home the physicians hoped he might recover, as at intervals reason seemed returning, when he would call for his daughter Inez, and then relapse into unconsciousness.’

‘Oh, let us hasten to my poor dear father.’

They were soon in their saddles, and on road to the Mission.

CHAPTER XIX
The Seducer’s Terrible End.

A few nights after Blodget’s escape found him walking the streets of San Francisco, but disguised as he thought too effectually to be recognized by any eye, however sharp.

There was a cloud upon Blodget’s brow as he emerged from the court into the semi-obscurity of Montgomery street, and his mind was evidently ill at ease. He tried to hum a fashionable opera air when he had walked a little distance, but there seemed something in his throat which choked him, and the sounds died upon his lips. Then he quickened his pace, when a young female emerged from a street which he was passing, and laid her hand upon his arm. He turned his head, and beheld Carlotta.

She was thinner than when he had seen her last, and looked as if she had recently been ill; but her dark eyes were as lustrous as then, and there was the same gloss upon her raven hair. At the moment that she emerged from the shade of the court, and laid her hand upon his, there was a strange and almost indescribable expression upon her dark countenance, but it passed away as quickly as a flight of birds over a stream, and when Blodget’s eyes met hers, they read nothing therein but pleasure at meeting him again.

‘Ah, my little wild rose of the islands!’ said he, ‘what are you doing at this hour of the night, when all such pretty wild birds should be in their nests.’

‘Well, I can’t say I was looking for you,’ returned Carlotta, ‘but I am glad that I have met you, nevertheless. But I should ask you where you have been wandering, you naughty man?’

‘Oh, I have been to the theatre, and then walked this way with a friend,’ returned Blodget. ‘But where are you staying—can you take me home with you?’

‘Fie!’ said Carlotta, playfully.

‘I really cannot part with you, my charmer,’ said Blodget. ‘If you cannot take me to your quarters, wherever they may be, you must come somewhere with me.’

‘You must not think of going where my people are,’ observed the Chilean girl, ‘remember how near the detection of our amour was costing our lives.’

‘Then come with me, my beauty,’ said Blodget. ‘There is a house not far from here which will suit our purpose, and I shall not part with you until daylight.’

‘Then I go with you, Blodget,’ said Carlotta. ‘Promise me that you will not seek to detain me more than an hour, and I will not refuse you the happiness you covet.’

Blodget promised, and the Chilean girl accompanied him to an accommodation-house in the neighborhood, where they were conducted to a neatly furnished bedchamber on the first floor.

‘We shall have time to drink a bottle of champagne in the hour that you have promised to remain with me,’ observed Blodget, and he gave the girl, who had preceded them with a light, some silver to procure it.

They sat down, and Blodget threw his arm round the waist of his dark-eyed companion, and drawing her towards him, impressed a kiss upon her lips. She smiled upon him, but her lips did not give back the kiss, and there was a glitter in her night dark eyes at the moment which was not the radiance which springs from happiness or love. Blodget, however, failed to detect anything unusual or peculiar in the expression of that glance. The wine was brought, and placed upon a small round table convenient to Blodget’s hand, and he filled the glasses, handing one to Carlotta and taking one himself.

‘The sparkling juice will bring back to your dark cheeks a glow that seems wanting there,’ said he, as he sat down the glasses and immediately refilled them.

‘Come, drink,’ he cried.

‘It will be the last time we’ll drink together.’

‘Why, what the deuce makes you think so?’ said Blodget.

‘I don’t know,’ replied the girl, ‘but I have said it, and you’ll see if it don’t come to pass.’

‘D—d nonsense,’ cried Blodget, laughing, and then he drew his companion on his knee, and kissed her repeatedly and eagerly.

Carlotta was silent, but she reclined her dark cheek against her seducer’s, and quietly and adroitly drew from her pocket a little phial containing some liquid. Concealing the phial in her hand, she then threw her arm over Blodget’s shoulder, and noiselessly drawing the tiny cork, poured the contents of the phial into his glass.

‘Another glass of champagne, my glow-worm,’ said Blodget, ‘and the soft delights of love, the thrilling joys of warm and impassioned nature are ours.’

Carlotta removed her arm from his shoulder as he turned slightly to reach his wine, and while she kept her eyes upon the glasses to observe that he gave her the one that she had drank from before, she returned the empty phial to her pocket.

‘I suppose nothing unpleasant came of our dalliance?’ said Blodget, in a half interrogative tone, as he handed the girl her glass.

‘Why do you suppose so? Ought you not rather to suppose just the reverse? Was not something unpleasant naturally to be expected?’

‘Well, perhaps I might have supposed so,’ returned Blodget, deprecatingly, and a little disconcerted by the girl’s reply.

There was a moment’s pause, and both sat with their glasses in their hands, Blodget’s eyes fixed upon the floor, the girl surveying the countenance of her seducer, as if she were trying to read his thoughts.

‘Well, what was it?’ Blodget at length inquired.

‘A boy,’ returned Carlotta. ‘It died, and I was glad of it, for if it had lived it might have been as faithless as his father.’

‘Do you want to quarrel?’

‘No.’

‘For heaven’s sake cease,’ exclaimed Blodget, suddenly raising the wineglass to his lips, and emptying it at a draught.

Carlotta drank her wine quickly as he spoke, and rose from his knee, where she had contrived to sit while upbraiding him with his inconstancy and duplicity. Her dark eyes were fixed upon his countenance, which changed the moment he had swallowed the wine, his lips becoming white, and the expression of his features becoming ghastly and cadaverous.

‘You are a dead man and I am avenged!’ exclaimed the girl in a hissing whisper; and then she glided towards the door, and turned the key in the lock.

A faint groan which seemed to struggle feebly and faintly upwards, was the only sign of vitality which Blodget gave, and then his head fell upon his breast and his arms fell powerless at his side.

Quickly and silently Carlotta drew the sheets from the bed, knotted them together, and then fastened one end securely to the bedpost nearest the window; this done, she noiselessly raised the sash, and looked out. The night was dark and foggy, but she could see that there was a small yard below, with a door in the wall, which opened into a court at the rear of the house. Dropping one end of the sheets from the window, she immediately got out upon the sill, and grasping the sheet firmly with both hands, descended in safety into the yard. She could hear laughter and the tinkling of glasses in the back parlor, but the shutters were closed, and noiselessly unbolting the door in the yard fence, she hurried swiftly out, and in a few minutes was far away.

CHAPTER XX
The Return to the Mission.

Let us now rejoin Inez and Monteagle whom we left on their road to the Mission.

What powerful sensations of unspeakable delight rushed through the veins of Inez, and monopolized every feeling of her heart, when those scenes which she had never expected to behold again, once more burst upon her vision. The tumult of rapturous and conflicting ideas that darted to her brain, were almost overwhelming, and, although her tongue was eager to give expression to her sentiments, the strength of her emotions would not permit her to give utterance to a single syllable. She looked in the countenance of her lover with an expression of the most unbounded affection and delight, and she fully perceived that he reciprocated her feelings. Tears filled his eyes, and taking her hand he pressed it to his lips with eloquent silence.

Not the slightest change appeared to have taken place in everything upon which the eyes of our heroine rested, since last she had gazed upon those well known scenes. The bright beams of a silvery moon were shining serenely upon every thing around, and a melancholy silence, so consonant with her own state of mind, prevailed. But, alas, she reflected, what a change had taken place in the home of her childhood! That home which had once abounded in every happiness that the human mind could wish for, was now the abode of sorrow; that fond parent, whose every joy and hope were centered in her, was a maniac and would be insensible to the felicity of her restoration to his arms.

This last thought was too afflicting for endurance, and overcome by her emotion she leant her head upon the bosom of Monteagle, and burst into an hysterical flood of tears.

In vain did Monteagle endeavor to tranquilize her feelings, he felt how powerful was the cause she had for sorrow, and the anguish he endured was scarcely less than her own.

Joaquin exerted himself to the utmost to calm the feelings of them both, and he at length succeeded.

Monteagle, we should have mentioned before, had taken the precaution to send forward a person to the Mission, with a letter, making them briefly acquainted with the fortunate meeting which had taken place between him and our heroine, and of their coming, so that the surprise might not be too sudden for them; and they were, therefore, fully aware that they would exert themselves to the utmost to meet the unexpected pleasure which awaited them; the more especially as the precarious and lamentable situation of Senor de Castro rendered the greatest care necessary.

At length the elegant, but unostentatious, mansion, burst upon their vision, and Providence imbued the mind of Inez with a calm feeling of joy, which she had never experienced before. Everything seemed to dance before her eyes to welcome her return to that once happy home, and the horses appeared to move with the most tedious slowness, as they cantered along the road which led to the garden gates.

They reached those gates; they were already open, and standing to receive them were beings endeared to them by every affectionate and grateful feeling.

Let not the too presumptuous pen attempt to describe the scene which followed, language is by far too weak to convey any idea of it. Tears, sobs, and broken sentences of unbounded transport, burst from the overcharged bosoms of each individual; and then Inez felt herself led along the avenue which conducted to the hall.

Although her eyes were dimmed by tears, and her thoughts were so fully occupied, our heroine could yet behold several of the old domestics standing in the path, who, as she passed, raised their hands and eyes towards Heaven, and gave utterance to their simple, but forcible, exclamations of gratitude to the Most High for the restoration of their ‘dear young lady’ to her home and friends.

Another moment and Inez found herself in the well known parlor, endeared to her by so many fond remembrances and associations; and sinking on her knees, she clasped her hands fervently towards Heaven, and gave full vent to the expression of her ardent and spontaneous ejaculations of thanksgiving to the Almighty disposer of all events for her deliverance.

No one offered to interrupt her, they were also too much occupied with the feelings of astonishment and unspeakable delight that filled their bosoms. But at length, Inez having ended her solemn prayer, suddenly arose from her knees, and looking eagerly around the room, she said:

‘But where is he? He is not here! Where is the poor old man—that he is not present to snatch his unfortunate daughter once more to his heart, and weep his tears of joy upon her bosom! My father—my poor, dear father; where is he?’

‘My dear Inez,’ replied the Padre; ‘I can fully appreciate the anxiety of your feelings; but pray endeavor to restrain them. Your father has retired to his chamber and sleeps—do not disturb him lest—’

‘And think you,’ interrupted our heroine, with the most violent emotion depicted in her countenance; ‘think you that I can rest calmly one moment without beholding that unfortunate, that doting parent from whom I have been so long and so cruelly separated? No—no—no—I will go to him; not an instant—’

Quickly up the stairs which led to the well known chamber of her father, our heroine bounded, but when she arrived at the door, she paused; a deathlike faintness came over her, she breathed short, and she was unable to move a step further.

Monteagle and others entreated her to return to the parlor, and to defer the trying scene till the morning, but she answered them by a look which fully convinced them of her determination, and they therefore desisted.

In a few moments she partially recovered herself, but still she had not sufficient courage or resolution to enter the chamber.

She stood and listened, supported by the arm of her lover, and her ears caught the sound of the breathing of the patient, every respiration going to her heart like a stream of fire.

In a moment the breathing sounds ceased, and all was still as death.

‘He sleeps, he sleeps, and probably dreams of her who—’

‘Hark! hark!’ hastily interrupted our heroine; ‘those sounds—do listen;—those words—those words—my heart will burst!’

They listened with breathless attention, and Monteagle supported the form of Inez, in a state of agony too powerful for description. In low and plaintive tones, sufficient to draw tears from the eyes of the most insensible individual, the unfortunate de Castro was singing, apparently in his sleep, the words of a song Inez had so often sung to please him, and which brought to the memory many powerful and agonizing recollections.

‘God! God! support me!’ gasped forth Inez, clinging to the arm of her lover, and her whole frame convulsed with anguish.

‘Father! father! dear, dear father! I can bear no more,’ cried Inez; and tearing herself from the hold of Monteagle, she rushed into the chamber, and darted to the side of the bed.

Senor de Castro was sitting up in the bed when Inez entered the room, and was staring vacantly around him. His countenance had undergone little or no perceptible change; the ruddy glow of health was on his cheeks, and so calm and serene was its expression, that it seemed almost impossible that his mind could be in the deplorable condition in which it was.

On beholding Inez and the others enter, he exhibited emotion, but when his eyes rested upon the former, a sweet smile irradiated his features, and laughing with all the joyousness of a child, he exclaimed:—

‘Beautiful!—oh, how beautiful!—what a bright and lovely vision!—Her very self!—So like her!—But ’tis only fancy—only fancy—ha! ha! ha!—How beautiful!’

‘Father! father!—dear, dear father! Do you not know me? Oh, God! what a bitter trial is this!’ frantically sobbed forth the distracted Inez, as she threw her arms around the poor old man’s neck, and pressed warm and delirious kisses upon his lips.

In a few moments Senor de Castro began to regain his scattered senses, and gazed round him like one slowly awaking from a fearful dream.

He at length fully recognized his child. Then followed a scene too affecting for pen or pencil to describe.

But one subject remained to cloud their happiness. It was the absence of Alice Hewlett, of whose abduction, by Blodget, they learned from the old woman at the ranch. Bitterly did Inez deplore the sad fate which had befallen the lovely ‘Squatter’s Daughter.’

Brown fled upon hearing of the arrest of the gang.

Monteagle was of course cleared of all complicity in the robbery of the store, by this confession, and Mr. Vandewater gave him a share in his business as some recompense for his unjust dismissal.

The little church at the Mission was soon after gaily decorated, and before its humble altar the hands of Inez and Monteagle were united. Their hearts had been so from the day our hero bore the fainting maiden in safety from the flames.

THE END.