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DOST TMOTf EVER THINK OF ME ?
by r. a. if.
When the star of hope is shining,
And thy sky is bright and cleat,
When merry, light-winged fancy
Frees thy heart of care and fear—
In all those sweet, blissful moments,
When thy-heart is light and free,
s Mid all those joys and pleasures,
Dost tllott ever" think of me ?
When the pale-faced moon is beaming,
And tbe lamps of Heaven appear,
When memory loves to ramble
O’er scenes that are so dear—
In those dear, silent hours of thought,
Post thoc ever wish to be
Hear the one that loves thee truly ?
Dost tbou ever think of me !
•01 say yes, that 1 am ever
Vour Constant, only thought—
That your heart is full of sunshiue,
With happy visions fidught ;
That tho’ thou art surrounded
With pleasures bright and gay,
I am all your dreams by nigbt,
Vour only thought by day.
THE WINE-SELLER’S DAUGHTER,
OR
THE NIGHT BEFORE THE
BATTLI? OP NEW ORLEANS.
Ur 'WILf.IAM HF.XRY PECfc.
Author of “ The Brothers Vengeance,"* “ Hr-
C*' lenc aie\ 1 “ h at, the Renegade"
•■ The Muetoraon," “ The Red Jjtrarff *** •
11 The Family Doom ," “ The
Black Phantom ,” “ The
Corsican ," Blobs
dec., &c., dec.
COPYRIGHT SECURED.
CHAPTER I.
“B. ie B.”
In the year 1815, the drinking sa
loon of Paul Amur, a hearty, robust
Frenchman, forty years ot age, stood
on St. 4 street, in New Orleans ;
and if, Y’e hour of seven, on the
nigh ievuvna V 7 the ?th, of that year,
wht (Signed) id feeble-looking man
stole . tain apartment, and sat
in a dial- S&rly concealed by a half
open door.
Paul Amar was trimming his lamps
when this roan entered, and as he no
ticed -his-jirds'erffce-the. bluff and rubi
cund visage of the wine-seller grew
slightly pjtle, and he muttered under
his heavy moustache:
“ Ah, it i3 Benditto! What can he
want?—this is the tenth night of his
watching for—whom ? But it is none
of my business —”
The demands of his numerous cus
tomers called his attention elsewhere,
and after glancing uneasily at the
stranger, he hurried to his glasses and
decanters.
Benditto drew his long, threadbare
cloak over his face, to his keen, black,
and deep-set eyes, pulled his broad
brimmed hat upon his brows, and
flashed a piercing glance over the
rather tumultuous assemblage which
filled the saloon, letting his gaze pause
for an instant upon everv faee..
“ Not yet,” he murmured as ho saw
that the room was occupied only by
old and white-haired men.
In the midst of the hubbub an old
gentleman, with a long beard as white
as snow, and clad in the uniform of a
hussar, placed a trumpet to his
lips and gave a blare that drowned
every other noise instantly.
This sudden blast of the trumpet
was a signal that the trumpeter had
fresh intelligence from Jackson’s army,
then camped a few miles below the
city and awaiting the advance of the
British commanded by Packenham.—
Every eye and ear was then turned
towards the veteran trumpeter; who
shouted:
“ Gentlemen, I have certain news
from the American camp ! Before
daylight the British army will attack
our friends below the city.”
“Since we cannot fight with our
brave sons and grandsons,” said a tall
and stately veteran of Georgia, who
had fought and conquered the English
in many a Revolutionary battle, “ let
us pray for them to the God of bat
tles,”
At this moment entered a young
man, apparently little over thirty years
of age, of lofty port and powerful
frame, and clad in the undress uni
form of an American cavalry cap
tain.
flektfo so soutljent Jiteratott, IJetos, aixtr (feral Informations
“Ho!” Said the old trumpeter,
“we have, it seems, one yonttg man
left to keep the old men company.”
The young man started quickly,
and grew slightly red;'but after a
glance, which changed From ahger to
scorn, as he noted the white-hair of
the speaker, sat down near a small ta
ble, called for brandy, and at the
same time produced a pencil of chalk.
“He piietakes/’cried'the trumpeter;
“ the Infant ,i$ too young' for brandy.
GiYVhira~»-W«i»«h'in*nc-,V»<l "lamt
Paul/’ • •
“You are an old fool, and may
sneer vour fill. I atn on parole,” said
the officer. Here he seemed to scrib
ble upon the table at random.
“ You are on parole ! Pardon; I
did not know all that,” continued
Valid. “But where did you give
your parole, my friend ?”
“ Were you hot so old, I would
consider your inquisitiveness imperti
nence,” replied the officer;“ but as
dotage has its privileges, I will an
swer* I was taken prisoner at De
troit, when Hull surrendered.’ 4
Having Uttered these- words, the
officer drank his brandy, tossed a piece
of silver to Paul, faced old Valid, with
supreme contempt for him and-, his
listening friends, and then departed..
A hiss of contempt followed. the'of
ficer, from whom the eyes of Benditto,
the man in the cloak, had not been
moved during the quarrel.
The conduct of Benditto, after the •
entrance of the officer, would have at
tracted general notice had not every
mind been intent upon the words and
actiohs of the latter j for no sooner
had Benditto darted his keen eyes
upon the officer’s face, than he drew a
miniature from the folds of his cloak
and began to compare the painted
features With the haughty visage of
the new-comer. As he gaZed from
one to the other his cloak-fell from his
shoulders, and revealed a slender form,
much bo\ved*by age or infirmity. The
slouch of his hat hid the upper part
of his countenance, but the lower was
grizzly-bearded, withered and wrink
led; while his complexion was of a
corpse-like whiteness, -spotted here
and there with purple scars. No
sooner had the officer departed than
Benditto resumed his..cloak,' and with
muffled face, advahced-f'd'the counter,
saying to Paul t ‘•* ''
“ Do you know that officer ?”
The words were in Italian and al
most whispered.
That is as it may be," replied the
cautious Paul, in the same tongue and
tone.
Benditto placed a piece of gold upon
the counter, and repeated the question.
“ I know him,” said Paul; his name
is Victor St. John, late Cavalry Cap
tain in the army of the North-west. —
He resides with his uncle, General
Harper, who is now in the army of
Jackson below the city."
“ Thanks,” muttered Benditto, bow
ing and leaving the saloon.
“ I shall chastise that coxcomb,”
said Valid ; “ though he is the nephew
of one of my friends. But, Paul, who
is that gentlemen that has just depar
ted ? He seemed afraid of showing
his nose.”
“ That is Benditto,” said Paul.
“ And who is Benditto, wise man ?”
“ Why, simply Benditto,” replied
Paul.
“That is the name of the Italian
fortune-teller,” cried a lively old man.
“Benditto, they say, is a sorcerer, a
wizard, in fact a poisoner But,
ha ! here comes a man who will fight—
why is he here ?”
This remark was elecited by the
appearance of a po'werfully built and
gaudily dressed man of middle age,
whose heavy beard and moustache hid
his face even to the cheekbones.—
He advanced to Paul and whimpered :
“The Captain has been here?”
“ Captain St. John or Captain La
fitte?” asked Paul.
“ You know Captain Lafitte is with
the army. I mean Captain St. John.”
“ He has just left.”
“Where did he sit? at which ta
ble ?” asked the other.
“ There —where that chair is over
turned,” said Paul, pointing to the
spot lately tenanted by St. John.—
“ What is it to you, Carlos ?”
“Much that is nothing to Paul
Amar,” replied Carlos, as he bent
over the table and erased some mark
with a rapid stroke of the hand.—
“Good night, master Paul.”
“ Bad night to all such black birds,”
growled the wine seller as Carlos
swaggered from the saloon. “He
rubbed out something that St. John
had marked upon that table with
chalk. I saw the Captain scratch
upon the table—what was it? Let
me see—perhaps I may get a clue to
this secret. Perhaps there is some
truth in the rnmor that there iB a plot
to fire the city—a plot among slaves
and traitors.”
He examined the table with keenest
scrutiny, and although Carlos had
removed every atom of chalk, Paul's
GREENVILLE, GEORGIA, WEDNESDAY, APRIL 17, 1861,
quick eye detected a bliir Upon the
polished surface which seemed to
form the inscription “B. & B.” “It
is 8.-& B,” muttered Paul, “but
what does that mean ? Monsieur
Valid, do you know that fellow who
has just gone ?"
“ Avery ugly Spaniard."
“Ugly face, uglier heart,” contin
ued Paul. “He is the worst man ih
all the gang of Lafitte, the Pirate.”
“ But Lafitte is to fight for us—pi
hof.M against tVin Hamlifs rtf tibfi Rrit
ish. Think of it, my friend—the
British have a regiment of negroes in
their army, and commanded by a man
whose battle motto is to be Beauty $
Bea uty /”
“Ah! that is it!” exclaimed Paul,
placing his finger upon the letters so
imperfectly erased by Carlos. “‘B,
& B. 4 means ‘Booty and Beauty! 4
Ha ! I smell treason in the air.”
“ He means,” remarked the stately
aged Georgian, whom We have men
tioned above, and who had joined the
party; “ that he believes there is
truth in the report that we have traitors
in New Orleans.’ 4
“ Let me catch rascals I"
eried the trumpeter. “ Traitors, friend
•'Hartly ?”
“ Aye; traitors who mean to sack
the city while Packenham slaughters
the Americans,” continued Hartly.—
“Black traitors led by white traitors.”.
“Proof!” exclaimed the matter-of
fact trumpeter,
“Like Paul, there, I scent it in the
air,” replied Hardy. “In times like
these, such warnings, ‘ though trifles
light as air, are confirmation strong
as proofs of holy Writ.’ You have
negroes, Monsieur them
well.”
“They will steal by instinct,” said
the old trumpeter. “ I watch them at
all times.”
“ Stealing is a small crime, my
friend, when placed by the side of
murder, and the deeds of revolted
slaves,” remarked Hartly, with grave
emphasis. “ The enemy in the field
is less dangerous than the traitor in
your camp; I have felt this danger
which Paul fears, anil, love my wife
and daughter too well not to be on
my guard.”
“But you have negroes, also, Col.
Hartly.”
“Every man and boy that can carry
a weapon is with Jackson’s troops,
Monsieur Valle,” replied Hartly.
“True, and my sons and grandsons
are there,” said Valid. “ But what is
this treason?”
“ I have said we know nothing, yet
we suspect much,” observed Hartly.
“ And I suspect that Captain St.
John knowsubout it,” cried Paul, as
the three retired apart. “I am sorry
to say it, Col. Hartly, as I believe he
stands high in your estimation, and
in that of your daughter also.”
“ Enough ; he did until this nigh't,”
replied Hartly. “He is a suitor my‘
daughter’s hand, but if I am a
of a maiden’s heart—Viola cares little
for him. But why do you, Paul, think
he knows aught of the truth or falsity
of these dark rumors?”
Paul had. little to relate, beyond
that for several days Victor St. John
had held short and guarded conversa
tion With sundry suspicious persons in
the saloon —all of whom had formerly
been connected with Lafitte’s band of
Barratarian smugglers, and had re
fused to follow their chief to the field.
Paul then spoke of the inscription
“B. & B.” written by St. John and
erased by Carlos.
“ The same was written upon my
gate, and Gen. Allison’s, this morn
ing,” exclaimed Col. Hartly. “It
'must be a password. This man, Vic
tor St. John and his satellites must be
watched.”
“ But by whom ?” asked Paul.—
“ All of our young men are with the
army—at least all who are able to
contend with the skill, cunning and
courage of Victor St. John.”
“ Courage !” cried Vall£. “He is
a coward.”
“ You mistake,” replied Hartly.—
“Victor St. John is no coward. I
have made man my study, and declare
to you that Victor St. John is one of
those men who never court danger, but
when danger meets them, are brave
to desperation. Is there no one fit to
watch him ?”
“ I have it, ” said Paul. “ Benditto
is the man.”
“Too feeble,” said Vall6, “and a
base instrument to be employed by
honorable men.”
“ He is younger s|id a stronger than
ke&ppears,” continued Paul. “As for
■SSpjps —why base to base, and evil
vdHßight, ’saidHartly. “Whoknows
where we may find this Benditto ?”
“I,” answered Paul. “ Let me
call my daughter to keep an eye to
my bar, and I will then lead you to
Benditto’s dwelling. I have not full
trust in Pierre there.”
“ You do wrong to expose so fair a
daughter in such a place, remarked
Hartly, with that deep gravity Which
commands immediate attention.”
“ Ah, what do you mean, Col. Hart
ly !” asked Paul, with flashing eyes.
“It is well to warn you,” replied
Hartly. “ I saw Victor St. John kiss
his hand as he left the saloon this
evening—and to whom ? To your
daughter Rosetta, who was peering
through the door at the back of the
bar.”
Paul Amar uttered a cry of rage.
“Isit so ? Ho, we must see to this
affairafc once. Bat Rosetta—did she
respOhd ?’ 4
Col. Hartly paused for a moment,
and then replied 1
“lama father, Paul, and would
wish my friend to warn me as I now
Warn- You. Rosetta threw back the
kiss-;':
“ You saw her ?"
“ No—but I saw her shadow upon
the half-open door.”
“ Enough,” cried Paul. “ Wait
here, gentlemen, until I have seen my
daughter—shadows are great traitors. ’ ’
“Be loves his daughter to madness,"
remarked Valid, as Paul hastened
away.
“ True, and therefore I Would save
him from madness,” said Col. Hartly.
And now let us follow Paul in search
of his fair daughter Rosetta.
. # CHAPTER 11.
• - ROSETTA.
Paul hurried up the narrow flight
of stairs that led to the floor above,
and placing his hand upon the knob
of the nearest door essayed to admit
himself into-the room beyond. But the
door was locked.
“Rosetta!” he cried, striking the
door firmly with his fist. “ Rosetta,
are you there ? Rosetta, I say !”
No answer, followed his impatient
summons, but as he glanced along the
narrow hall, running from front to
rear, he saw his daughter approaching
with hasty steps.
The girl was of remarkable beauty,
both of forqi and feature, and had ap
her sixteenth
fair, with a tinge of rose when unexci
ted, but as she met her father a deep
red blush dyed her cheeks, and then
left them deathly pale.
Why is your door locked, and
where have you been, Rosetta ?” ask
ed Paul, in a voice that trembled des
pite his effort to seem calm.
“Is it locked?” exclaimed Rosetta,
regaining her coolness as suddenly as
she had lost it. “ I locked it involun
tarily.”
“ Ah; and where were you but now,
my child ?”
“ At the rear window, father, lis
tening to the music of the departing
troops. Where should I have been?”
“ Very well. Let us go into your
room. I have something to say to
.you.” .
-“ But IJhear the people below call
' big your name, father.”
’ “ Their Wants will be attended to
by Pierre. Pierre understands his
business when 1 am absent, and I
know mine,” replied Paul, as Rosetta
unlocked and opened the door.
He followed her into the neat and
tastefully furnished room, and then
closed the door after him.
A light was burning upon a small
table near the centre of the apartment,
and as Paul turned to close the door,
Rosetta hurried to the table and se
cured a small golden locket which was
lying near an open letter. Knowing
that the rustling of the letter would
betray her action, if she attempted to
snatch it up, she threw her handker
chief over it and sat down so as to fur
ther conceal it by resting her beautiful
arm upon the table and across the
handkerchief.
Paul drew a chair towards her and
: sat facing her, with volumes upon his
tongue, but not a word upon his lips.
“ Well, father,” said Rosetta, “you
had something to say to me.”
“ I have, my daughter. But first
tell me—how many lovers have you ?”
“Lovers! I have a score,” laughed
Rosetta, assuming a gaiety she did not
feel.
“ I have begun miserably,” thought
the puzzled Paul, whose blunt, straight
foward honesty was ill-fitted to cope
with a maiden’s cunning, especially
such a cunning little jade as the hand
some Rosetta. “ I can never learn
anything in this way.”
“What is it, father? You have
something upon your mind,” said Ro
setta.
“ Have you been at the bar-room
door this evening, Rosetta?” asked
Paul, after cudgeling his brains in a
vain attempt to ask a shrewd question.
Rosetta’s heart leaped to her throat,
and the glance of her jet black eyes
to her father’s was as rapid as
light.
“No father, I have not been oat of
my room since supper, save to look
from the window at the fear.”
“ Now somebody has lied, or an
other body hasmadea great mistake,”
thought Paul. “ Still, a shadow be
longs to a substance.”
Then he said aloudi
“ And where is Annette, the cook ?”
“ She left the house immediately
after supper. She has not yet return
ed,” replied Rosetta, who would have
met and baffled cunning with cunning,
but who begah to feel uneasy before
plain honesty-.
“ Surely, Col. Hartly made no mis
take,” ruminated Paul. “I am afraid
my child, is trying to deceive me.—
Come, I artlfit not be beaten by a little
gifl like this infant. True, her mother
was more than a match for me—Ro
setta inherits all her mother’s beauty,,
why not her wit.” . ..
“ Well, father?” asked Rosetta.:
There Was a spice of defiant, tri
umph in her voice, and honest. Paul
began to grow exceedingly indignant-..
He had sought his daughter in the
garb of a lion, and now felt as-if h &■
looked like a much inferior anubstl
with,ears ridiculously lohg. "> .
“ Rosetta,” he exclaimed, V
the scant of a conspiracy.”
“A,’-conspiracy, my father?”'
“A- deep plot, which has for It-’sobr
jeetj the sacking and destniiJtibn 'Cf
the city,” continued Paul, warming
with his subject. “We——
“ Whom do yoU mean by we
matlded Rosetta. '., •\ ■
“ Why, Col. Hartly, Mehsmut'’
Valid and I,” exclaimed the wine.-SeE
ler, triumphantly.
“ Col. Hartly ? Ah, t do-not likW
that man.” • *,
“ He is a very good man, Rosetta;.'
and has a lovely daughter,” sstid Paul.-
“ A lovely daughter ! I do no.t think
Viola Hartly lovely—in fact,.'she is
homely,” cried Rosetta, with unusual
spirit.
“ Ah,” thought Paul, “ she is jeal-,
ous—for all the city calls Viola llar-tly
a perfect beauty. But if Rosetta ds !
jealous she must be in love with some- j
body who loves Viola, and whom Vi-j
ola loves. I know ttaiiy yottng- gal-1
lants who love Miss Viola, but report
is divided as regards the favored one. 1
son, the granavon"ot my oldTnen™
Valid below, and others say the fa
vorite is Victor St. John. Now, Ro
setta dods not care the shake of her
finger for Henry Allison, and so can
not be jealous for him. It is clear.
Rosetta loves Victor St. John.”
“ Well, father ?” asked Rosetta,
growing impatient. “You are think
ing, tell me of this terrible conspiracy.”
“Yes. We think we have traitors
in New Orleans,” assumed Paul, radi
ant with pride, springing from the ap
parent success of his reasoning. “In
fact, we are sure of it, my child. We
intend to catch the rascals and hang
them by the neck.”
“But this does not concern me,
father.”
Suppose one of these traitors, the
very chief of them, were a friend of
yours ?”
“ A friend of mine ?” exclaimed
Rosetta.
“ A friend who loves Viola Hartly ?”
Rosetta began to tremble, but con
cealed her agitation with a fierce ef
fort to seem unconcerned.
“No friend of mine loves Viola
Hartly. You know, father, that Viola
Hartly is rich, aud moves in a differ
ent circle from ours. My friends are
too humble to presume to love so grand
a lady as Viola Hartly. lam the
wine-seller’s daughter; she is the rich
man’s heiress.”
Rosetta spoke with much bitterness.
“ She is more than jealous,” thought
Paul. “ Rosetta is envious. lam
afraid my child has a very bad heart.
Jealousy, envy and a false tongue.
Ah ! I fear the noble Colonel has
warned me when it is too laie. Ah
me! can my child have disgraced
me ?”
Poor Paul groaned aloud, and his
features assumed so ferocious an ex
pression that Rosetta Uttered a scream.
“ You terrify me father! What is
the matter?”
Paul arose and paced the floor with
a stride that made the windows shake
in their frames. He Was afraid to
speak, lest he should become brutal;
and he loved his daughter so pro
foundly that he would rather have died
than insult her.
Rosetta began to tremble. Paul
noticed her agitation, and demanded
sharply i
“ You are trembling?”
“It is because I think my dear
father is going mad,” exclaimed Ro
setta.
“Listen, my child,”, said Paul,
forcing himself to a terrible calmness,
and again sitting near Rosetta. “Your
mother was the handsomest maiden in
all France when I married her, and
her beauty never faded in my eyes;
for she never told me a lie. She died
but two years ago—see l I wear
mourning for her on my head 1 When
she died, Rosetta, my hair was as black
as yours —now it is as gray as a
gloomy -da wn ; in two yeanf more my
hair will be as white as Monsieur
Valid’s. Do you recollect the last
words your mother said to you, Ro
setta ?”
Rosetta grew' very pale, her eyes
drooped and her lips were closely com
pressed.
“ You remember,” said Paul, tak
ing his daughter’s tiny hand in his,
“ that just before she died upon my
bosom; she took your hand, thus, and
made; you swear to better
than your father without jour; father’s
knowledge, ftnd always to speak the
truth, if not to all, yet to your father
remember this ?”
“1 remember.-it,” murmured Ro
setta. • •
“ Then ansWef me. Have you been
-down .to the back dopr of the saloon
this demanded Paul; not
.sternly, but with the sweet cadence of
a fond father’s worshiping love.
“ I have not," replied Rosetta firml f .
Her voice was hard and hoarse, and
•her hands were as cold as ice;
' The soul it appalled when the tongue
litters a deliberate lie !
Y-“ The name of the traitor we sus-
the name of the traitor we shall
.detect, the baffie of the traitor we
shall hang, is Victor St. John!”
thundered Paul, with sudden fierce*-
ness.
“ Ah! Victor!” exclaimed Rosetta,
springing to her feet and clasping her
hands in terror.
The action bared the letter on the
table, and Paul's heavy .hand was upon
it ih an instant.
' • As he grasped it, Rosetta shrieked
and swooned, sinking back into her
tfiiair with her head supported by the
table. !fhe golden locket she had
concealed* in her left hand Jill then,
fell upoil the floor, and Paul raised it
to thelight.
“‘Victor St. John,” he groaned as
be gazed upon the picture it contained.
“ Ah, Col. Hartly ! I fear your warn
ing has come too late. But let me
read this letter which is signed ‘ Vic
tor !’ ”
The letter read as follows f
private ? Your eyes, yonjv-irps have told me
that you love me ; and mine—have they not
sworn the same to yon i Away with this fool
ish mistrust, my dear Rosetta. What can you
fear from a heart that adores you 1 Prove to
me that you love me by m.eting me alone this
night, as the clock strikes twelve, on the Place
D’Armes. If you fail to meet me t will never
see yoii again. If you consent, show a light
at the rear window of your house at eight
o’clock or give me a sign if you see me in the
saloon at half-past seven.
“Ever thine, Yxctck.”
“Thank Heaven !”.said Paul, a she
gazed upon the marhle-lijte beauty of
his unhappy and unconscious daugh
ter. “ Rosetta may still be saved.—
I have loved gold too much since her
mother’s death. I have neglected my
child—it is all my fault. Poor Ro
setta !” He was using all his knowl
edge to restore her to consciousness;
and as he chafed her hands and tem
ples, and lifted her upon her snowy
white bed, he murmured:
“Poor girl! I thought she was a
mere child, and behold she is a woman.
It seems but yesterday when she be
gan to prattle—and now—what dreams
of love, what woman’s thoughts have
filled her poor heart! She spoke
falsely —-alas ! who has not ?—I must
forgive her—she knew no better—it is
all my fault. There—she breathes
again—she revives—she opens her
eyes —Rosetta, dear, darling Rosetta
—my poor child! Pardon your father,
my daughter—it is to save y.ou'from
the snares of a villain that I have done
this. . I have read his letter, my child.
The father and not the daughter shall
meet Victor St. John.”
“ Oh, my father, do not harm him !”
cried Rosetta, now fully conscious.—
“Ah, punish me as you will, but do
not injure him."
“ You love him so much, my child ?”
asked Paul, growing very Stern.'.. • .
Rosetta sat up in the bed, and cov
ered her blushing cheeks with her
hands.
“You, blush, my daughter,” said
Paul, “and I love the sign. He .is. ■
handsome—as manly a gentleman in *
face and form as any in America, no
doubt; but in heart and deed a scoun
drel. The eye of a maiden 'sees but
the perished surface, and thinking she
sees her own pure image there,dreams
not of the rank villainy I
cannot blame you for losing your heart
to hltS‘, but Rosetta, why deceive your
father ?”
“ Promise me that you will not harm
him, father—for he is not the bad man
you think him,” exclaimed the Unhappy
Rosetta.
: “ Promise -sot replied
Paul, drawing his heaty browswtfto a
frown. “Promise never to speak with
him again—promise to tear his image
from your heart as I tear it from this
locket to crush your lote for
him as I-crush this painted ivory un
der my heel 1” continued he, grinding
the precious image to atoms, and
spurning the fragments from him With
hie foot. “ Promise nevor to h o-t»
NO. l*lt
