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Frank Merriwell's Son; or, A Chip Off the Old Block, a fiction by Burt L. Standish |
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Chapter 11. The Truth |
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_ CHAPTER XI. THE TRUTH His first impulse was to follow her. Then he stopped and stood waiting for the man. The man did not come. "Where is he? who is he?" speculated Berlin. After a time Carson turned toward the house. "She's in her room long ere this," he thought. But close by the wall a shadow lingered, and, as he approached, this shadow suddenly moved forward and confronted him. "What is it you do here?" demanded the voice of Lizette. "I know you see me. I know you hear sometheeng. Why you watch me? Mon Dieu! would you hurt a poor girl?" Carson took a firm grip on himself and was deliberate in speaking. "Why should I wish to hurt you?" he asked. "You have done no harm, have you?" "Oh, no, no, no! I haf done notheeng!" "Then why do you fear?" "You watch me. You follaire me." "If you have done nothing wrong, you need not fear to be watched." "But it is not honerable to play ze spy on a girl." "I did not do so intentionally. I could not sleep, and I came out here to get the air. It was wholly by chance that I ran across you. Who was with you?" "No one, monsieur." "Tell me the truth," commanded Berlin, still in that calm, deliberate tone. "It is ze truth." "Think again. You place me in the awkward position of contradicting a lady. You were talking with a man." "No." "But I heard him." "What deed you hear?" she fiercely demanded, as she clutched his arm. "Tell me what deed you hear heem say?" "Then you acknowledge there was a man?" "Oh, what is ze use to deny! Oui, oui, zere was ze man!" "Who is he?" "Perhap maybe he is my lovaire. Perhap he has promised me to marry." For one instant Berlin seemed on the point of losing all his assumed self-control. His hands shook, and he made a move as if he would seize her roughly. He checked this movement just in time. "Your lover, eh?" he said. "Well, what sort of a lover is he who meets you in this sort of a manner at night? Why doesn't he see you like a man, instead of sneaking around this way? Your lover, girl? What right have you to have a lover other than myself? You call yourself Lizette, and you speak with an accent, but I know you are Bessie King. I did think I might be mistaken, but now I'm positive there is no mistake. I am right. You are Bessie!" She threw back her head and laughed softly. "I hear ze madame say you are not well, monsieur," she said. "I theenk ze madame is right. It must be een your head. I am vary, vary sorree for you. You should not become so much excited." "I knew you were a wonderful actress, Bessie, but you astonish me still. When you lived on the Flying Dollars Ranch you took delight in acting a part." "What is ze Flying Dollairs Ranch?" He paid no heed to the question. "Yes, you were a great actress even then," he went on. "Colonel King had a beautiful daughter, and he was supposed to have a son--a harum-scarum, reckless lad, who went galloping over the ranges with the cowboys, roped cattle, took part in round-ups, and did all sorts of things like that. This boy was known as Tom King. Colonel King's foreman, Injun Jack, had a grudge against Frank Merriwell and swore to kill him. He found his opportunity and attempted to shoot Merriwell. In order to save Merriwell's life young Tom King shot Injun Jack. It was thought that Jack had been instantly killed. But while Colonel King lay dying a few hours later and Tom King was weeping over his father, Injun Jack appeared and made a revelation that astounded every one. The boy who had been known by that name was Bessie King, the colonel's daughter. You are that girl." Again Lizette tried to force a laugh. "It is so strange a crazee notion," she said. "Why keep it up?" demanded Berlin. "You must realize you cannot fool me, even though, by the change in your appearance, by doing your hair in a peculiar manner, penciling your eyebrows and staining your skin, you have deceived Merriwell himself. He did not know you as I knew you. Look at me, Bessie. Have your eyes shown you no change in me? Have you not seen how altered I have become since your disappearance? I never knew how much I loved you until you had vanished and I could not find you. I have searched everywhere, and every hour since your vanishing has been an hour of restless torture for me. It seems to me that I loved you, Bessie, as no man ever loved a girl before. You gave me no opportunity to declare my love, but I declare it now. It's as strong as it was then--and stronger. I swore I would find you some time. I vowed you should be mine. I have found you, and I intend to keep that vow. What's this, little girl--you're weeping? You won't deny me longer? You are Bessie--Bessie, my own!" "Yes," she answered chokingly, "I am Bessie!" _ |
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