_By_ LYLE WILSON HOLDEN
It was the last straw! Injury upon injury I had borne without a murmur,
but now I determined to revenge myself upon Silvela Castelar, let the
cost be what it would. His malevolent influence had pursued me since
early boyhood, and it was he who caused every fond hope of my life to
turn to ashes before its realization.
Long ago, when we were boys in school together, his evil work began.
We were both of Spanish blood, and both, having lost our parents in
childhood, were being educated by our respective guardians at one of the
famous boys’ schools of England.
Nothing was more natural in the circumstances, than that we should become
chums and room-mates. However, it was not long before I began to be
sorry that I had entered into such close relationship with him. He was
absolutely unscrupulous, and soon his escapades won him an unenviable
reputation among the other students, although he always managed, by
skillfully covering his trail, to stand well with the authorities of the
school.
Before many weeks had passed, a particularly heinous outrage, which
he had committed, set the whole school in an uproar. It could not be
overlooked, and a strict investigation was started.
What was my horror to discover that his devilish ingenuity had woven a
web of evidence which thoroughly enmeshed me within its coils! There was
no escape; I was dismissed in disgrace from the school, and in disgrace
I left England. The notoriety I received in many of the leading papers
of the Kingdom made it impossible for me to enter another school or to
obtain any honest employment.
I came to America, working my passage over upon a cattle ship. The years
that followed were hard ones, but by sober industry I forged slowly ahead
until, at last, I had bright prospects of becoming the junior partner in
a large business house in Baltimore.
Then my evil genius appeared. Silvela obtained employment in our company,
and by his devilish cunning soon made himself well liked and trusted.
Then one morning, a few months after he came, it was reported that a
large amount of money had been stolen from the firm. Again a network of
circumstantial evidence pointed indisputably in my direction.
I was arrested and brought to trial. The evidence not being entirely
conclusive, the jury disagreed, and I was set free; but my career in
America was forever blasted.
As soon as I could close up my affairs, I buried myself in the wilds
of Australia, where I began life anew. Fortune was kind to me and I
prospered. Under another name, I became a respected and honored citizen
of a thriving new settlement.
Then the crowning blessing of all came when I won the love of the
beautiful Mercedes, a black-eyed, olive-hued immigrant from my old
province of Andalusia. Then, indeed, I was at the threshold of Heaven!
But how short was my day of bliss!
Four weeks before our wedding day Silvela Castelar suddenly entered our
settlement. It is useless to dwell upon that wretched period. Sufficient
to say that this hellborn fiend again worked his diabolic sorcery, and
Mercedes was lost to me forever.
The report came to me that Silvela, for the first time in his life,
loved with a fierce, consuming passion, and that Mercedes soon would be
betrothed to him. Then it was that I vowed by all that was holy that
Silvela Castelar should pay in full his guilty debt, even though, as a
result, my soul should sink into stygian blackness.
* * * * *
Why do I write this? Because I take a grim pleasure in telling of
my revenge, and because I want the world to know that I had just
provocation. I am not afraid. Life or death—it matters little which is my
portion now. When this is read I shall be far from the haunts of men.
Silvela Castelar thought I was a fool. It suited my purpose that he
should continue to think so. I treated him as a bosom friend, and he,
poor idiot, thought I never guessed that he was the instigator of the
ruin which drove me from England, wrecked my business career in America,
and in the end left me desolate, without hope of ever enjoying the
blessings of love.
So, while we smoked, read, or hunted together, I brooded upon my wrongs,
and racked by brain for some method by which I could accomplish that
which was now the sole absorbing motive of my life. Then chance threw
across my path the instrument of my vengeance.
One day, while I was wandering, desolate and alone, through a wild and
unexplored part of the country, I came upon one of the rarest and at the
same time one of the most terrible species of the vegetable kingdom ever
discovered. It is known as the octopus plant, called by the natives “the
devil tree.” When I saw it my heart gave a throb of exultation, for I
knew that my search was ended; the means by which I could accomplish my
purpose was now at hand.
Silvela and I had but one passion in common—an intense love for botanical
investigation. I knew that he would be interested when he heard of my
strange discovery, and I believed that his knowledge of the plant was not
sufficient to make him cautious. On the evening of the next day but one,
as we sat smoking, I broached the subject.
“Silvela, in the old days you used to be considerably wrapped up in the
study of plant life. Are you still interested?”
“Somewhat,” he replied, and then his eyes narrowed craftily. “I exhausted
the interesting possibilities of most of the known plants of the world a
number of years ago. Lately I have found ‘the light that lies in women’s
eyes’ a subject of greater interest.”
I could have strangled him where he sat; but a lifetime of trouble has
taught me to conceal my feelings. I betrayed no emotion.
“I’ll venture that there is one plant which you have never studied at
first hand.”
“What is that?” he asked, with mild curiosity.
“A plant,” I continued, “found only in the most inaccessible places
of the earth. Probably it could be seen only in the wildest parts of
Sumatra or Australia, and then scarcely once in a lifetime.”
He was now thoroughly aroused.
“What is the family of this wonderful shrub?” he asked. “I have a dim
recollection of having heard of it. Let me see—isn’t it called—”
“The devil tree by the natives, by others the octopus plant,” I broke in.
“But I have heard that the name is somewhat of a misnomer. It is said
that it is rather a tree of heaven, for it distills a rare and delicious
nectar which has a wonderful rejuvenating power. At the same time it
intoxicates in a strange and mysterious manner, causing him who drinks
to revel in celestial visions of love and radiant beauty. Instead of
leaving one depressed, as is the case with alcohol, it is said that the
impression lingers, the face grows younger, and he who sips is actually
loved by any of the female sex whose eyes look upon him. Indeed, I have
heard that if our countryman, Ponce de Leon, had gone to the South Seas
instead of to Florida, he would have really discovered the fountain of
youth for which he sought.”
I looked at Silvela. His eyes were sparkling, and he was breathing
quickly; I knew I had found his weak point. His was a dreamy,
half-superstitious nature, and my words appealed to him strongly.
“Ah!” he exclaimed. “Would that I could see this marvelous phenomenon and
sip of its celestial juice!”
“It could be done,” I replied, hesitatingly, “but it would involve some
hardship and considerable danger.”
“Did you ever see one of these plants?”
“Yes; not two days since.”
Silvela sprang to his feet, with a Spanish oath.
“_Dios mio!_” he cried. “Rodriguez, why did you not tell me? When can we
start to find it?”
“Softly,” I admonished. “I told you there was danger. Haven’t you heard
that this devil’s plant has been known to gorge itself upon human flesh?”
“The wild story of some frightened native,” he scoffed. “Take me to
it and nothing shall prevent me from testing the fabled powers of its
juices. Stop! Did you not drink of this delicious nectar?”