THE
FATE OF A CROWN
[Illustration:
LESBA—
DAUGHTER OF THE REVOLUTION.
]
THE
FATE OF A CROWN
BY
SCHUYLER STAUNTON
See, my liege—see through plots and counterplots—
The gain and loss—through glory and disgrace—
* * * * * * still the holy stream
Of human happiness glides on!
—“_Richelieu_”—BULWER-LYTTON
THE REILLY & BRITTON CO.
CHICAGO
------------------------------------------------------------------------
COPYRIGHT, 1905, BY
THE REILLY & BRITTON CO.
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A LIST OF CHAPTERS
CHAPTER PAGE
I. THE BLUE ENVELOPE 9
II. VALCOUR 16
III. A GOOD REPUBLICAN 29
IV. THE CHIEFTAIN 42
V. MADAM IZABEL 61
VI. THE SECRET VAULT 77
VII. GENERAL FONSECA 92
VIII. A TERRIBLE CRIME 102
IX. THE MISSING FINGER 118
X. “FOR TO-MORROW WE DIE!” 127
XI. LESBA’S BRIGHT EYES 135
XII. THE MAN IN THE SHRUBBERY 144
XIII. DOM PEDRO DE ALCANTARA 152
XIV. THE MAN WITH THE RING 162
XV. A DANGEROUS MOMENT 173
XVI. TRAITOR TO THE CAUSE 181
XVII. THE TORCH OF REBELLION 192
XVIII. A NARROW ESCAPE 202
XIX. THE WAYSIDE INN 215
XX. “ARISE AND STRIKE!” 226
XXI. ONE MYSTERY SOLVED 239
XXII. THE DEATH SENTENCE 252
XXIII. AT THE ELEVENTH HOUR 262
XXIV. THE EMPEROR’S SPY 271
XXV. THE GIRL I LOVE 282
CHAPTER I
THE BLUE ENVELOPE
Leaning back in my chair, I smoked my morning cigar and watched Uncle
Nelson open his mail. He had an old-fashioned way of doing this: holding
the envelope in his left hand, clipping its right edge with his desk
shears, and then removing the inclosure and carefully reading it before
he returned it to its original envelope. Across one end he would make a
memorandum of the contents, after which the letters were placed in a
neat pile.
As I watched him methodically working, Uncle Nelson raised a large blue
envelope, clipped its end, and read the inclosure with an appearance of
unusual interest. Then, instead of adding it to the letters before him,
he laid it aside; and a few minutes later reverted to it again, giving
the letter a second careful perusal. Deeply musing, for a time he sat
motionless in his chair. Then, arousing himself from his deep
abstraction, he cast a fleeting glance in my direction and composedly
resumed his task.
I knew Uncle Nelson’s habits so well that this affair of the blue
envelope told me plainly the communication was of unusual importance.
Yet the old gentleman calmly continued his work until every letter the
mail contained was laid in a pile before him and fully docketed. With
the last he suddenly swung around in his chair and faced me.
“Robert,” said he, “how would you like to go to Brazil?”
Lacking a ready answer to this blunt question I simply stared at him.
“De Pintra has written me,” he continued—“do you know of Dom Miguel de
Pintra?” I shook my head. “He is one of the oldest customers of the
house. His patronage assisted us in getting established. We are under
deep obligations to de Pintra.”
“I do not remember seeing his name upon the books,” I said,
thoughtfully.
“No; before you came into the firm he had retired from business—for he
is a wealthy man. But I believe this retirement has been bad for him.
His energetic nature would not allow him to remain idle, and he has of
late substituted politics for business.”
“That is not so bad,” I remarked, lightly. “Some people make a business
of politics, and often it proves a fairly successful one.”
My uncle nodded.
“Here in New Orleans, yes,” he acknowledged; “but things are vastly
different in Brazil. I am sorry to say that Dom Miguel is a leader of
the revolutionists.”
“Ah,” said I, impressed by his grave tone. And I added: “I have supposed
that Dom Pedro is secure upon his throne, and personally beloved by his
subjects.”
“He is doubtless secure enough,” returned Uncle Nelson, dryly, “but,
although much respected by his people, there is, I believe, serious
opposition to an imperial form of government. Rebellions have been
numerous during his reign. Indeed, these people of Brazil seem rapidly
becoming republicans in principle, and it is to establish a republican
form of government that my friend de Pintra has placed himself at the
head of a conspiracy.”
“Good for de Pintra!” I cried, heartily.
“No, no; it is bad,” he rejoined, with a frown. “There is always danger
in opposing established monarchies, and in this case the Emperor of
Brazil has the countenance of both Europe and America.”
As I ventured no reply to this he paused, and again regarded me
earnestly.
“I believe you are the very person, Robert, I should send de Pintra. He
wishes me to secure for him a secretary whom he may trust implicitly. At
present, he writes me, he is surrounded by the emperor’s spies. Even the
members of his own household may be induced to betray him. Indeed, I
imagine my old friend in a very hot-bed of intrigue and danger. Yet he
believes he could trust an American who has no partiality for monarchies
and no inducement to sympathize with any party but his own. Will you go,
Robert?”
The question, abrupt though it was, did not startle me. Those accustomed
to meet Nelson Harcliffe’s moods must think quickly. Still, I hesitated.
“Can you spare me, Uncle?”
“Not very well,” he admitted. “You have relieved me of many of the
tedious details of business since you came home from college. But, for
de Pintra’s sake, I am not only willing you should go, but I ask you, as
a personal favor, to hasten to Rio and serve my friend faithfully,
protecting him, so far as you may be able, from the dangers he is
facing. You will find him a charming fellow—a noble man, indeed—and he
needs just such a loyal assistant as I believe you will prove. Will you
go, Robert?”
Uncle Nelson’s sudden proposal gave me a thrill of eager interest best
explained by that fascinating word “danger.” Five minutes before I would
have smiled at the suggestion that I visit a foreign country on so
quixotic an errand; but the situation was, after all, as simple as it
was sudden in development, and my uncle’s earnest voice and eyes
emphasized his request in no uncertain manner. Would I go? Would I, a
young man on the threshold of life, with pulses readily responding to
the suggestion of excitement and adventure, leave my humdrum existence
in a mercantile establishment to mingle in the intrigues of a nation
striving to cast off the shackles of a monarchy and become free and
independent? My answer was assured.
Nevertheless, we Harcliffes are chary of exhibiting emotion. Any
eagerness on my part would, I felt, have seriously displeased my
reserved and deliberate uncle. Therefore I occupied several minutes in
staring thoughtfully through the open window before I finally swung
around in my chair and answered:
“Yes, Uncle, I will go.”
“Thank you,” said he, a flush of pleasure spreading over his fine old
face. Then he turned again to the letter in the blue envelope. “The
Castina sails on Wednesday, I see, and Dom Miguel wishes his new
secretary to go on her. Therefore you must interview Captain Lertine at
once, and arrange for passage.”
“Very well, sir.”
I took my hat, returned my uncle’s grave bow, and left the office.