Won by Crime

by A. Frank Pinkerton

  A. Frank Pinkerton

  Won by Crime

  SAGA Egmont

  Won by Crime

  Copyright © 1887, 2020 A. Frank Pinkerton and SAGA Egmont

  All rights reserved

  ISBN: 9788726552485

  1. e-book edition, 2020

  Format: EPUB 2.0

  All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrievial system, or transmitted, in any form or by any means without the prior written permission of the publisher, nor, be otherwise circulated in any form of binding or cover other than in which it is published and without a similar condition being imposed on the subsequent purchaser.

  SAGA Egmont www.saga-books.com – a part of Egmont, www.egmont.com

  Chapter I

  A young girl, about eighteen, with a slender, elegant form, beautiful straight features, and eyes of softest darkness, sitting before a large table covered with maps and drawings, which she was trying vainly to study.

  "It is no use!" she cried, at last, pushing back the mass of thick black hair falling over her white brow; "I shall never be able to get India by heart, unless I can see the places. I wish papa would let us go reconnoitering amongst the ruined temples and other mysterious buildings; it is so annoying staying here day after day, never seeing anything outside the palace."

  "My dear Lianor," said her companion, a young man scarcely older than herself, and wonderfully like her, "what new idea, have you got now?"

  "An idea of seeing more of the curious places I have read so much about. Fancy living a lifetime in a country and never going beyond one town! If I do not get some excitement, I shall die of ennui, so I warn you."

  "I quite agree with you, and if uncle would only let us, it would be delightful, seeking out the temples so long deserted. But you know he would not," shrugging his shoulders.

  "I'm not so sure of that. Papa never refuses me anything, and when he sees it is necessary to my happiness I should go, he will consent. Anyhow, I will try," jumping eagerly to her feet. "Come, Leone."

  Her cousin rose, and took the white, outstretched hand; then like two children they crossed the beautiful marble hall, until, arriving before a door draped with rich curtains, Lianor paused and softly knocked.

  "Come in!" rather impatiently.

  With a smile Lianor opened the door, and entered, followed by Pantaleone.

  In the room, handsomely fitted up as a study, sat a fine-looking, middle-aged man, busily wilting; his dark face wore an expression of severity as he glanced toward the intruders.

  It quickly faded, however, on seeing the pretty figure standing there; instead, a gentle smile wreathed his lips.

  "Well, Lianor, dearest, what is it?"

  "Papa," and the girl stole noiselessly behind his chair, winding her arms around his neck. "I am so miserable, I have nothing to amuse me, and unless you do something to make me happier, I shall go melancholy mad!"

  "My dearest child, what is the matter? Are you ill?" anxiously turning to peer into the lovely face.

  "No, papa; but I am so tired of this life."

  "That is not like my little girl. And I have tried hard to make you happy. Nothing in reason have I refused you—jewels, such as a queen might envy; priceless stuffs to deck your pretty form, and other things which no girl of your age ever possessed," reproachfully.

  Lianor bent down, and kissed his brow, lovingly—repentingly.

  "You have been a great deal too good to me. But there is something more I wish to ask; it will make me happy if you will grant my request."

  "We shall see. Tell me first what it is."

  Lianor briefly related her wish to visit the old temple which lay beyond Goa, to search with Panteleone the curious old ruins she had so often read of in her studies.

  Don Gracia looked grave; evidently this project did not find much favor in his eyes.

  A Portuguese by birth, but sent to Goa as Viceroy, Don Garcia de Sa had lived there long enough to know the treacherous natures of the Brahmins who dwelt near, and feared to let his child run the risk of being found and captured.

  But as Lianor had truly remarked, he loved his daughter so passionately that he very rarely refused her anything, even though he doubted the wisdom of complying with her wishes.

  "Papa"—the sweet voice was very coaxing, and the red lips close to his cheek—"say yes, darling; it will make me so happy."

  "But suppose any danger should threaten you?"

  "I should be there to defend my cousin with my life!" Leone cried, fervently.

  Don Gracia smiled.

  "You speak bravely, my boy; but as yet you are very young. However, as Lianor has set her heart upon this expedition, I suppose I must say yes. In case of danger, I will send some soldiers to escort you."

  "Oh, thank you, papa! I am so glad! Come, Leone, we will make haste, so as to set off ere the day gets more advanced."

  And warmly embracing her father, the girl sped swiftly away, followed by her cousin.

  In half an hour the cortege was ready, and, after some little hesitation on Don Garcia's part, they started.

  Lianor, with her two favorite maids, Lalli and Tolla, were cosily seated in a palanquin carried by four strong men. Before, clearing her path from all difficulties, went a body of twenty-five soldiers. Beside her, Panteleone kept up a cheerful conversation, pointing out the beauties of the palaces through which they passed. Some twenty natives, armed with poignards, brought up the rear.

  Toki, a native who had grown old in the Viceroy's palace, led the way toward one of the ruined temples—that erected to Siva, the God of Destruction.

  Lianor gazed with awed eyes at the magnificent palace, still bearing traces of former beauty.

  "How wonderful! I must stay here, Leone, and sketch those old statues. We need go no farther."

  The day was beginning to get intensely hot, so the men were nothing loth to seek shelter in the cool temple, to sleep away the sunny hours.

  Sketch-book in hand, the girl chose a shady retreat outside, and was soon lost in her work.

  Presently the dreamy silence was broken; faint cries from afar reached her; and looking hastily up, Lianor saw a sight which made her stand rooted to the spot in speechless horror.

  In the distance, pouring from out the mountains, were a multitude of Indians clad in divers costumes, carrying in their hands fantastic idols, and followed by a train of Brahmins, singing a low, monotonous chant, which had warned the girl of their approach.

  Recovering her self-possession, and calling to the startled servants, Lianor entered the temple, where Panteleone and the men were quietly dozing.

  "Leone, awake! The Indians are coming!"

  The youth sprang to his feet, and, flinging one arm round his cousin, he drew a sharp poignard from his sash, and clutched it firmly.

  "Do not be afraid, Lianor. I will guard you with my life!" he said bravely.

  "But is there no way to escape?" Lianor asked wildly, frightened at the peril into which her folly had brought them all.

  "We might have gone; but it is too late. They are here," Toki said gravely. "The only thing we can do is to hide amongst these broken statues, and perhaps we may be safe from their view."

  Scarcely had this been done than the procession arrived, stopped before the temple, and the men commenced building a huge square pile of wood; on this they placed a bier, on which lay the corpse of an old man, decked with silks and costly jewels.

  Lianor and Panteleone, watching from their hiding-place the strange preparations, now saw a girl, very young and beautiful, but weeping bitterly, being dragged toward the pile by a tall, hard-looking woman.

  "Come!" she cried, in loud, ringing tones, "now is the time to uphold the honor of your family, and sho
w your courage!"

  With a shudder the girl drew back, and clasping her hands piteously together, said:

  "Why should I thus sacrifice my young life to the cruelty of your customs? I cannot endure the thought of being burnt alive—it is too horrible!"

  "It is your duty! A widow must follow her husband in death," coldly.

  The youthful widow burst into passionate weeping, and gave an agonized glance around at the vindictive faces; not one among that multitude, she thought, felt pity for the girl who was condemned to so horrible a fate.

  She was mistaken, and a second gaze revealed a young boy, not more than fifteen, who was quietly sobbing, an expression of deep anguish on his face.

  "Satzavan, my poor brother, you also have come to witness my painful end!"

  The boy went toward her, and wound his arms around her slim waist, drawing the dark head onto his shoulder.

  "I would that I could help you," he whispered. "But what can I do among all these fiends?"

  "It is hard to die thus—so hard."

  "Savitre, I am more compassionate than you think, and I have here a draught which will send you into a deep sleep. The pain of death will thus be saved you," Konmia broke in severely, holding a vessel toward the girl.

  "No, no!" Savitre shrieked, pushing the potent drink away. "I cannot! Think how awful to awaken with the cruel flames wreathing round my body, and my cries for help useless, deadened by the yells of those people. I cannot—I will not die!"

  Satzavan, deathly white, and with quivering features, drew her shuddering frame closer to him, and led her into the temple.

  "Leave us for a moment, I implore you," he said, turning to his aunt. "She loves me, and I may perhaps reconcile her to her fate."

  "You are the head of your family; I trust to you to bring her to reason—to save the honor of a name until now without blemish," Konmia replied, and placing the poisonous flask in Satzavan's hand, she left them alone in the temple.

  "Quick, Savitre; we will drink this draught together, and when they seek you, they will find us both cold in death."

  "You also, my brother, speak of death! I must escape—I cannot sacrifice my life!"

  "Nor shall you," a gentle voice broke in passionately, and Lianor, her face full of tender compassion, stood before the victim, Panteleone beside her.

  "Follow me," the latter said briefly, drawing the girl's arm through his. "Trust us, and you will yet be saved."

  With joyful hearts the two Indians accompanied their kind protectors, climbing among the broken gods, higher and higher, until they at last arrived without the temple, the other side from where the Indians were assembled.

  There they were rejoined by the soldiers and attendants, and the little party commenced their homeward journey, hoping the wild group would not discover their presence.

  But their hopes were not to be realized; ere they had gone many yards, the flight of the rajah's widow had been discovered, and with hideous cries they sought eagerly to find her.

  It was not long ere they espied the small party, and full of triumph dashed toward them.

  "Lianor, keep back—leave me to deal with these barbarians!" Panteleone said hurriedly, and in a minute a deadly fight began between the Indians and the soldiers.

  But what was their strength against more than five hundred strong warriors? Ere long the brave party was captured, and while Konmia dragged the terrified girl towards the funerealpile, the Indians shrieked aloud in triumphant gladness.

  "To-morrow Siva will receive a sacrifice that will remain forever in the memory of those now living. To-day, our chief s widow; to-morrow, the Portuguese prisoners!"

  After his daughter had gone, Don Garcia was filled with deep regret at having succumbed so readily to her wishes.

  A presentiment of evil he could not control made him walk restlessly up and down the room.

  A timid knock at the door roused him from his painful musings.

  "Come in!" he cried quickly.

  The door opened, and a tall, remarkably handsome man, dressed in the garb of a seacaptain, entered.

  "What, Falcam, is it you, my boy?" the don cried gladly, wringing the young man's hand.

  "Yes, senor. I have some papers from Tonza. There has been a slight rising at Diu, but, fortunately, we were able to suppress it in time," handing the don a sealed packet.

  After casting his eyes rapidly over the contents, Don Garcia smiled and turned with a pleased look towards the captain.

  "Manuel tells me of your bravery in saving Diu, and asks me to promote you. I will do all I can. I am proud to call you friend."

  Luiz flushed, and a bashful light filled his eyes; but, ere he could answer, the don continued:

  "However, you have come in time to be of service to me. My daughter, much against my wishes, has gone on an expedition to the Temple of Siva. From what I have since heard, I am afraid danger threatens my Lianor. Will you help me to rescue her?"

  "Will I lay down my life to keep her from harm! Oh, senor, how can you ask? Let me start immediately, and ere long I will bring your child back in safety," fervently.

  Don Garcia was surprised at the young man's eagerness, but refrained from speaking, only to thank him for his kind offer.

  Five minutes later Luiz Falcam, accompanied by a troop of brave sailors, started off towards the Temple of Siva.

  As he neared, sounds of strife, mingled with heartrending shrieks, broke upon his ears. Urging his trusty band, he dashed onward until he arrived at the scene of terror.

  Startled by the sudden apparition, the Indians lost, for a time, their self-control, and the sailors found it easy to subdue them.

  Luiz had flown at once to Lianor's side, clasping her frail form tightly in his arms, while Panteleone wrenched Savitre from her aunt, as she was about to fling her on the now burning pile.

  Even at the same moment, Satzavan, a smile of revengeful triumph on his face, wound a thick scarf over Konmia's head, and threw her with remorseless force into the flames, leaving her to meet the fate destined for his sister.

  Those Indians who had not been taken had fled; so the band was free to wend its way homeward, though nearly half had been killed in the strife.

  Still holding Lianor, now weeping quietly, in his arms, Luiz led the way towards the road, where the palanquin stood, and placing the girl gently in, raised her white hands passionately to his lips.

  "Lianor, Lianor, my own darling!" he murmured, gazing into her pallid face with lovelit eyes. "If I had been too late, and found you gone!"

  Lianor smiled tremulously through her tears, and a blush mantled to her cheeks.

  "You have saved my life. I can never repay you," earnestly.

  Panteleone, still pale and anxious, now appeared leading the little widow, who seemed overjoyed at her release. She sank down gladly beside Lianor, and then the palanquin was borne away, guarded by Luiz and Panteleone, Satzavan walking behind.

  Don Garcia's delight knew no bounds when he saw the procession entering the palace gates, and he ran eagerly to receive his daughter.

  "My loved child! How unwise I was to let you go, to send you into danger," he cried, carrying her in his arms from the palanquin to the marble hall. "If it had not been for our young friend, Falcam, I should never have seen you again."

  "But, papa, think! If we had not gone, this poor girl would have been burnt to death," Lianor said, shudderingly, drawing Savitre towards her.

  "Ah, yes. Poor child!" stroking the young widow's glossy black hair. "Now tell me all about it." "Not yet, papa. Let us go and arrange our dresses; mine is torn completely to pieces," laughingly holding up a fragment of cashmere, which in the struggle had become torn.

  Holding Savitre's hand in hers, Lianor went swiftly to her rooms, where they could bathe their weary limbs in cool water, and change their tattered robes.

  Chapter II.

  Don Garcia was sitting in his study, regarding with some anxiety Luiz Falcam, who, tall and handsome, stood before him.
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  "You wish to ask me something, is it not so? Well, speak out, and be sure if it is in my power I will grant it."

  "I hardly like to ask. It is, I know, daring. I am but a captain, and you are one of the wealthiest men in India; yet I love your daughter, and that is what I wished to tell you," earnestly.

  Don Garcia smiled indulgently, and he gazed kindly at the young fellow's flushed face.

  "I told you I would give you what you wished, and I will not break my word. I could safely trust Lianor to you. No other man I know has won so large a place in my esteem. But I dare not speak until I know what my daughter thinks. She will answer for herself touching so delicate a subject. Tell Donna Lianor to come here," he said to Toki.

  After what seemed an anxious age to poor Luiz, Lianor entered, leaning lightly on Savitre, somewhat astonished.

  "Lianor, may I speak before Savitre?" the don asked gravely.

  "Of course, papa. I have no secrets from her."

  "My child," drawing her nearer to him, "Luiz Falcam has asked your hand in marriage; what answer shall I give him?"

  Lianor blushed divinely, and her dark eyes shyly drooped before the eager glance from those loving blue ones fixed upon her.

  "He saved my life, father. I will give it gladly to him," she murmured.

  "You love him, child?"

  "Dearly. I shall be proud and happy to become the wife of Luiz," gaining courage.

  "You have my answer, Falcam. May you be content always. I give her to you with pleasure."

  In spite of the don's presence and Savitre's, Luiz could not refrain from drawing the girl into his arms and pressing fervent kisses on her smooth brow, and soft cheeks.

  "You shall never repent your choice, darling," he said tenderly. "I cannot give you wealth, but a true heart and a brave hand are solely yours, now and till death!"

  "I know, Luiz dear, and to me that gift is more precious than the costliest jewels," the girl whispered fondly.

  Their happiness was not without its clouds; Luiz was compelled to leave his betrothed to guard a fort some distance away.