Countess Vera 1

Countess Vera 1

Countess Vera

or, The Oath of Vengeance

 

Author: Mrs. Alex. McVeigh Miller

 

It will cure entirely the worst form of Female Complaints, all Ovarian

troubles, Inflammation, Ulceration, Falling and Displacements of the

Womb and the consequent Spinal Weakness, and is particularly adapted to

the Change of Life.

 

It will dissolve and expel Tumors from the uterus in an early stage

of development. The tendency to cancerous humors there is checked

very speedily by its use. It removes faintness, flatulency, destroys

all craving for stimulants, and relieves weakness of the stomach. It

cures Bloating, Headaches, Nervous Prostration, General Debility,

Sleeplessness, Depression, and Indigestion.

 

That feeling of bearing down, causing pain, weight and backache, is

always permanently cured by its use.

 

It will at all times and under all circumstances act in harmony

with the laws that govern the female system. For the cure of Kidney

Complaints of either sex, this Compound is unsurpassed.

 

Lydia E. Pinkham's Vegetable Compound is prepared at Lynn, Mass. Price,

$1.00. Six bottles for $5.00. Sent by mail in the form of Pills, also

in the form of Lozenges, on receipt of price, $1.00 per box, for

either. Send for pamphlet. All letters of inquiry promptly answered.

Address as above.

 

 

 

 

COPYRIGHTED 1883.

 

 

 

 

COUNTESS VERA;

 

OR,

 

_The Oath of Vengeance_.

 

By MRS. ALEX. McVEIGH MILLER.

 

 

 

 

CONTENTS

 

 

COUNTESS VERA.

CHAPTER I.

CHAPTER II.

CHAPTER III.

CHAPTER IV.

CHAPTER V.

CHAPTER VI.

CHAPTER VII.

CHAPTER VIII.

CHAPTER IX.

CHAPTER X.

CHAPTER XI.

CHAPTER XII.

CHAPTER XIII.

CHAPTER XIV.

CHAPTER XV.

CHAPTER XVI.

CHAPTER XVII.

CHAPTER XVIII.

CHAPTER XIX.

CHAPTER XX.

CHAPTER XXI.

CHAPTER XXII.

CHAPTER XXIII.

CHAPTER XXIV.

CHAPTER XXV.

CHAPTER XXVI.

CHAPTER XXVII.

CHAPTER XXVIII.

CHAPTER XXIX.

CHAPTER XXX.

CHAPTER XXXI.

CHAPTER XXXII.

CHAPTER XXXIII.

CHAPTER XXXIV.

CHAPTER XXXV.

CHAPTER XXXVI.

CHAPTER XXXVII.

CHAPTER XXXVIII.

CHAPTER XXXIX.

CHAPTER XL.

CHAPTER XLI.

CHAPTER XLII.

CHAPTER XLIII.

CHAPTER XLIV.

CHAPTER XLV.

CHAPTER XLVI.

CHAPTER XLVII.

CHAPTER XLVIII.

CHAPTER XLIX.

THE MYSTERIOUS BEAUTY.

 

 

 

 

CHAPTER I.

 

 

"Dead!"

 

Leslie Noble reels backward, stunned by the shuddering horror of that

one word--"_Dead_!" The stiff, girlish characters of the open letter

in his hand waver up and down before his dazed vision, so that he can

scarcely read the pathetic words, _so_ pathetic now when the little

hand that penned them lies cold in death.

 

"Dear Leslie," it says, "when you come to bid me good-bye in the

morning I shall be dead. That is best. You see, I did not know till

to-night my sad story, and that you did not love me. Poor mamma was

wrong to bind you so. I am very sorry, Leslie. There is nothing I can

do but _die_."

 

There is no signature to the sad little letter--none--but they have

taken it from the hand of his girl-wife, found dead in her bed this

morning--his bride of two days agone.

 

With a shudder of unutterable horror, his glance falls on the lovely,

girlish face, lying still and cold with the marble mask of death on

its beauty. A faint tinge of the rose lingers still on the delicate

lips, the long, curling fringe of the lashes lies darkly against the

white cheeks, the rippling, waving, golden hair falls in billows of

brightness over the pillow. This was his unloved bride, and she has

died the awful and tragic death of the _suicide_.

 

* * * * *

 

Let us go back a little in the story of this mournful tragedy, my

reader, go back to the upper chamber of that stately mansion, where, on

a wild night in October, a woman lay dying--dying of that subtle malady

beyond all healing--a broken heart.

 

"Vera, my darling," says the weak, faint voice, "come to me, dear."

 

A little figure that has been kneeling with its face in the

bed-clothes, rises and comes forward. The small, white face is drenched

with tears, the dark eyes are dim and heavy.

 

"Mamma," the soft voice says, hopefully, "you are better?"

 

The wasted features of the invalid contract with pain.

 

"No, my little daughter," she sighs, "I shall never be any better in

this world. I am dying."

 

A stifled cry of pain, and the girl's soft cheek is pressed to hers in

despairing love.

 

"No, mamma, no," she wails. "You must not die and leave me alone."

 

"Alone?" the mother re-echoes. "Beautiful, poor and alone in the great,

cruel world--oh, my God!"

 

"You cannot be dying, mamma," the girl says, hopefully. "They--Mrs.

Cleveland and Miss Ivy--could not go on to their balls and operas if

you were as bad as _that_!"

 

Something of bitter scorn touches the faded beauty of the woman's face

a moment.

 

"Much they would care," she says, in a tone of scorn. "At this moment

my sister and her proud daughter are dancing and feasting at the

Riverton's ball, utterly careless and indifferent to the fact that the

poor dependent is lying here all alone, but for her poor, friendless

child."

 

"You were no dependent, mamma," the girl says, with a gleam of pride in

her dark eyes. "You worked hard for all we have had. But, mamma, if--if

you _leave_ me, I will not be Ivy Cleveland's slave any longer. I shall

go away."

 

"Where, dear?" the mother asks, anxiously.

 

"Somewhere," vaguely; "anywhere, away from these wicked Clevelands. I

hate them, mamma!" she says, with sudden passion in her voice and face.

 

"You do not hate Leslie Noble?" Mrs. Campbell asks, anxiously.

 

"No, mamma, for though he is akin to them he is unlike them. Mr. Noble

is always kind to me," Vera answers, musingly.

 

"Listen to me, Vera, child. Mr. Noble l--likes you. He wishes to marry

you," the mother exclaims, with a flush of excitement in her eyes.

 

"Marry me?" Vera repeats, a little blankly.

 

"Yes, dear. Are you willing?"

 

"I--I am too young, am I not, mamma?"