Zeldee, the devil's daughter

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THE f Devil’8 Daughter,

BY

Chapter I. — A Stormy Nig-ht, - - - 7 “ II. — Marcus Anthoin, - - - - 11

“ III. — The Story Beg’ins, - - - 16

“ IV. — The Devil’s Pit, - - - 22

“ V. — The Rush of Souls, - - - 27

“ VII.— Zeldee, 37

“ VIII. — Interlocution, - - - 46

PART TWO. Zeldee’s Revenge

“ I. — From Out the Noose, - - - 50

“ II. — Woman’s love and Woman’s wits, 55 “ III.— A Royal Flush, - - - 64

“ IV. — A Voice in the Dark, - - 69

V. — The Comedy of Hearts, - - 73

“ VI. — The Play goes on, - - - 86

“ VH. — In Zeldee’s Power, - - 92

PART THREE. The Phieosopher’s Stone

“ I. — The American’s Palace, - - 96

“ H. — The Daug-hter of Merideth Kline, 104 “ HI.— Fun and Folly, - - - 109

“ IV. — Retribution, - . - - 113

“ V. — Lost, The Philosopher’s Stone, 117 “ VI. — Saved From the Pit, - - 122

PART FOUR. Two yEARS After. ^

“ The Death of Marcus Anthoin, - 131

PUBLISHERS’ NOTE.

Being- aware of several errors in this, the first edition of Zeldee, and not wishing- to enumerate them, as some of our readers may overlook them, if we do not, we respectfully ask those, who are capable of finding the errors, to correct them for themselves; and to those, who do not find them, there is no harm done. The Publisheks.

PRE]B"^CE

There is a class of people, supposed to be relig’ious, who hold the name of “Devil” in reverence and awe; but, who would not hesitate to tell a joke in which the name of God was lightly used. These people will place their hands before their faces and cry, “For shame,” if they should chance to read “Zeldee.”

This same class of people, and most of them are women, old fogies who delight in getting together and defaming their lady friends, and who usually tell some very questionable jokes before separating at which all laugh heartily, will be shocked at what they will term, “The Indecencies of the Story.” To these people I wish to say a few words: “Kvil is evil to him that evil thinketh.” If you can not read of Zeldee, and the other characters of my story without having unclean thoughts take the advice of the author and never read your Bible, only, when some friend, who is more pure in mind than you, has obliterated several passages, chapters and even books, that to read them would make you sin.”

And now a few words to my intelligent readers. I have changed the alleged power of the mythical Philosopher’s Stone to suit my story. I have made two of my characters remarkable hypnotists; I have displayed United States senators as sharpers; and I have, perhaps, over-drawn the picture of the American, who prefered France to his own country; but it has all been done to add interest. I have introduced sophistical reasoning' for effect, only; but as to the repeated use or transmig-ration of souls, the belief in this is being adopted by some of the brainiest men of to-day. So would pigmies, like you and I, dare to say it is not true?

Robt. Edgar Lufsey.

Salisbury, N, C., June, 1898,

ZELDEE, THE DEVIL’S DADGHTER

I

Part One. The Living Dead

CHAPTER 1.

JL UiaKT-

“My stars! what a night,” said the doctor, shivering and turning up his coat collar so as to protect his ears from the cutting wind. “It is a lit one for the devil to come forth to cool his parched bones and lure unfortunate beings into the warmth of his infernal region.”

“Yes,” replied the preacher, stamping his feet, and looking wonderingly at the doctor, as the latter was known to be an unbeliever. “It is a rough night; but I do not think I’d like to accompan}^ Old Nick to his kingdom for all of its warmth.”

“It couldn’t be much more disagreeable than this,” growled the doctor, shoving his hands further into his over coat pockets. “Bah! I’m frozen through and through.”

The “Sunny South” had belied its name and the snow had fallen all day and was still falling. Not in the heavy, large flakes of the morning but

ZEI.DEE, the devil’s DAUGHTER.

in blinding- sheets of fine mist, driven along by the fierce wind that had now shifted to the North, and seemed to come direct from the “North Pole.” There were few living beings on the Birmingham streets; the hackmen had disappeared and their hacks and horses with them; the boot-blacks and news-boys were gone with their cries of “Shine,” and “Evening News,” and even the policeman had sought the shelter of neighboring saloons. The doctor and preacher alone kept the streets from being entirely deserted, that is as far as they could see.

Dr. William Anderson had just arrived on a belated train, and he and his friend the Rev. George Holland were standing at the corner of Morris Avenue and Twentieth street waiting for an electric car that would take them within a block of the latter’s home. But no car came, for the simple reason, they had been snow-bound two hours before.

“Well Doc,” finally said the preacher, no car will come, I reckon, so I suppose we will have to put up at a hotel or get a hack to take us home.”

“The hack will be best,” replied the doctor, “as your wife will be uneasy if you don’t get home tonight.”

“Yes I expect she will, so come along, there are no hacks upon the street, we will have to go to a stable.” The preacher led the way, trudging through the snow, to the nearest livery stable. But alas! no horse would be let to go out on such a night.

“Let us walk,” said the doctor.

“What, walk two miles in a blizzard like this?”" asked Holland, while a shiver ran through his frame

ZELDEE, THE DEVIL’S DAUGHTER.

at the thought of it.

The doctor replied, with a laugh, “Why not ? it’s rough I admit; but, walking will warm us, and besides we can’t spend the night in the street. It won't do to go to a hotel either, as your wife will be waiting for you; and two stout fellows like you and I ought to be able to walk two miles.”

The preacher yielded reluctantly and the two began the disagreeable tramp. Any one, who has walked far in a deep snow, knows what they had to endure. The distance was only two miles; but it seemed ten ere they had gone half the way. Try as they would to go fast, they made but slow progress. The fierce wind was biting cold and the fine snow blinded them so they could scarcely see the way. Finally the preacher stopped.

“lean go no further,” he said, “I am tired out, and we have only come half way.” And he puffed and blowed; while perspiration dropped from his brow, which froze as it fell.

They were in a solitary part of the town where but few houses had been erected, and the one nearest them was at least a hundred yards away. The doctor had stopped a few paces from his friend, and like him, was puffing and blowing like a steam engine.

“That’s the longest mile I ever walked in my life. By George, if I believe I can go any further either! Suppose we test the hospitality of the people at this house. They can’t well take us for tramps and if they do, I don’t think they would turn us out in a night like this — and besides, you may know them.”

“I hardly think I know them,” responded his

ZELDKE, THE DEVIL’S DAUGHTER.

companion, “but like you I think it best to ask them to take us in for the nig-ht. My wife will be very anxious I know; but it can’t be helped.”

Anderson had already started toward the house and Holland followed. Trying- the front g'ate they found it would not open, owing to the snow being banked around it; but, nothing daunted, the two men got over the fence, went up the slippery steps with care and were about to ring the bell when the door was suddenly opened by a woman, apparently seventy years of age. She stood there shading with one hand a lamp, which she held in the other to keep the wind from extinguishing the feeble flame.

“Come in gentlemen,” she said, without waiting for them to speak. “We’ve been looking for you for an hour or more.”

“Impossible,” said the doctor, who took upon himself the part of spokesman, “you make a mistake. We, ourselves, did not know we were coming here until a few moments ago, when we could proceed no further in the wind and snow.”

“I know you did not know it,” rejoined the woman with a slight smile, but I knew it Dr. Anderson, and you Mr. Holland, don’t worry about your wife she has ceased to worry about you, thinking you must have gone to a hotel. She and your little boy, Willie, have retired long before this. So come right in my husband is waiting impatiently to see you.’

The men were startled when their names were called. How did this woman, whom they had never seen before, know their names? How could she speak so positively of Holland’s wife and child?

ZELDEE, THE devil’s DAUGHTER.

Surely she could not have been to his home that nig'ht. These were their thoug’hts and they were about to question her when she repeated, “Come rig-ht in my husband is waiting-.”

Kxchang-hig- a look the men entered; they could not remain on the outside in the storm, and the woman closed and locked the door. Then holdingher dress with one hand and the lamp with the other she mounted the stair followed by the bewildered doctor and preacher.

CHAPTER II. 2^.a.RCT7S iLITTXXOZZr

Shakespeare, perhaps, had fore-seen this time when he put the words in the mouth of Hamlet, “There are more thing-s in Heaven and Earth, Horatio, than are dreamt of in your philosphy.” Here was a woman with nothing- to disting-uish her, in looks, from other withered crones of her ag-e, except, a pair of extremely brig-ht eyes, (but such eyes, black and piercing-; eyes that seemed to g-o throug-h one and read his innermost thoughts) who could call men, she had never seen before, by their names and tell them of their families.

Anderson, who was something of a hypnotist, experienced a strange sensation when he looked into the woman’s eyes, like he supposed his subjects felt when being hypnotized, and Holland too felt a chill pass over him, a chill different from that caused by

ZELDEE, THE DEVIL’S DAUGHTER.

the wintery air, when he saw those piercings black orbs turned toward his face.

But these unusual feeling’s did not deter them from following her, though they instinctively drew closer to each other. At the head of the stairs the woman turned to the right and walked along the passage a short distance until she came to a door; opening this, she said, “Walk in gentleman.”

At the same time, a thin, squeaking voice called from the room, “Come in, come in, don’t stop, the hour I have waited seems like an age, and still you creep.” The doctor’s face turned pale and the preacher’s hair seemed to stand on end; and each man took a step backward as though he would run. If the woman had witch’s eyes the man had a demon’s voice. Noticing their alarm the woman laughed — a strange wierd laugh — and said, “Come sirs, there is nothing to fear, we may be queer souls, but we will not hurt you. Come.” Not daring to raise their eyes to hers, the men now followed. In the room they found a little, old, weazen-faced man lying on a bed in a corner. He was glaring at them by the feeble light furnished by the lamp the woman had placed on a table in the center of room. Glaring at them, we repeat, with a look of exultant joy.

“Oh! you’re here at last,” he began again in that same demonish voice, “It seemed you’d never come. You see gentlemen I wish to tell you of my past life, or, as you may think afterward, of my death.”

The preacher looked more frightened than ever, but the doctor had regained his composure; for, he thought he saw before him a delirious victim of

ZKI.DKE, THE devil’s DAUGHTER.

fever.

“I see! I see!” he said turning- to the woman, “How long- has he beenlike this?” He was startled ag-ain and the preacher’s face was livid, for peal after peal of laug-hter from both the man and woman followed the querr^L Hellish laug-hter, laug-hter such as fiends are supposed to laugh over their victims; but it ceased as suddenly as it had begun.

‘ ‘Excuse us, ” said the old man to Anderson, ‘ ‘But, just before you came I said to my wife, that, you would think I was a deliriously sick man, and want to doctor me. I may be sick, but all your medicine doctor, would not cure me.” Then noticing their alarm he continued, “Don’t be frightened gentlemen, several things may seem strange and unnatural, but after a while you’ll understand why. My name is Marcus Anthoin and that is my wife,” pointing to the woman. “You are known to us Dr. Anderson; Baltimore is not so far away from Birmingham but that we have heard of you and your wonderful cures combined with your powers as a hypnotist.”

“Really sir,” began Anderson, who was feeling more at ease as he became accustomed to the man’s voice. “You do me — ”

“Tut! tut!” broke in the old man, “I know what you would say, ‘too much honor,’ and all that: but its just as I say, we have heard of you, honor or no honor. And of you too sir,” turning to Holland, •“You are a servant of the Lord, may you prosper in y^our work.” As he said this, his voice lost its demon’s accent, and dropped into a full, mellow tone; only to go back to its high, shrill pitch when he opoke again. “You are one of the few he has

ZELDKE, the devil’s DAUGHTER.

left. There are many called such, but most of them serve mammon instead.”

A g-runt from the woman followed this speech. “You are a fine one to talk on such matters,” she said in a sarcastic manner. “Please do not do so again, my ears are paining me now.”

“Then Antonette, you had better go into the adjoining room and retire,” said the man Anthoin. “If you remain here I am afraid your ears will be pained several times. If we need you we will call you.

There was a command in his voice that was not implied by his words. The woman colored deeply, and seemed to regret the hastily spoken, satirical words, but, yet she answered in a quiet voice, “Very well Marcus.” And then to the others, “If you gentlemen will excuse me I will retire.”

The doctor and preacher were only too glad to have her out of the room and hastened to say so, only in a polite way.

“Gentleman,” said Marcus Anthoin, when his wife had left the room, “You must excuse me for two things; first, my sending my wife out of the room; and second, my troubling you to listen to a narrative that does not concern you. My excuse for the first is, she was the cause of my debasement, and I have been debased gentlemen, oh! more than you can imagine, but I did not wish to pain her as a true recital of my story might do. Yes doctor,” he continued as he noticed Anderson’s eyes turned toward the door by which the woman had left. “She may listen there and hear what I say, but if she does, it is her fault, not mine; and besides she may not be as susceptible to pain as I suppose. My ex-

ZELDKE, THE DEVIE’S DAUGHTER.

cuse or plea for the second is, the overwhelmingburden of a secret.”

As he talked his voice softened until it sank to the full, mellow tones we have before mentioned. “If either of you have ever had a g-reat secret, you know what a burden it is to the soul. Althoug-h my story does not concern you, it will prove interesting-, and will afford you food for new thoug-ht. Still, if you would rather not listen to it, I will recall my wife, and have you shown to a room, where you can pass the nig-ht and g-o your way in the morning-.” He paused and g-azed wistfully at the two men; then as they hesitated he added, “To relieve my soul of its weig-ht would be raising- it from its thrall of deg-radation. With this secret burdening- my heart, I cannot live a month long-er; but with the secret removed I might have a few years more on earth.”

Hesitating no more, the preacher at once announced his willingness to listen to the tale; while Anderson, who was ever willing to hear anything wierd and strange, as he supposed the story would be, and who had hesitated only out of deference to his friend’s feelings, assured the queer old man that nothing would please him more.

But little did he think what effect that recital would have upon his life; and in what way or where he would meet the reciter again.

2KLDEK, the PEVIT’S DAUGHTER.

Chapter III. The Story Eegiits

The wind blew more fiercely than ever; it rattled the windows, and howled about the house like demons trying- to force an entrance to prevent the old man from divulging- his secret.

The snow beat against the window pains, making a dismal sound; the fire in the grate had burned low; and a clock, in another part of the house, had just struck the hour of twelve; when Marcus Anthoin opened his eyes. He had been lying with them closed for five or ten minutes, as though trying to recall all of the important events of that past life, which he was now about to trust to mortal ears, for the first time. The two friends had refrained from disturbing his revery, but sat there, looking silently at him with something like a pitying expression upon each face.

Anthoin raised himself in bed as he opened his eyes, and propping himself with a pillow, said, “If one of you will be so kind as to replenish the fire,, I will begin.”

Holland arose immediately and filled the grate with coal, and, then returned to his seat, sa3fing- as he did so, “Very well Mr. Anthoin we are read}- to listen.”

“Yes proceed,” said Anderson, without taking his eyes from the old man’s face.

Settleing himself more comfortably against his pillow; and turning his small gray eyes toward his,

ZELDEE, THE DEVIL’S DAUGHTER.

audience of two, Anthoin began: “Thirty years or so ago, a man was seated by the fire in his room, listening to the wind howling about the house. ’Twas just such a night as this, the snow was falling, and to add to the dismalness of the night a bow of a tree out-side his window kept tapping upon the window pane. That man was myself — Merideth Kline. I had just passed my twent^^-fifth birthday; and having enough of this world’s goods to live a life of idleness, I proceeded forth-with to do so. Like other young men of that age, I don’t mean all 3^oung men, I was a skeptic. Hell to me was a myth; the miracles of Christ were illusions; the lives of the prophets were traditions, nothing more; preachers were hypocrites; and those who went to hear them preach were fools. I would have liked to have added in my agnosticism, “There is no God,” but I could not bring myself to believe that. Everything pointed to a Being of Supremacy. There must have been something to fashion this world, and the others we see at night.

The philospher might write of evolution ; and the materialist might talk of the world having existed forever, and this earth, a small portion of it, being formed by heat; but, call it heat or call it God, there was Supremacy somewhere, and because my mother had called it so, I chose to call that Supremacy, “God.”

“My father was a Lutheran minister and had a large charge. My mother was a Metheodist before her marriage, but united with the Lutheran church afterward. She was a good woman, and used all the means in her power to bring me up in the fear of the Lord and make me a believer in

ZEI.DKE, the devil’s daughter.

Christianity; but like many other g-ood people, then and now, she made the mistake of confounding- fear and love. If God was the kind, loving Father she said he was, why should we fear Him ? Thus I reasoned, even when a very small child. As to Christianity, Wasn’t my father a Christian? And yet I couldn’t believe in his piety. He talked very nice in the pulpit, but he talked quite differently at home. Several times I’d seen him very much under the influence of alcoholic drinks; though, at these times he kept himself close in his study. Many a time when a youngster, I have hidden behind hisbook-case to listen to his musings, for he had a habit of talking aloud to himself, there I would hear things which, though I would not repeat, I would store away in my mind and ponder over.

“I learned in this way that he was not consistant in anything. He believed in a God in a vague way; but a life after death, and especially a life in a fiery hell, to him was bosh, although his best sermons were preached upon this theme.

“Is it any wonder, then; that as I grew into 3"oung manhood, I should be a doubter ?

“I studied law, and succeeded fairly well in my profession. Besides being an agnostic and a lawyer, I was nearly a woman hater. I see you smile. It was the same old story of ‘blue eyes and sunny curls;’ a few short hours of happy love and then she loved another. I never cared for woman’s society after that — except my mother’s; but she died soon after. My father had died two years before.

“After her death I occupied the old house that had come to me by inheritance. And this brings me back to the point where I started, when I sat in

ZKIvDKE, the devie’s daughter.

my room on such a nig-ht as this, and listened to the wind, the snow and the old dead branch tapping* upon the window. Doctor will you please hand me that coug*h medicine that is on the mantle? I am getting hoarse.”

Anderson got the medicine for Anthoin, who thanked him and continued with his story.

“Tap, tap. I can almost here that old branch tapping at the window now. Tap, tap. I was reading Kdgar Allen Poe’s poem, ‘The Raven.’ I could almost recite it from memory, but still I was reading it, as I often did. It seemed to appeal more to my feelings when reading it, than when reciting it. When I came to the lines,

“Surely,’ said I. ‘Surely that is Something at my window lattice.’ ’

“I half arose from my chair to go to my window, to see if a raven was tapping there or not; but, ‘No,’ said I, ‘It is that old, dead branch.’ And so I went on with the poem, and dwelt musingly on the lines,

‘On the morrow he will leave me As my friends have done before.’

You see I had a meloncholy disposition, and liked anything with a sad thought expressed. I read the poem to the end; and then leaned back in my chair to think of what is contained in the word ‘Nevermore.’ Ah! what a word, even to me, now that I know it is almost meaningless, it seems full of pain.

“How long I sat there I do not know. It seemed as though I slept; yet, all the time I heard that old branch, beating a sad refrain upon the window; and the wind howling mournfully about the

ZELDKE, the devil’s DAUGHTER.

house. I had a dream and in that dream I saw a woman. She came and stood before me, in the room where I was sitting-; for I was still conscious of where I was. She had a small jeweled spear in her hand which she shook playfully at me, saying- as she did so, ‘You are mine, do you know that? Merideth I say you are mine.’ And then she laug-hed a peculiar laug-h. ‘Do you know what love is?’ she continued. ‘Yes, I know you do; but you will soon forg-et, that is, that other love. You will learn to love me as I love you. Did you know I loved you? I am as pretty as that other, am I not ? Her weak, blue eyes and lig-ht colorless hair can’t compare with my eyes and hair.’ And indeed they could not. Such hair as hers I had never seen before, as I could remember: black and full a yard long-, falling- over her shoulders — bare shoulders, gleaming- white in the fire-light. Her only dress was a bit of white material, almost transparent, fastened around the waist and hanging only half way to her knees. Her hands and feet were small, ‘Dainty hands and feet,’ a poet would have called them. Her perfectly formed limbs were smooth and white as alabaster. Her face was perfect in ever}’ feature, from her intellectual forehead to her beautifully molded chin. Such a face a man is not likely to forget, but I forgot it as soon as I awoke, only her eyes remained clear of all her beauty — her lovely hair, her marble like brow, her ruby lips and pearly teeth, her swan like breast, her tiny hands, with the jewel spear, her graceful limbs and sculptured feet, all, were forgotten. Her eyes alone remained. You’ve seen those eyes to-night gentlemen; but not as I saw them then; eyes as black as

ZEIvDKK, THE devil’s daughter. 21

the blackest nig-ht; eyes that pierced into my brain; e3’^es that seemed to laug-h and talk and dance; e^^es that held me spell-bound. I could still hear her voice, thoug^h, with its musical cadence, not that it was always musical; she was sa}ring-, ‘You are mine I say; if not you shall be;’ and other thing's similar to that. When I awoke the fire had burned out and the lig-ht was g-etting- low. I retired and tried to sleep; but for a long* time I could not. Those black eyes haunted me; finally I dropped into uneasy slumber, and then ag'ain I saw that woman, and trembled in my sleep. As before her eyes outweig'hed the other charms; and she seemed to know it, and made them sink deeper and deeper into my brain. I never have been the same since that nig'ht. Throug'h all these years those e^^es have been before me. Go where I would I seemed to be following- those eyes. Thej^ were not alwa^^s the same; some times, instead of being black, they were blue, or g'ra}^ or brown; sometimes they were soft, laughing eyes; then again they were cold, stern ones; but they have always had the power, until tonight, to make me come or go as their owner wished. How I have escaped from their influence you shall hear after awhile. Thus you see m\' whole life has been wrecked by a dream.

“Dreams are what wis2-acres call, ‘passing thoughts.’ Dreams are what you and others laug'h at, as fancies of the brain. Dreams are what philosophers say, ‘Is the mind unburdening itself.’ Wrong, all of 3"ou are wrong. A dream is the soul being awake, while the body sleeps. You ma3" as well tell me, that, ‘The bee is not working because the hive does not move,’ as to tell me, ‘Dreams are

ZELDEE, THE DEVIE’S DAUGHTER.

not realities because the body sleeps/ Have you ever in your dreams, seen places that seem perfectly familiar ? You remember the dream when you awake, but cannot remember when or where you ever saw that place, and yet, you have seen it, at least, your soul has, and in your dream it goes back to it again. The soul can see the past, the present and the future. It is what the soul sees and does that we call dreams.”

Anderson and Holland were interested, and asked many questions concerning dreams, to which the old man replied, proving by his answers that dreams belong to the soul. It was an old subject with him, and although the two friends tried to trap him on some of his answers; they failed to do so.

If the man was a lunatic as they thought at times; he was one that was more than a match for them in an argument — on dreams any-way.

Chapter IV. The 3devii-’’s Pit

“Continue with your story” said Anderson. “I am anxious to hear more of it.” Holland drew his chair nearer the fire, nodding to Anthoin as he did so, “Yes, go on with your tale. Tell us more about those wonderful eyes.”

“There is so much I could tell,” responded he, “That I hardly know what to tell. But I’ll pass over two years — years of torture; for those e)’'es

ZELDEE, THE DEVIE’S DAUGHTEK.

were ever before me, nearly making- me craz3^ i could scarcely sleep; and when I did, there was that beautiful creature with her maddening- e3'es; and she was always telling- me how she loved me; until, instead of loving- her as she said I would, I abhored her. “I lost my appetite, barely eating- enoug-h to keep alive. I beg-an to decrease in weig-ht until I was but a shadow of my former self. Of course I consulted a doctor; but I was ashamed to tell him of my vision, as I chose to call the woman of my dreams, so he was left in ig-norance of the root of my disease. He no doubt attributed it to dissipation; and advised me to leave home and travel abroad for awhile. Sending- me from wild associates I suppose he thoug-ht. I took his advice however, and left home. I never returned.