“Oh! Gods! Inez, what think you were my
feelings, when I read this? It seemed as though
all the demons of hell itself were at work within
my heart! Is this the world? cried I. Do men
live and pass unpunished—ay! and more!—are
they courted by the world, that trample upon and
break the hearts of God's loveliest images? Does
society uphold men in deeds of wickedness that
would even blacken the character of hell's archfiend?
Do they drag man before their mock
tribunals, and sentence him to rot in prison, because
necessity forced him to take a morsel of
bread to save himself and offspring from starvation?
Is this society?—is this the boasted land
of justice and religion? Then deliver me from
it!—then let me war against it!—ay! let me be
an outlaw from that society, which is itself an
outlaw from all that is good! Such were the
thoughts, Inez, that rushed forth from my burning
brain! Boy I was in years, but boy no longer!
I felt I was alone in a world black, with sin, and
must choose and act for myself. Nor was I without
experience. The last three years of my life,
if not in book learning, had advanced me much in
knowledge of the world. A change had come
over me. Once I thought of nothing but innocent
affections and happy dreams of the future.
Now clouds dark and gloomy rose in wild fantastic
shapes before me. And life, what was it?—
and what was I? What hopes had I of brightness?
A being of noble birth, but not I galized
by the laws of the land, sent into the world to be
the jeer of my fellows! I, son of Sir Walter Langdon—
for he had now assumed the title of his
father, deceased—who by right should claim his
affection, to be looked upon by him—by my own
father—as a being low-born, and perhaps spurned
from his presence, should I seek him out? Oh!
how these thoughts crowded upon me!

“I went abroad, young as I was, and visited the
principal cities of Europe. At the end of three
years I returned to England, exhausted in funds,
and for the first time determined on visiting my
father. I sought him out and stood before him.
He demanded my name and business. My name,
I replied, is one you will long remember: Ronald
Bonardi, or Ronald Langdon, as circumstances
may be. He turned pale and his eye sunk before
my steady gaze; then recovering his self-possession,
he bade me begone and never enter his presence
again—said he knew me not—that I was a
base imposter! Oh! Inez, that moment had nearly
been fatal to him, such a wild passion was
aroused within me! I could feel the blood drop
by drop retreating to my heart, and I fairly reeled.
Such words from my father—from the author of
my existence—nearly dethroned my reason! By
a mighty effort I conquered myself and replied,
my lips quivering with suppressed passion, that
I would leave on one condition and never see him
more. He demanded it. Money! was my only
answer. He gave me money and I left; but ere I
did, I told him the orphan's curse was on him;
ay! father though he was, I cursed and left him
trembling. That curse, Inez, was fulfilled—terribly
fulfilled. His wife, then in the bloom of health,
shortly after died. His son, near my own age,
was murdered. His daughter, then some three
years of age, disappeared suddenly; and he, to
sum up, survived but a few months—dying a
maniac—and his estate passed into the hands of
another. By what singular fatality I was avenged,
I know not; but so was the termination.

“I came to America, and caring little what became
of me, led a dissolute life. For twelve years
I traveled through the States a professional gambler.
This course of life tended to harden me to
almost any deed whereby I might be the gainer in
the shape of gold, that glittering earth to which all
classes bow in humble reverence. By chance I
fell in with a lawless band of desperadoes, who,
through a fancy I never could account for, chose
me for their leader. I accepted the office on condition
that I should have absolute sway so long
as remained their chief, and that they would allow
me to organize them as I saw proper. To
this, without a dissenting voice, they consented,
and I was elected captain for the term of five
years. My first proceeding was to find a safe
rendezvous and establish such a code of laws as I
deemed most beneficial to us as a body. This was
done, and it is needless to tell you this was the
place chosen for our secret retreat. For two years,
Inez, ere I saw you, I led a wild life; and though
by my deeds I made myself an outlaw, yet to this
day my hands are free from the stain of blood; still
I fear, if, I remain much longer chief, I shall have
to put in force a law, which, as executioner, will
not leave me guiltless.”

“What mean you, Ronald?” asked Inez, quickly,
who had been listening to his story with breathless
attention.

“There is disaffection creeping into our ranks,
which I fear will result in treachery and mutiny.
Some evidences I have already seen. To the

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offender the punishment is death by the hands of the
chief.”

“God save you from such a crime! dear Ronald,”
cried Inez, throwing her arms around his
neck and gazing tenderly upon him.

“Ah! gentle Inez,” said Ronald, with deep
emotion, tenderly embracing her, “why should
fate doom you to be linked to a bandit chief?—
Was there no better destiny in store for you?”

“I murmur not, Ronald,” replied Inez, sweetly.

“True, you do not; yet am I not blind to your
feelings. When first I saw you, dearest Inez,
three years since, I felt what it was to love—never
till then. In disguise I sought your acquaintance;
in disguise I won your affections; but my
love was deep and true, and in disguise I could not
wed you. No! base as I had been—base as I
then was—a bandit chief—an outlaw from society—
I could not farther deceive the only being I
loved on earth. It was painful, very painful, to
think that I must tear myself from you, and perchance
never see you more. Oh! how many
sleepless nights it cost me! how much heart rending
misery! But my resolution was taken. I
loved you, and would not drag you to perdition.
I would tell you all and part forever. I told you all;
but O, what was my surprise—my joy—when instead
of spurning me from your sight, you told
me with your own sweet lips our fates were one!
For a time, sweet Inez, I could not believe it reality;
that there was for the outcast so much joy
in store; but the altar proved it true. Since then,
Inez, I have never been the same being. Then,
for the first time in my long career of crime, did I
feel guilt; for the first time sighed to be an honest
man. But my oath as bandit chief bound me for
five years. I could not break it, and three years
had yet to expire. Those three years, Inez, you
have shared with me; have been the sunlight of
my existence; have tended to make me a better
man. To-day my term of office expires, and I am
released from my oath.”

“To-day, Ronald, dear Ronald!” cried Inez, in
a transport of joy; “and you will leave this place
then, will you not?”

“Ah! Inez, that is what troubles me. To-night
a leader must be chosen. By a law which with
us is as unchangeable as those of the Medes and
Persians, if one of our band be chosen without a
dissenting vote, to the office of chief, he is bound
to accept. If but one vote be cast against him he
can act his pleasure—two-thirds of the members
present being sufficient, if in favor, to constitute
him duly elected. I fear a re-election without a
dissenting voice.”

“But can you not bribe some one to vote against
you?”

“The offer, Inez, is punishable with death. No!
I must bide the result, and that result I fear. I
would that I could be released and left to retire to
some secluded spot in quiet to enjoy the company
of my own dear Inez. But I am a child of fate
and must submit to the decree of destiny. If I am
again elected, as I said before, I fear I shall, in my
official capacity, be compelled to act in a manner
foreign to my present feelings. Besides, we have
of late been very inactive, and there has been dissatisfaction
expressed in regard to it by some of
the members. Already preparations are being
made for an attack on a rich planter, whose estate
lying in Tennessee, borders on the Mississippi in
a manner favorable to our design; and I, as captain
of the banditti, must head the expedition.”

“Alas! Ronald,” sighed Inez, sorrowfully.

“Alas! Inez,” returned Ronald, “that fate
should will it. Ah! fate! fate! Without there,
ho! who knocks?” This was addressed to some
one in the Outer Cave, who had given the signal
for the chief, by three distinct raps on the wall.

“The presence of our captain is needed,” was
the reply.

“I come,” returned Ronald; and pressing his
lips once more to those of Inez, he hastily arose
and quitted the apartment. Inez gazed after him
in silence for a time; and then bending over her
guitar, sung a low, sweet, mournful strain.