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V
■T
THE GHOST
—QfF THE—
MALM AISON
AN EPISODE OF FRENCH HISTORY
BT CHAULES OAILMARD.
“ You have decievcd me!”
“I?”
“Yes, you have deceived sue when you told
me that you were only an unfortunate emigre
and that you were waiting only for your pardon
in order to love me openly.’"
“ I swear it, Gabrielle,, and moreover, I swear
that even before my name shall be taken off the
fatal list, I shall be free to ask you to be my
„ ~ 7", „ _ _ wife, without you having anything to apprehend
Translated from the French for the Sunny South : f or onr union.”
“ Your wife!” sadly echoed the young girl.
“Are you not already my wife before God?
Did you not give me your faith as I gave you
mine?” - .
“ You need not remind me of the promises we
have exchanged. God knows that I have not
forgotten them; but you—how can you fulfil
them ?”
“Gabrielle, the time is near when yon will
doubt me no more, for I will be free, I will not
be obliged to keep any longer a secret I find too
heavy; 1 shall be free and perhaps in power; I
shall then come to offer you a name that I will
have made illustrious in sferving a noble cause !"
“You mean'to say that you are conspiring
against the government. Is it not so?”
, “ Well,-yes ! since you found out that secret,
I shall not hide it from you any more. Yes, I
am conspiring, or rather I am fighting.for the
King, and in a month—in two weeks perhaps—
the King shall reign ovtr France—and myself,
[Most of the character* in this story are not fictitious,
but real personages vSbo took conspicuous parts In
some of the most important events which occurred during
the rebellion of the Westof France—called C/iouannerie.]
CHAPTER LXII.
Robert kept silent a moment, and then said, !
slowly:
“ But there is one thing of which I am cer- !
tain; and that is that you have never said or,
done anything unworthy the daughter of an j
honored father.”
“.Oh 1 no,” exclaimed the young girl, with a j
tone of such earnest sincerity that the Major's
heart was set at. ease.
“ Well! dear Gabrielle forget this young man. !
I ask this of you, in the name of. the fraternal j
love that unites us. An unfortunate circum-
followed, for my friend comes to this place
without any weapons.”
“Oh! that it could be true J” exclaimed the
young girl.
“Do yon doubt yet, when I swear upon my
honor, upon yourself to whom I would not be
false, should I die for it ?”
“ And you can assure me that you have
nothing whatever to do with this strange appar
ition which cannot but hide some abominable
design?” asked Gabrielle, who began to hope I will never join it.”
it passing her mother’s picture, the Lady Belle,
every day in the library. She has her complex
ion, baby mouth, and hair and round face and
her father’s forehead, eyes, brows and imperial
grace. Ah, well! I can go to the ruined abbey
since the Lord has heard my prayers.”
“And you are a professing Christian,” the La
dy Star says, “and your brothers and sisters are
legion. May the Lord deliver me from such fel
lowship and till the Church rids herself of these
again.
She goes away sick at heart for further confir
mation, and knocks lightly at Lord Manley’s
his faults. I will write to Lord Uuntley, since
you ask it.”
He opens the door for her andshe goes away
to make immediate preperations to leave the
house. She meets herloverand he has no words
to express his condemnation for the conduct of
their host. Lady Manley is fiittiDg from room
to room endeavoring to petsuafffe the guests to
remain. Some consent; the greater part sum
mon the carriages and drive down to the Station,
and the Christmas dinner is a failure and the
festivities drag. Days passed slowly. Lord
Manley is intoxicated and abusive to high and
door. He opens it, smiles grimly, and she glides , low, and the guests have all departed. The ser-
To-night is the first time that I hear of such
an apparition.”
“And yet you are conspiring—conspiring
against the First Consul. l*ou just told me so
yourself.”
‘Yes, I am conspiring; it is useless to deny
it, since you knew it all, but I act, loyally and
not by such under-hand ways. M
stake in the contest for the return of the King, j reaches him. lour pet did not possess the which Lord Manley occupies,
but I do not employ assassins who would come morality you gave her credit for, but where In a splendid room in tire West End, Daisy
during the night, and waylay for Bonaparte in would she get it? Her mother was a liar, and sits by the window, the golden curls are banded
the woods. When I shall attack him, it will be her father—my precious brother—almosta moral by diamond stars of fabulous value. Her dress
idiot. To be just, I don’t think he knew right 1
Have you given the subject much
in and takes a chair and observes:
“I have just come from Lady Mar. She is
homeless and penniless again. I suppose you
know that Daisy is with Lord Huntley.” He
knocks the ashes from his cigar and laughs.
vants huddle about, shrinking from the demon
that has taken possession of their master. He
has had several attacks of delirium tremens and
his death is but a question of time. Lady Mac-
ley has taken rooms in a hotel in London, and
My life is at : “Gad ! it will be nice news for June, when it the great house is closed, save, the grand rooms
of the King, j reaches him. Y'our pet did not possess the ! which Lord Manley occupies.
stance has put von under obligations to him—I
hope this will make you wiser in the futnre-Be I J V ,D 8 r rance-aua myseii
i c iuib in w* j i t —miner humble soldier who will have aided at the peril
has rendered you a great serv.ee and I am willing of my hfe to ^ him back hia throne, I shall
not be forgotten t*y him. What matters it any
how if I remain what I am or if the King gives
me a regiment to command? Those terrible
to let him alone, but on condition that you will
do the same. You will forget him.”
“I will try,” murmured Gabrielle.
“And you will succeed if you are in earnest.
Think of it; a brave fellow like my friend Perlier
who won his rank solely owing to his gallant
ry, is better than an exile whose life has been
spent fighting against France and conspiring
against the government of his country. But the
time is badly chosen to preach to you; I’d rather
leave you to your own reflection, and depend
on your reason and heart. My friend Ferlier
shall wait. He is used to it.”
Gacrielle opened her lips to say that Perlier
should wait indefinitely, but her brother did
not give her a chance to speak. He kissed her
tenderly; rose, bowed to the Boston players,
signed them not to wake up M. Desroiers, who
was sleeping in his arm-chair, and went off say
ing ironiclly:
“ Good bye, ladies, don’t dream of the ghost;
any later than to-night; my old trooper Castag-
nol will settle its account.”
Gabrielle was about to follow him outside,
but he kissed his hand to her, put a finger on
his iips to recomend prudence and discretion—
and disappeared.
“ What is the matter with you, dear?” asked
lime. Desrosiers to Gabrielle, “ you seem to be
so troubled. Has the Major scolded you ?”
“No, Madame,” stammered Gabrielle
“Y'ou have lost the game Madame,” said the
Colonel’s widow.
“Now ! that is the result of talking with a
young girl instead of paying attention to the
play.”
“Isee that I am in the way, Madame,” said
Gabrielle, “so I will retire.”
None of the players Tried to retain her and
She quietly went to her room without meeting
anyone in the long halls of the chateau.
When alone, she burst into tears. Her beau
tiful dream had vanished! Between her and
the man she loved stood an unsurmouDtable
obstacle. Saint-Victor was a chouan—fi conspir
ator. Gabrielle could not, should not be the wife
of an enemy of the First Connsul.
But in this crumbling of her hopes, what
grieved ber most was to think that Charles
Valreas had imposed on her good faith. For a
moment she thought she would not see him any
more; for she felt that should she go to the rendez
vons; should she hear his sweet tender voice,
she could not have the courage to tell him to
cease coming
But at the same time a sentiment of pity woke
up in her breast; she thought that the more
Charles was unfortunate, the more she was
bound to warn him against the danger that sur
rounded him. She was determined to tear this
ill starred love from her heart if she had to die
by the sacrifice—but gratitude obliged her to
protect him who had saved her.
After all, Gabrielle was a woman, and woman
always have thousands of good reasons to excuse
and serve those whom they love.
As she hesitated still, the stable clock of Mal-
maison struck twelve. She threw a mantilla on
her shoulders and went off to meet the exile
and bid him a last adieu.
Going rapidly down the stair-way she enter
ed the garden without meeting anyone. When
the First Consul and Mme. Bonaparte were in J
Paris, the Malmaison was almost deserted, for
the official household accompanied them to the
Tuileries, and even when they were at Malmai
son they never had much entourage. The Gen
eral went there to rest and lorget awhile the
affairs of the state, and he did not care to have
any military exhibition around him, not believ
ing in the necessity cf guarding himself.
Gabrielle was going towards the bowlingreen.
She was neither cowardly nor superstitious,
and the strange description of Mme. Desrosiers
had made no impression on her mind. She
had paid more attention to what her brother
had said, but she hardly thought of it now; her
heart was too full of anxiety that had not for its
cause the fear of meeting a ghost.
When she entered the thicket she heard a
sound like dry limbs breaking under some one’s
feet. She kept still and looked attentively in
the direction of the noise. She did not see any
thing but the recollection of what she had heard
about the apparition passed through her mind.
The Major accused the chauans of being the
authors of this masquerade, in order to hide
their plotting against Bonaparte’s life.
For the first time, she thought that Charles
Volreas might be implicated in it, and yet even
supposing that he would take a part in such a
vile conspiracy, she could not believe that he
would ever utilize for that object the rendez
vous in the park. No ! the man she loved could
not be so base as to think of murder while his
voice was so sweet; he could not speak of love
to her and of their future happiness, while
watching his chance to treacherously slay his
enemy.
She looked agan and lister el, but the t! rcket
was dark and the noise had ceased. She passed
on. When near the boulingreen; the throbbing
of her heart could almost be heard; but this time j
joy was not the cause of it, as it had been the
night before when she heard the signal for Charles 1
laws of proscription shall be abolished; the gov^
ernment that persecutes me now shall be no
more, and no one will have the right to inter
fere with my life and to forbid me to love you,
Gabrielle. ”
“It was true, then!’’ murmured the Major’s
sistm:.
“What! did you know—?”
“I knew before all you have just told me, and
I know besides, what you do not dare to tell.”
Saint-Victor wished to explain himself, but
she rose and said in a firm voioe.
“You conspire but it is against the life of the
First Consul—of the man who brought peace and
prosperity to our unfortunate country, shattered
by contending parties—of the benefactor to
whom I am indebted for everything I have, for
were it not for his protection I would be a poor
girl, obliged to work for my living.”
“But who told you?”■—
“Who? my brother whom Bonaparte has made
an officer and whom the conspirators must first
kill before they can reach the First Consul, for
he will stand as a breastwork between them and
Bonaparte !”
“Your brother! Major Robert?” repeated
Saint-Victor, “hehas come back then; does he
know—?”
“This evening, about an hour ago, I was ask
ing him to intercede for you.”
“ Did you give him my name ?”
“ Certainly I did, for you had forgotten to
forbid me to do it, and you had forgotten also to
tell me what Charles Valreas did recently to
Major Robert on the road to Dieppe.”
Saint-Victor, confused, bent down his head
and found no answer.
“ Will you still tell me that the time is near
where I can openly acknowledge, the love you
have inspired me with ?” bitterly asked Gabrielle,
“and do you think that I must be very glad to
marry a deadly enemy of my brother ?”
“ Your brother ! Do you believe that I will
ever permit any one to touch a hair of his head ?
Do you believe that when we shall-have over
thrown the usurper I will not at once extend a
fraternal hand to Major Robert and lead him to
the King who, on my recommendation will
confirm him in his position in the army?”
“ Men like Francois Robert do not serve two
masters. He, too, would spare you, should you
fall into his hands, for he knows that you have
saved me; but he would not insult you by pro
posing to you to betray your master.”
“ Gabrielle!—”
Saint-Victor was about to protest energetic
ally, but the hooting of the owl rent the air in
the silence of the night.
“Somebody comes,” he hastened to say, “we
must fly.” And he tried to take Gabrielle along
with him.
While she was trying to free herself, two shots
were heard in quick succession. A hoarse
shriek followed; then the silence—a silence of
death. The voice of the owl was heard no
more.
Saint-Victor was asking himself if he had not
dreamed of all those noises, but Gabrielle, who
the moment before wanted to leave him, Gabri
elle clasped his arm, and said:
“A man fs dead ! The murderer is there.”
“Come,”said the chouan.
And this time she did not resist as he urged
her along the path parallel to the park.
in the day time, and when he is surrounded by
his soldiers.”
“What matters it if you assail him openly or
by surprise, since you will find my brother at
his side ■?” cried the young girl. -
Saint-Victor remained a moment silent, then
said sternly:
“Whatever may happen, whatever may be the
circumstances, time, or place—if I act alone or
with my companions—your brother shall be
sacred to us—even if I must sacrifice my life
to save his—even if I have to expose ourselves
to be defeated; no one shall ever hurt him.” -
Gabrielle started to extend her hand to him in
sign of reconciliation, but her hand fell back to
her side.
“Now,” said Saint-Victor, “I am waiting for
your orders. If you forbid me to see you again
—if I cannot hope that you will forgive me for
being an exile—if, after the triumph of my
cause, you refuse to—”
“Listen 1” cried Gabrielle, interrupting.
The sound of advancing steps was heard in the
distance, f
“ The guards are coming,” said Saint-Victor.
“I see a light; probably the lantern of the
sergeant commanding the patrol.
“ Great heavens 1 they come this way,” said
Gabrielle, “ go, go, quickly, I pray you 1”
“ To leave you alone, exposed to be arrested
by those soldiers—never 1”
“ I know how to escape—there is another way
from wrong,
thought? Nine-tenths of the transgressors sin
unconsciously, and moral idiocy is quite com
mon. You have dangerously-expressive eyes,
Star; just drop them, please, and I will give
you the plain, unvarnished facts, Mind, I am
not trying to justify myself; but strange as it
may seem to you, I really value your good opin
ion, and beg you to listen patiently, if you can.
You know there was but two of us. I was good-
natured and commonplace, and the tenants
loved me while they hated the handsome, young
er brother who was all for self, and cruel and
pitiless. At my best, I would never have made
any stir in the world. I was simply a man
without either great virtues or petty vices, who
would make many friends and thoroughly enjoy
life. In all the historic instances of friendship,
sacrifice is a one-sided thing. One receives*
the other loses; one takes, the other gives; mutual
sacrifce is not recorded. Well, that was the
sort of friendship that existed between us. I
gloried in his genius and beauty. I shielded
him from disgrace; shouldered his debts and
economized so that he might indulge his luxu
rious tastes. When it was necessary to fight for
him, I fought; when it was necessary to lie for
him, I did it without hesitation. I had my al
lowance reduced and was severely reprimanded
by my father, because I had gone into debt to
keep him from expulsion. I bore all this hero
to go to the chateau—leave, leave immediately 1” J ically. He repaid me by his caresses and by look-
“No,” said Saint-Victor, after a moment of | ing ha
CHAPTER LXIII.
That path led to the little door, the key of
which was in the possession of Saint-Victor, and
it was the same path he al <vays took when leav
ing Gabrielle, who, on the contrary, used to
take the broad avenue leading to the chateau.
But this night the poor girl felt that it would be
very imprudent to go that way, where a bloody
deed had probably been committed, and in
which she might be compelled to walk over a
corpse. Trembling, she followed Saint-Victor
as far as the door. There he himself stopped
and made her sit on a settee by the wall. Stand
ing before her he listened to the faintest sound,
burning with anxiety to know how this advent
ure would end.
The firing must have been heard from the
chateau and the post by the entrance gate. The
soldiers and probably the servants would soon
come, and the most important thing at present
was to prevent any one seeing Gabrielle in the
park at that time of night.
Although he had as good reasons as herself
not to be seen, he determined to offer his escort
to the staircase leading to her room when she
said to him sadly :
“Leave me, sir; we shall not see each other
any more.”
“I cannot leave, I cannot abandon you when
you are perhaps exposed to danger 1”
“ I prefer rather to expose myself than to
remain any longer with a murderer’s accomp
lice.”
“What do you mean, Gabrielle?”
I know all; that pretended ghost is the man
hesitation, “since you despise me, since you
wish me to leave you for ever, I prefer to die
here. I shall wait tor the soldiers, run on to
them dagger in hand—their bayonets shall
pierce my heart, and that will be the end 1"
‘ They come—one minute more it will be too
late—leave, for the sake of what is most sacred
to you—leave for the sake of our love 1”
“ Ah 1 you love me yet 1”
“ Y'es,” sighed Gabrielle.
“And you consent to come once more—only
once more to the bowlingreen ?”
“In three days—at twelve,” answered Gabri
elle, forgetting everything before the immin
ence of danger.
“Thank you, Gabrielle. in three days at the
bowlingreen; but it shall be the last secret meet
ing, and I assure you that before a month I will
ask your brother to accord me your hand, for
everything in France shall be changed by that
time. I go.”
He raised Gabrielle’s hand to his lips, opened
the little door, and closer®t behind him.
Gabrielle took a path tljpough a thicket, and
ran without eating "foT'NfYe' briers' that tore
her dress or the limbs thaf scratchad her face.
She did not dare to look behind her and,
obliged to pass the bowlingreen, she stopped a
moment to take breath. She was about to con
tinue towards the chateau when the moon,
emerging from behind a cloud, shone over the
lawn. Gabriolle looked around and remained
terror-stricken: fifty feet ahead of her a corpse
was stretched on the sand.
She wanted to fly from the dreadful scene, but
she could not move her feet, and was obliged to
take hold of a tree, or she would have fallen to
the ground. She strove to look away from the
dreadful sight, but, in spite of her own will,
her eyes always turned back to the corpse.
ing handsome. Only a simpleton would have
been satisfied with pay like this, but I told you
I was not strong, and he was a genius and geni
us is allied to madness. He rode my favorite
horses to death, and I kept all his excesses a se
cret. When he graduated, he went to Baden-
Baden and became a notorious gambler. He
beggared hundreds, among them Lady Mar’s
husband, one of the most guileless min you
would see in a life time, but fond of play. While
j he was absent, our parents died, and it is a sit-
isfactiou to me to know that they died beli, viag
j him a perfect angel of light. At twenty-three,
I met the Lady Belle Clyde. Sue was the beau-
: ty of the season, an inane blonde, with an im
mense fortune in her own right. I had the hor-
i ror that dull men have for bright women, and
sbe suited me and I addressed her. She accept
ed me from a score of lovers and within turee
days of our marriage, June returned, without a
dollar, in a fit of penitence. I introduced him
to Belle and was proud of him. She pretended
she did not admire him, and the day before the
wedding, she eloped with him. 4 I knew, that
had she been poor, he would not have looked at
her; that her money was the sole attraction, and
I followed them. I caught up with them, but
they were married. I struck him and we fought.
I tried to kill him and did not hurt him, but he
made me a cripple for life. I returned home
and lay ill for weeks, and revenge become the
leading idea of my life. I made friends with
him and his wife came here to be confined in
the ancestral castle. When she was taken sick
he was absent; it was premature by several
weeks. Jane was ill at the same time; with the
aid of a woman whose husband was in my pow
er to denounce as a criminal, I changed the
children; Jane's child died that day. Belle was
quite low and there was much confusion, and
but one person noticed the metamorphesis that
The man had fallen there, killed by the pre- | had takm place in the infants, Mrs. Harris, and
tended ghost, and Gabrielle was thinking with
terror that she was perhaps the cause of his
death.”
“ If he was only wounded 1” she thought, and
the brave girl, summoning all her courage, ran
towards him.
When she was only a few steps from the dead
man, she saw the silver buttons, and recognized
the uniform of the gendarmerie d’elite.
Thinking of her brother she had left one hour
ago in uniform, she forgot his departure from
she observed it to me and I silenced her curtly
and she never refered to it again. I knew how
Jane and Bill would raise her. I foresaw that
she would bs beautifu 1 , and thus possessing it;
disgrace might be surely prophesied. When
this was consummated, I intended to introduce
her to her parents. Yerily the gods have favor
ed me and I will write to June to-day. The wo
man I confided in went into Lady Mar’s service
and betrayed me. My Lady is a royal extortion
er, I have paid her large sums not to disclose the
Paris, she forgot what he had said of Sergeant [ secret till I gave the word,—that accounts for
Castagnol, and taking the corpse for that of ! my friendship with her—you don’t suppose I
Major Robert, she swooned away and fell to the
ground.
(TO BE CONTINUED.)
OUT OF THE MIRE.
A PEARL.
BY MRS. AMELIA V. PURDY,
Author of “First Fruit.”
Yalreas always came first, and to make his pres-j you post every night in the park, and who,
ence known, he used to hum a song composed by under pretense of watching over us, is only
the King Hnri the IY.
“ Charmnante Gabrielle,
Perce de mille dards.
Quand la t loire m’appelle
Dans les travaux de Mars.”
She never let him finish the candid words of
the song.
He was commencing the third verse when the
young girl entered the bowlingreen and fell
rather than seated herself on a pelouse, instead
of giving him her hand as usual.
“ For heavens’sske, what is the matter with
you, Gabrielle?” asked Saint-Victor.
she murmured through her
could find anything to admire in that old Zan-
tippe. Of all the actors in this tragedy, one on
ly has my sympathies, Paul Duprtz. The man
is so exceptionally good, that I have hesitated
often and once, came very near stopping short
for his sake; then I discovered that the girl did
not love him. Not love him. Oh 1 the fools wo
men are. Goodness is what they should worship
and there are good men in every town whom
women do not try to win. I never looked at the
girl, that the seductive sweetness of June’s na
ture did not look out from her eyes. I never
looked at her, that I did not see the soft-silken,
golden curls of her mother, whom I loved better
than my soul. For the rest, June has avoided
me carefully the last seventeen years and he has
tired to death of her long ago and leads quite an
innocent life with his books and flowers.”
His auditor sitr with bowed head. The mis
erable story is ended, there is no more to relate.
She looks up drearily.
“And the finale of all this will be fratricide
when you meet.”
“A fitting finale to the story.” he says with a
grim smile. “When we meet, one or the other
dies, Junius will hardly be able to stand this
with Christian meekness.”
“If I had any influence with you, I would try
to persuade you to write all the facts of the case
to Lord Huntley. Spite of your animosity,
Daisey is your niece and you should urge an
immediate marriage. Guy, I never asked a favor
of you in my life. I ask it now, and I pity you
sincerely while I condemn the sin, I feel for the
sinner. Your provocation was great, but not
great enough for you to step down from the
white heights of manhood to be peer with him.
Who revenges himselfi degrades himself, unless,
he takes the revenge that Christ commands, and
the revenge that defiles gives neither rest nor
pleasure. Will you write to Lord Huntley ? ’
He stares at her moodily.
“You are right. Let man do to you what he
may, if you retaliate in kind, sleep, and rest
and self-satisfaction flies forever. Of all miser
able existences, the worst is to be dissatisfied
with self and to be tortured by an accusing
conscience through sleepless nights and lustre
less days. It drove me to drink. I am wretch
ed till liquor induces forgetfulness. Christin-
might have raised me had she been a wise wo
man. I thought that after marriage she would
genius. Ihrougb ber fattier, x nave been com- grow dear to me by degrees. She discovered
pelled to live afar from the capitol, in retirement my infatuation for Belle and her love died in-
and dependence and to see my son compelled stantaneously, perhapa she was not to blame,
to live abroad because what the villian left him It would have frozen the love of any ordinary
Ah 1 I am glad, so woman and reorimination and sarcasm succeed-
mean when you speak of’a ghost, and that I did I glad. I’d like to see your face, Junius Manley, ed. A man has made a mistake in his choice of
not give any order to assail Bonaparte in this ! when you learn that the sole daughter of your a life companion, who cannot go to her with all
place, in his own residence, and I canDot ex- | home and house, is Lord Huntley’s mistress, his sins and blunders, knowing that Bbe will
plain the reports of pistols and the scream that j What feols you were that you did not discover t hear him patiently and tenderly and condone
watching for an opportunity to get near the
First Consul and kill him."
“A pretended ghost!’ echoed Saint-Yictor,
stupefied.
“ Don’t feign to be astonished. Who—if not
you—could have invented that criminal mas
querade ? Ah 1 my brother was right while
speaking to me of the audacity and villainy of
the chouans."
“ Gabrielle,” said Georges’ Lieutenant, with
an unmistakable accent of sincerity, “I pledge
you my word as a soldier, my word as a gentle-
man, that I am entirely ignorant of what has
She did not answer, and in.the darkness, he taken place here to-night. You know that I
could not see that she was shedding tears. But I have a comrade, devoted to me, who accepted
a magnetic current is soon establishtd between j the task of watching over us. A while ago, I
lovers, and when one feels a sensation, a mys- > heard him give the signal that somebody, maybe
terious fluid transmits it to the other. Saint- a patrol, was approaching; but I swear upon our
Victor divined that she was crying, and he knelt j lore that I am absolutely ignorant of what^you ; would not support him here.
at her feet. ’
. “Leave me
tears
What have I done ?” he asked softly.
CHAPTER X,
The Lady Star has sought her unweariedly
through the house and over the gardens; a blue
scarf tied under her chin and regardless of the
snow, she had enquired of Jane and had been
brutally repulsed. Upstairs, Stratton sat with
the boy on her lap and her tears were fast oblit
erating all the pink and white of the Venus face, j
Lady Manley lay on the sofa weeping bitterly, i
and no preperations were being made for the
morning’s festivities. The occurrence of the
morning had destroyed even the pleasure of
prospective oonquests, and the young ladies kept
in their rooms, while the gentlemen congregated
in the billiard room; bitter in their denuncia
tions of the malice that had instigated the work
and that their host showed no disposition to im- .
mediately investigate the matter.
Phrasie came out of Lady Mar’s room, wring- ;
ing her hands and shrieking:
“She ville nevare pay me now. She is ruined.
She is turned out of doors. She owes me one i
years wages. Mon Dieu 1 She is mad not to
have foreseen all dis. Daisey is with Lord Hunt-
ley and he has joost written her that he stops
her allowance from to-day. My money. My
money 1”
Lady Star orders her to be quiet and opens
Lady Mar’s door. The latter confronts her with
dishevelled hair and scarlet face.
“Yon are horrified,” she cries, “but it is true.
She has gone with him. Your protege did not
possess the moral strength you thought and I
am glad, and truly I have not where to lay my
head. Her father beggared my husband at Ba
den-Baden I have known always what this
girl was, with her royal beauty and transcendent
Through her father, I have been com-
is wine velvet and her soul is crimson as her
dress. The roses have fled from her rounded
cheeks forever, but she is lovelier fn her spiritu-
t lie grace. Pride and hope have fled with the
roses and the exquisite face reflects deep seated
melancholy. In the dark depths of her eyes, a
little child might read fallen. The eyes are ever
pitiless in their revelation of sonl stain; with
down cast eyes the sinful woman, walks pore
with the pure, she lifts her eyes and we step
aside, the character of her degredation is there.
She has touched pitch, she is defiled; we, the
white souled, waive her afar. We forget that it
is not contagious. That the giddy, weak, shal
low, wrongly educated girls are the only vic
tims, and while pouring out the vials of our
wrath and disgust, with a triple virulence of an
unutterable loathing and ostracism should we
regard him who has made the ireak his prey.
If you ostracise one, ostracise the other. If you
shut your doors to her, shut them also upon the
seducer and let no girl let any opportunity slip
to avenge the wrong done to her feeble sister.
It is just as important for a man to be pure as
it is for his sister to be pure. All tnen have
more or less power and use it. That country
will certainly become bankrupt and perish ig-
nominiously where evil men make the laws and
godloss ones enforce them. We have no in
stinctive knowledge of right or wrong, consci
ence is education, and the man who is blessed
with so sensative a conscience, that it is his
guardian angel through all life’s vicissitudes,
is the man whose infantile education has been
superintended by a painstaking Christian zeal.
With her hands folded behind her, she paces
up and down the grand room. Remorse with
its tooth of fire is at her heart, driving sleep
and rest afar. The revenge she bartered her
spotless fame for, has brought no balm. Phra
sie has escaped her and Lady Mar is in the ruin
ed abbey that scarcely yields her support and
with the miserable consciousness that she has
sold her birth-right for a mess of pottage, the
slow hours drag their length. Her pen yields
her no solace. She shrinks from the purity of
music and books havO lost their charm. The
superb dresses, Lord Huntley ordered from Par
is, have given no pleasure beyond a passing
glance. Lord Huntley is a skeptic, and the re
fined deism he is holding to her lips is the
draught most acceptable in a time like this. She
quaffs it eagerly and longs to believe, as has
many a sinner over this green old earth, that
Christianity is but priest-craft and immortality
a myth. In her present condition, immortality
would be the reverse of a blessing and annihila
tion the last thing to be desired.
Lord Huntley comes in with none of his ac
customed gayety and greets her in a constrained
manner. She watches him wonderingly, her
first thought that he is tiring and then of the
river only a little ways off. She meets his eyes
and colors hotly. He draws near and takes her
hand.
“Our marriage must be consummated to night.
In the course of a few hours, the rector of St.
Mary’s, will be here to perform the ceremony.”
He seems nervous and is quite ghastly and
my Lord has been noted for his composure for
years. She looks up wildly and the great eyes
d lite with apprehension, what has he learned?
Her heart almost stands still.
“Lord Manley has written me that you are
his niece, his brother’s child, and that in the
course of a month your father will be here to
claim you.”
She sprang from him with a low moan and
fell insensible at his feet. When she revived,
he read the half jocose, half remorseful letter
to her. It ran thus:
“You will perceive the necessity of an im
mediate marriage. Junius Manley is somewhere
in the Levant, and has been apprised of the fate
of his unfortunate daughter. An early mar
riage will in part condone for your share in the
destruction of his child.”
She lies back corpse-like in her pallor with
closed eyes. After a pause he speaks.
“ I would give worlds to undo the mischief
of the past weeks. I have been a bad man, and
have felt few compunctions of conscience, but it
is bitter trouble that I have so terribly injured
you. I took a mean advantage of your mood
that day, and upon my head lies the sin. How
can I face your father ?”
She made no reply, there could be none, for
when the heart is touched to the quick, when
the desolate probed are touched, it is the era of
dumb agony; there was suffiocation about the
heart, and giant fingers in seeming pressed
heavily upon her brain. The haggared face
lifted at last and she said with an effort.
“ We shall not marry my Lord. I am accurs
ed. There are many who make misfortune only
a success; who never prosper at any thing. In
some lives rain falls eternally till it ends. I am
one of those. I was born under malign influ
ences, tobe a target for adverse fate. We shall
never marry something will prevent it.”
He is not superstitious, but her words im
press him strangly. He is not well, has been
having premonitory symtoms of apoplexy—the
bane of his race, and the meeting with Paul
Dufres who brought the letter, had been bitter
ly humiliating and agitating. In this interview
the grandeur of Paul’s character had moved
the seducer. The blow had fallen upon him
and crushed the man and, the saint had risen
The war against the demon who counselled
murder had been as bitter as Watleroo and pro
longed for days and sleepless nights, under
which the physical system sank, the good angel
conquered.
(TO BE CONTINUED.)
The Workingmen’s Party.
Nomination for Mayor of Baltimore.
[New York Times.]
Baltimore, Sept. 6.—The Workingmen,s Party,
having rejected all proffers of political alliances, to
night nominated for Mayor Joseph Thompson. The
canidate is a working blacksmith, and has never
had any experience in public life, but has intelli
gence above his class. In his speech of acceptance
he indorsed the most advanced doetrine3 of the
platform, and was very bitter on capitals and eor-
poratios. The general tone of the speaking in the
convention was more communistic than at any pre
vious gathering, and the large audience was fre
quently worked into a frenzy of excitement by such
phrases as hell-born and hell-bound moneyed ari
stocracy.” The Workingmen’s party continues to
grow, and politicans no longer pretend to conceal
their apprehensions of its great strength.
INSTINCT PRINT