Newspaper Page Text
THE SUNNY SOUTH.
jT
Translated from the French of
Henri Ureville.
BY ANNIE MURRAY.
CHAPTER XV.
Boris had Iteen fifteen days at Grebova.
Ever}' day he grew more sad; twice he lmd
been to the post-office himself with mysterious
letters, and no news had yet reached him to
tell him if Lydia had l>een discovered, or if
she had suffered on account of her interview
with him. He was devoured with anxiety;
twenty times he had thought to leave, to
commence again that journey to see her, if
he could not speak to her. Bur, the most
powerful motive restrained him; he possessed
not another halfpenny.
At last one day he returned from the post-
office quite gay. Since his return, his mother
had not seen him so joyous. He went two or
three times to the end of the garden, to read
again and again the little note that he had
received that morning, 'lhis note was very
short; an impart al judge would have found it
very commonplace in answer to the passion
ate effusions of the lianished lover; but it was
the writing of Lydia, it was his first love-let
ter. Had it contained but her signature,
Boris would have been satisfied.
“Dear Boris,” wrote she, “I have receiv
ed your two letters. 1 In seech you not to
write so often, for Dounia has declared to me
that she will not go to the post-office more
than once every fortnight: she says it is too
far, and in fact it is very far. 1 am afraid
that by mistake they may bring your letter
to the house, and von know what would hap
pen. Mamma ls si ill very angry; the prince
lias not l>een here since til" day you left, when
he passed the evening with us, and he was
then very cross. 1 am very well, and 1 hope
you have good health. 1 have found the little
‘Jocelyn’ with my name. 1 am obliged to
you. When will we see each other again ?
How sad it. is not to nn et, and it is a long time
yet to the autumn. 1 embrace you.
Your Lydia.”
Boris was at first happy. At the end of a
few hours he felt his happiness diminish little
by lit I le; Mat letter did notcomple! eiy satisfy
him: lie would like to have known what
Lydia felt, whether she had suffered. She
said nothing about it. and Ids soul was burst
ing wit!t tenderness at the bare thought that
the hand of the young girl had touched the
paper which he pn-s-ed to ids lips.
Xevertheles-. he drove away his melancholy
thoughts, to give himself to Ids joy. That
letter was the first link in their future life;
she had signed "Your Lydia.” so she was
really his. That signature was equal to an
engagement.”
H" fell asleep, holding the precious letter in
his baud under his pillow.
Tiic next morning, on taking him his cup
of milk, Sonia said to'him, suddenly:
“You iia vc received a let ter from Miss .”
“Who told you that said Boris astonish
ed, and pulling on an air of severity.
“No ojie; i saw tin envelope on the table,
and I thought that it was from Miss , as
you seemed so happy.”
“Be kiin 1 Enough not to recount your
thoughts to any one,” said Boris, little satis
fied with the perspicacity of this iit! le page in
rags. “Jf foolish thoughts come into your
head, at least tell them only to me, who w ill
forget them, whereas others would remember
them.”
“1 hear you, my master,” said Sonia, bow
ing her head and raising ir, with a gitiitv air;
“and Miss , how is she
“Go away', simpleton,” said Boris, in a bad
humor.
lie would have boldly declared that the let
ter was not from l.ydia; tlas little child’s eyes
tie was annoyed w ith;
111 ilLgnice for tAo days.)
The evening of ihe third day, ns be retired
to rAst at a late hour, he saw a small heap at
the toot-of Ills bed.
“Who is there f’ asked he, a lit'le surpris
ed.
“Jt is me. master,” said Sonia, half raising
herself. She was crouched, kneeling by the
side of 1 he bed. “I waited lor you,” contin
ued she, “to a-k your paidon.”
“For what ?’’ said Boris, slightly put out.
“For having been so ioolisti ilie other day.
It was none of my bus noss, Boris 1 vanovitch,
and I have been headstrong. 1 have vexed
you; v on do not speak to me any more!”
She approached h in, sliil on hi r knees, and
prostrated herself before him with a supplicat
ing air.
“Forgive me; never, oh, never shall it oc
cur again, believe me!”
“Well, well,” said Boris, at the same time
touched ami impatient, “I forgive you. Go
and sleep.”
“You forgive me ?” and Sonia sprang to
her feet.
“Yes.”
“And you w ill speak to me again ! and will
scold me when I do wrong 1 Yesterday 1
brought no wafer to your room, on purpose,
for 1 thought \ou would scold me. You only
went and fetched some yourself, without
saving a word. 1 I ke far better to be scolded
than not to hear you speak, Boris lvano-
vitch!”
The young man could not refrain from
laughing, and placing his hand on the head of
the \oimg gi'd, said:
“Go to sleep, little savage. I promise to
scold you on i he fii st occasion.”
Her eyes spat Uii'g with joy. Sonia seized
the hand of Boi is, covered it with kissts, and
fled like a mouse.
The man’s holidays were passing
away. September had romni'-iiced, and the
liniversit cs renp-ecd their doors. One fine
an ii in it miiri’iiig. he lei' Grebova. and his
mother, ai d all 11n- r quiet and familiar lolks,
and Sonia, who f lung to mill, and would not
able to get her to dress a little more decently.”
Boris laughed heartily at these maternal
woes; the idea of ordering Sonia, by writing,
to wear shoes, seemed to liim so amusing that . siver. I shall do exactly as you wish. If you
he immediately put it into execution; and a desire me to remain. I shall remain.” .
“Very well; what—what have you decided
to do 1”
“I iiave decided nothing; I waited your an-
bad ofi'epded
rllpr, pinrBonia,
“"iiie eveni
■^st at a
allow lout to I'-;.
“Take me v. 11
N “1!,” sn : «!
site: “I will serve
you. You hum,
II.iM' h 'tin-
one 1o ch :m your
boots and pi i-pie
t* \oiir U>:
Take me, and
you will in■ \ * r 1 it
I,”
in’d ;it ice village
Vain pray ers.
Sin- ft in::
with Mn-mini- Gi
V. ho
w l i i^hu ned at
this p: (-iiale
ili< 1 k'iy;'”
* n. 1 ere; at lhe
same time tin- b
jm! al rich!
lent ot tl.e child
for lier m-ii :i""
* ••»!' Ic-r |.i
v am! \ mjiailiy.
Little by 1 , ■
lho« h hi i;
i \ «• 1 > i in* mot h« r
of her lira ; er i la
«... M«,\v
.!’ <!< voi i. n \\ liich
the ilepn - ; ere of
li l .s il.J.l
(-C: w ii kontaii oh-
jeot. itiM.-adi-r
i miti ri” a\
i.iy al 1 le* slijihl-
e-t qiu - ii li. sin:
now a t ow
« ;i herself to he
< 1 in; ii med, to in
-wer ami
i t I *:«*. hut to the
old lady only . 11.
.*«i;11 k ].;»!•
of her l.fe w liich
she niil not, \\ i h
to icim mi
» r.
Willi her liaii-1
s i; in.\ (
..-j cl, her teeth
set, lier ey cs sp.
u i».
r iii»sl riis dilated
1 kc an III itate'i
gTi'iim,
wl:e i eta’cl 1 h;:t
Y\ lli'-h she hall el
CUM .i in s
!ci:»*e, her sinhlen
passion--, lie- ting
. ,\ ( i iwiLle
1 lie 1 hoii^ht
•I in;
! tile :m
'.ill ll lie
liti
me G
• ll I II-i
. AI
chi
ll, MU
lir-t
<1 lei
-lie
.!■ i mg the house 1 <>
with In re elf, then
In .•line eft lie good-
neial Gun I i.e, a< d
i of Bin is. who had
iiie. uni 1 then < old
e Hi le.
do all (here things
once lightened by
ild iml believe that
W as 1 I lie.
fortnight after, he had the satisfaction of
knowing that his orders had been obeyed. He
laughed still more, and this momentary gay-
ety did him a great d-al of good, for since
the autumn his life had become duller and
duller. Lydia had returned to Moscow with
her parents, and Boris managed to meet her
when she was out alone with her maid Dounia,
whom they were obliged to take into their
confidence; but these meetings, rare and
short, were dearly paid for to the obsequious
Dounia. Boris deprived himself of many lit
tle tilings in order to lie able to slide some
gold into the hand of 1 lie willing maid.
Besides, Lydia had commenced to enter in
to society; she rose at a late hour, and did
not like to go out in the morning. In the af
ternoon they run the risk of lieing seen by
some acquaintance; in the evening Lydia
went to tlie theatre, to balls, or her parents
received at home. In short, Boris scarcely
ever saw her.
Besides, what could lie say to her? The
lessons lie gave were not numerous, and only
just sufficient to procui e him the expensive
books which he required. Saddened, almost
discouraged, he worked very hard,-only go
ing out when his business obliged him to do
so, and gave himself up completely to the
preparation of his studies. Nothing distract
ed him from this assiduous work. Every
week he received a letter from his mother, to
answer which was to him neither pleasant
nor easy; for be desired to carefully h de
from this excellent woman the sadness of his
life, and a lie was repugnant to his thorough
ly upright nature.
* In the commencement of Octolier he had
lieen visited by Prince Armianoff, who was
returning to St. Petersburg. The young
man’s cordiality had made a deep impression
on his saddened heart: he had ex[(erienoed a
moment of joy in pressing the hand of this
visitor, whose presence recalled to linn the
happy days of his love. Then the prince left,
and the dark, sad veil which separated Boris
from the outside world weighed heavier and
heavier on his soul.
One evening, when he was working bv liim-
seif, pursuing his task w ith a sort of bitter
aidor under liis smoking lamp, a letter was
brmiglitto him.
Beading it, Boris imagined he was in a
dream anil lie recommenced it several times
before concluding it. This is what Armianoff
w rote him:
“A learned grammarian, M. N., a friend of
mt' father, seeks a young man especially de
voted to philology, to assi.-t i ini in his
studios. Rich ami without family, generos
ity is easy for liim, and, although lie has not
fixed the annual secretary, 1 think 1 may
safely say that it would inn lie loss than two
thousand roubles. The only condition which
he demands is the positive morality of the
candidate, for he w ill place in liis hands works
not yet edited, the result of long ri'search‘ s.
This savant will pass the w inter at St. Peters
burg, to complete the examination of some
manuscripts in the imperial library: then, in
the beginning of the spring, he will travel
with his sec: etarv. and will pass two years in
visiting the libraries of Europe. This work
completed, the secretary may count on a re
ward equal to bis services. Not knowing if
these proposals would please you, or if you
were w illing to leave Moscow, 1 have not yet
mentioned your name. Perhaps you prefer
to keep your liberty. However, every sin
cere friend would council you, 1 believe, to
accept this offer. I expect from you a form
al ‘yes,’ and from that moment, you may
consider the affair settled. If you accept,
you need not trouble yourself about any ma
terial difficulties; all sliali lie settled in the
most desirable manner. Besides, on arriving
at fSt. Petersburg, you will come straight to
my house, and we will together arrange ev
erything.”
l ;, l f that of joy.
ciinti,his studies under Mch circumstances
was hafriness! j.
The second thought was one of desphtr.
Separate himself from Lydia ! Impossible!
And yet how hard to give up this good for
tune at the commencement of fame gained so
honorably and so pleasantly. Then came his
gratitude to Armianoff. “Rely on me as an
old friend,” the prince had said. What
friend could have done more and with such
delicacy ? All these thoughts troubled Bir-
is’s head so much that he could not sleep that
night.
The morning found him feverish, at one
time decided to immediately refuse for fear
of being tempted, at another time ready to
run all risk and accept at once. At last lie
considered he had not the right to decide
alone so important a step, and he ought to
consult Lydia.
The next day was Sunday. He had a
slight chance of seeing her in church, and he
decided to await her there, but the fever
which was devouring him increased every
hour. The night passed at length. At four
o’clock he heard the liell for matins, then
there was life and bustle—rather slight, in the
eccentric quarter inhabited by the tu'.or—
then came the hour to start.
While dressing, Boris glanced in the glass;
he was startled at his pallor, and at liis weary
look. His features were drawn, and seemed
thinner: any one would have thought he had
just recovered from a long illness. It was
in t alone the uncertainties of the last few
days that had so changed him. Theslow suf
ferings of the last three months bad deeply
shaken his being.
“All this must end,” said he, resolutely;
“if Lydia wishes me to remain,I will think no
more of this dream.”
Before ten o'clock, he was on the square of
the Eglise tin Bienheureux-varsili, watching
tlic arrival of his beloved. The many colored
roofs of innumerable domes, the fanciful
form of this singular church, alone in the
world for oddity and originality of its archi
tecture, annoyed him. Migiit not Lydia
enter one of those numerous chapels without
his perceiving her i He passed three-quarters
I of an hour in this agony, alone understood by
I those who have waited as he did. At length
Lydia, accompanied by her maid, appeared
i at the end of the square.
! Ii was a beautiful morning in December; a
bright sunshine caused the golden domes of
j the churchesiif Kremlin to sparkle above him;
I the snow which had fallen heavily during the
I night, covered the smooth pavement with its
Clear whiteness; the sky was of the purest
I bine. . ,
Lydia, her body well enwrapped m her
mantle of black velvet, a little pink hat encir
cling her fresh face, her hands hid in her muff,
] advanced slowly, with a slight swing, which
| was not altogether without grace; herser-
• vant, clumsy and red, made the most perfect
j contrast with her elegant palette
Boris watched them without
' preach: tit last they were with
of him. Lydia, who had seen hi!
a slight sign with her head, ~ J
her into tiie church. .
They passed through obscure galleries,
where the light of the candles, burning before
the images of the saints, dressed in gold and
prt cious stones, threw a strange reflection on
certain angles, while the test were plunged in
a floating and mysterious shade.
As tlie voices of the choir chanted the
she had I
destroy i
bee rein"
ness -sh
all al on
brought
and ii.i: I:
Mailan
with
cliai v
wliat tl
“ll s
not pe-
Then
wli le I
willi all In r i".”if f“r th
turns who ili-ic: •inlid llais tne la-
Two nii.nl i''sailer Ihe di pnrinre
y'i"'■ ; , J. a\aIns In n me lame with you,” saidhe, drawing near to her, that then
mi.- ,'v', v a i li i im-i Ti she s< als hnsi lf at my j whispering might not be heard.
na.il her 1“ knit. She |
its as many nei d e> as 1here aie ^l.iy-
“AYithout regret ?” said Lydia, touched.
“Without a pang, since you desire it. You
know well that I five but for you.”
Lydia pressed the hand which held hers.
Tlie invisible choir sent, at intervals, the reg
ular answers; Boris, with bowed head,waited
the word which would decide bis future.
“Why should you remain ? she said, at last,
w ith a strange mixture of shame and sadness.
“Here you can do nothing. Go then !”
“This is your advice ?” murmured Boris,
with a sinking heart.
He had hoped that she would tell him to re
main.
“Yes, it is much better.”
“Are you sure of it J”
He gazed at her, as if to read in that lovely-
face, whieh the flickering fight of the lamps
threw alternately into light and shade, but
could catch no definite expression.
“You will remain alone, without me ? Can
you live without me!”
Lydia’s hand trembled in his. “Lord have
mercy,” sang the choir, in a minor key. Tin-
prayer was repeated behind the columns, and
in the aisles of the chapels; it seemed as'lfan
angel’s heart was breaking with grief among
the stars. Boris repeated:
“You wish me to go away 5”
“Yes.” said she, w ith an irrepressible move
ment of impatience.
“Lydia, have you well reflected about what i
you say ! Two years, perhaps three years,
without seeing each other!” lie-hoped she
would object to tliis separation.
“It will be besi,” said she, a second time.
He fell on his knees beside her, as if in
prayer, and pressed her hand to his lips, on
which fell, one by one, his buruiyir tears.
She wept also under her veil. What woman
could have resisled such an gush! After an
instant she leant towards him. —
“Arise,” said she; “we shall he remarked.”
He obeyed, and his face asstfrned a sort of
marble rigidity.
“You wish it, Lydia? Be it so! I thank you.
you are more courageous than I am. I could
never ha\e done so, but it is for both our
good. In two years anil a half l will return;
then I shall be rich ami famous. You will be
mine ?
Lydia bowed her head in sign of assent.
“Say that you will lie mine,” repeated
h", wiih n feverish persistence.
“Yes,” she family murmured.
A strange thought passed through liis mind.
At ll at moment he wanted a solemn pledge,
an irrevocable ('nil), to give him confidence.
“Before that image,” said lie, pointing to
that of our Saviour, w hich looked down on
them calmly, the ice handholdingthe world,
ihe other raised Inwards ihe heavens in sign
of command, “before our Saviour swear to
be mine.”
“I canii'-t swear,” said Lydia, frightened;
“it is a sin. I lia\o promised you, is that not
enough!”
“Then pray with me; we must be together,”
replied h'-: and he dragged her before the
image scarcely visible by the trembling fight
of a lamp and of two or three candles. He
held her hand tightly, and Lydia was forced
to yield; they ti-il on their knees side by side.
Boris could not pray: in thought he volunta
rily united himself with this young girl kneel
ing beside liim, and for whom he asked the
blessing of Go 1. She could not pray either;
she was terrified; it seemed to her they* com
mitted a sacrilege, and she asked herself with
fear if God w ould not punish her for what
she was doing. An old woman, who brought
a small candle to the image, asked them in a
supplicating tone:
“Give me alms for the love of Christ, that
he may bless your marriage.”
Lydia arose quickly; Boris’took from his
pocket a little money and gave it to the old
woman, who retired overw helming I lien with
blessings.
lv. I cannot say- farewell thus.”
‘ “Where ?”
“Come to my house,” said he, in a tone of
authority. “Come with Dounia, if you art
afraid; she shall remain with you all the time.
No one will know any thing. Come, I must
speak to you freely.”
“You w ould not s]teak so freely if Dounia
heard us,” replied Lydia, with a slight air of
superiority; “if she accompanies meshe would
have too much power over me; I should be
altogether in her hands.”
The impassible follower, at two paces dis
tant, feigned to haveseen no'lung. Boris saw
that, in a practical point of view, Lydia was
right; but this reason seemed to liim very-
cold.
“Be it so,” said he, after a second’s reflec
tion, “but I must see you; find a place.”
“When do you leave ?”
“Probably this day week.”
“Very well; Saturday, at el-veil o’clock,
here, during the mass; on week lays there is
hardly any one.”
“Very well.”
A crowd of people separated Cbm; he could
not say another word to her. H- hastened to
get out, and perc. ived, a few p ens ahead of
him, the young girl, who was retiming to her
home. Her manner was not, ciaiigeil, noth
ing betrayed a new emotion ia her. lie
watched them as long as lie wild see them,
and then he ieturned home, miller feverish
or perplexed, but w ith a heart full of indes
cribable sadness. He asked ikiiseU' what
strange impulse had induced lnl to take the
image as witness to his oaili. nil could not
conceive the motive that indiii.il him to do
it. Was is not that in times of real emotion
you may mechanically retunno the habits
of former years i
While Lydia continued on hekvay towards
home, Dounia said to her:
“Is M. Boris going away?’
“Yes.”
“Altogether ?”
“For two or three years.” i
“Ho much the better, miss; »\v, nothing
will prevent your finding a d>d husband,
noble and rich, as you ought t*ave.”
Lydia, pretending not tnear, • made no
answer.
calm and indulgent, like an incarnation of
goodness on the earth, would beautify a ripe
old age.
“Mother, I will return.” murmured he, his
heart bursting with sorrow; “if you feel ill,
write me at once, and l will come to y-ou di
rectly-. I swear it to you.”
“Don’t swear,” said the pious mother, plac
ing her hand gently on his mouth. “Swear
ing is a sin; the Lord will punish us for it.
You will try to return, will you not ?”
“Yes, mother, 1 promise you,” said he v in
a low- voice. “Do y-ou wish me to remain ?”
“No; go. After so many troubles, I shall
be very- happy to see my son return rich and
happy!”
She smiled, her eyes filled with tears, and
Boris smi'ed in return, without letting go her
hands, which he raised to bis lips.
“Then you leave to-morrow ?” said the
mother, after a moment’s silence.
“The day- after tomorrow.”
“To-morrow we will have prayers said for
your journey. When do you leave Moscow ?”
“Saturday or Sunday.”
“You will write to me ?”
“Before leaving, and as soon as I arrive.”
“Very well; while you remain there y-ou
will write every week. Have you shirts
enough ?”
“I do not know, mother: I suppose so.”
“I have two or three fine pieces of linen; I
was keeping them for your marriage.”
Boris could not help making a slight tnove-
mi-nt; she glanced at him, then turned her
ey-es away, sighing.
“I will set ail my women to work, and be
fore you leave, y oil will have at least half a
dozen new ones. Wait for me.”
She took her keys from the little basket
that was always with her, and went away
with rather a languid step, as she said, to
hunt in her wardrobes. Boris, motionless in
the place she had left him, followed her with
his eyes, and saw her disappear in her room,
the liiHir of which she closed carefully-.
He remained alone for some time, dream
ing of It s future and of his past life; the win
dow, shut in a double frame, permitted him
to see but the snowy horizon, surmounted by
a (lull and snowy sky. -But how sweet and
dear to him was this humble dwelling, and
this modest horizon! His heart filled at the
same time with hope and sadness, and above
all wilh an inexpressible love for that mother
so devoted, and whom he was about to leave
in solitude, with oil age advancing. He hid
bis ey-es with his hand, and felt as sad as ever
he did in his most wretched days.
A slight noise aroused him from his sad
thoughts: he trembled, fearing he might have
been surprised by his mother. It was not
her; it was Sonia, who, standing on the
threshold, gazed on him with her eyes full of
tears. Boris had scarcely seen her, and had
spoken but a word to her in passing. For the
last two hours, crouched against the door.-he
waited for some sign of recognition from her
master. Hearing no more noise, she ventured
to enter. But she dared not go further.
“Master, you are sad,” said she, in a low
voice.
“It is nothing,” said the young man, gazing
at her kindly. “How you have grown, girl ?”
She had not grown, but h-r long dress fell
modestly as far as her ankles, w hich were
ci.vi-red with gray woollen stockings, and her
little feet with leather shoes. She followed
the glance of her master, w ho smiled at the
thought of her energetic refusal to wear
shoes.
“You ordered me to wear shoes, and I have
put them on,” said she; “they cost a silver
rouble, and the stockings I made myself.”
“Yourself!” said Boris, “you have then
learned ?”
“Yes, I have learned several things. I
have also knitted some stockings for you, my
master.”
She removed from beneath her apron an
enormous pair of gray stockings and carried
them to Boris, her face covered with blushes,
and with a smile of modest triumph at ihe
comers of her month and under her lowered
eyeliiU.
, “ Vhj'y are very dicelv done,” said Boris,
Iviinffnneh “ ’■» >v.
“It* is I who will kiLp your rooni/n order,
h pr . - - - -
“Why do you not get angry ?” asked the
^“TSaster forbade me,” repli^So^a-j.
From that day, she received the a ^ thafc
cious teasings with silence. Bej> ,a >, n q
peaceful house, no one was really : _
soon perfect tranquillity surrouiide- „ e _
signed and patient sadness of Madai
bof. .
On reaching Moscow, Friday evening,
And a number of other tilings that I have j ris found tlie prince’s answer, they
on her slender form and little hands. A long
silence followed. Boris, much amused, watch
ed her from the corners of liis eyes.
“And w hen I shall be big and strong you
will take me ?”
“Certainly-,” said the young man, very seri
ously; “but you must know-how to wash,
iron, cook,, and mend clothes ”
“I know how to do all that,” interrupted
she, raising her head proudly.
«ep your roomy
replied she, eagerly.
Do
master, is it not
you remain lon_
“Until the day after to morrow.”
“Only 1 Oh, master, now that I can sew-
and knit, and do many other things, y-ou will
take me with you to Moscow, to w-aitonyou,
will you not ?”
"Not yet,” said the young man, laughing
and sighing at the same time.
The door of Madame Grebof’s room opened
slowly. Sonia fled like a frightened swal
low, and the old lady entered with two or
three pieces of linen in lier arms. You could
see she had been weeping, though her face
was now calm. Boris ran to relieve her of
her load, and covered with kisses the hand
and cheek of this dear creature. She pressed
him with emotion in her arms. She repressed
the sigh w hich swelled her motherly heart,
then she quietly pushed him away- w ith firm
resignation.
“It is the will of God,” said she, wiping her
eyes with the corner of the piece of linen.
“To work! we have no time to lose. Tell me
exactly what you have and what you have
not; I have saved one or two hundred rou
bles, and I do not wish that my son should go
to the capital like an orphan deprived of ev-
rytiling. Sit down there and let us make
out u fist.”
CHAPTER XVII.
In the evening, on entering the little room,
which he was about to leave for so long, Bo
ris found Sonia who w aited for him by the
door.
“I am come to take away your clothes
to 1 irush them,’ said she, by- w*av of explana
tion.
Mechanically Boris took off his coat and
gave it to her, then sat down at the table
where, w hen a hoy, lie had cut all sorts of
figures with his penknife.
she;
p sail I ale
God would ' solemn prayers of the advent season, Lydia
t i . a. « n milimin ill fill UllLMO OL tllO
full '
'(- uiiliapi
and i wall, made two or three times the sign ot the
piayed I cross mechanically, then turned towards
i riea- Boris. „„ ,
if (b d. “You do notlook well, said she
of Boris ought not to have come out. ..
: I "1 had something very important, to tell
‘and you
greeable?” ask-
i ren-
hich she
What now? something diss
ed she, in an annoyed tone.
“No, my angel, not exactly.
And while anneal ing absorbed m his medi-
tat ions, he related, in clear and brief terms,
the contents of the letter he had received; the
only thing he did not tell her—why he could
not tell—was the name of his correspondent.
breaks as many in
the 1.10, II,: bill she is ' <’> y " din g. however,
sonulin.es she is so hea.lsliong that 1 quite
despair: she has lake,, a giea disuke to the
lamidi ess. and nothing can n.luce her 1
dei h. r one of 1hosc lillfe sevvn
lavishes ,,, Dacha and my^^”8 ITany ratrLydte did not ask it of him; she
aVslY iJihc miickest in the house, she waits listened in si lance, not without emotion, but
nift n e-ii the t-ible- but »e have not been ! of what nature that emotion was, she could
able to fndUcU’emto w ear shoes. You ought ! not tell, and when he finished she remained
tertowearsboesand*tacSngl lia I will re’jfl j "ell?” said Boris, astonished at hersi-
her that sentence, and perhaps we shall be j fence.
CHAPTER YI.
The same evening Greff w-iote to the
prince, and while awaitil his answer, he
went to say farewell to himotlnr. At this
unexpected arrival the d lady imagined
that something unusual id iuppened. It
w as useless for her son to e the most subtle
circumlocutions.
“I-see what it is,” said ?* to him; “y-ou
are going away from me for sditime. Had
it not been so you would not hacome when
Christmas is so near. Tell me, least, are
you sure you are doing well ?”
This calm and resignation relic! the heart
of Boris of a great weight, wid en found
courage to relate to her the unled-for turn
in his prospects in fife. As he lained the
future whieh opened 1 tefore hiae was as
tonished to find himself gayer I gayer: a
heavy load, carried unconsciotl till then,
seemed to tie lifted from his lldeis; the
fife w hich was presented to liirts still that
of work, but a loved work, inigent, and
no longer that fierce Kittling wjhfiicultics.
Madame Grtbof listened to 1 watching
him with her motherly eyes, atfllowed his
discourse with all the concentrfi of which
she was capable. Astonished at.being in
terrupted, Boris stopped in thiddle of a
gay- phrase. j
“You say nothing, mother ?’ <
returned to him. Everything in the house
seemed to speak to him' with a penetrating
and familiar voice, and to remind him he had
grown older. Sonia gently pulled his sleeve;
he awoke from his reverie.
“What do you want ?” said he.
Tlie eyes of the little one were opened wide
ly-, as in the darkest day's of her dependence;
a wild anguish distorted her face.
“They say that you are going away- on a
long journey, Boris Ivanovitch, is it true ?”
: is true,” replied Boris, astonished at
forgotten,” said Boris, at the end of his cata
logue.
“When I shall know all, will you take me ?”
“You must also learn to live at peace with
the other servants,” added the young man,
more severely; •‘they say that you areal-
ways quarreling with some one; it is not
enough to oliey your masters; you must also
live in peace with your companions.”
Sonia said nothing more; with her head
hung, she stood rolling the comer of her apron
in her fingers, while bitter tears ran down her
cheeks. Without knowing it. Boris had just
touched a vunerable point; the servant wo
men never ceased to tell her that she could
never serve a master till she accustomed her
self to suffer the caprices of her equals.
“I will try and ilo as you say,” murmured
she, after a short silence; “and when I am
vorv gentle will you take me ?”
“Yes,” answered Boris: “but 1 am tired, it
is late: go and sleep.”
“(fooil-night, master.”
She shut the door, weeping silently; but
Boris absorbed in his thoughts, did not hear
the sound of her new shoes in the’corridor.
\\ ii limit | laving much attention, he was re
tiring to bed, when he heard a smothered sigh
outside his door. He listened, the noise was
heard at regular intervals. He got up quietly,
and opened the door. Stretched on the floor,
Sonia was weeping with her whole heart.
“Will you go to bed ?” said he, raising her
up.
Her strength all gone, she laid helplessly
against him.
“Oh, my master! I love you so much,”
murmured she, between her sobs, “and I shall
lie so long without seeing you!”
“L will return," said Boris, touched by this
deep devotion: “I will return and you will
see me as much as you please.”
“If you will let me serve you one day.”
“You shall wait on me if you will lie a
good'obedient little girl.”
“I will do all that you tell me.”
“Very well; go to bed now at once. Sleep
well, and to-morrow morning.at seven o’clock
come and bring me a cup of warm milk, as
you used to. You remember
“Yes, my- master,” said the child, partly
consoled, anil she disappeared in the darkness
of the corridor.
The next day passed by turns both quick
ly and slowly. The morning of the third
(lay, Boris, on awaking, could hardly remem
ber if a year or a day had passed since his re
turn from the counti-y. lie quicklv remem
bered that he must 1 -ave for Moscow, and he
hastened to dress himself.
In a few minutes liis mother appeared, se
rious but resigned, and at times almost smil
ing. Her vigilant activity had thought of
everything, .mil many times later during his
stay, Boris had occasion to bless the hand
that had provided for his slightest wants.
The well-filled tranks were at length fast
ened, the village pastor came to partake of
the farewell meal, an 1 repeat the prayer for
the travelers.
A few minutes more, and the sledge, with
its ringing harness, stopped at tiie door. The
moment had arrived.
Madame Grebof took her son in her arms,
the tears whieh she could no longer restrain
accompanied her blessing; her voice failed
her. Boris could only catch a few broken
syllables; but never were words better under
stood.
“Remember your mother,” said those re
signed tears, “remember that for twenty-two
years you have been her only care, aiid her
whole joy, that she lived but for one thought,
to make you an honest and intelligent man;
l-ememliu- thatvshe would give her life to as-
dishonest man|” ' f
Boris understood all this, and if he said
nothing, Ins answiT was well understood by
the heart which beat sadly against his own.
A word of farewell to the old and faithful
servants—and Sonia—thev sought her every
where in vain. Time had passed. Boris
charged his mother with an affectionate fare
well for the orphan. and well wrapped in furs
all, master, servants, went out on the door
step.
The snow was falling in large flakes, soft as
the swans down, on the ground already cov
ered deeply from the preceding storms;'there
was not a breath of air, the sky was low, and
the horizon seemed quite close; silence was
everywhere.
The villagers had al] assembled in tlie yard
to take leave of the young master. Boris
glanced among the crowd; Sonia was not
thereeither. A little uneasy, he again recom
mended the little stranger to the care of the
servants who loved him, and embracin'’ his
mother for the last time, seated himself in the
low sledge with slightly elevated sides and
uncovered his head to bid farewell to the
folks lie loved.
His mother gave him a blessim- the sledge
started, passing slowly by tlie door, and lire
over the soft snow of fleecy whiteness. The
church disappeared behind him. then one
after another all the houses of the villa
elfildren. larSU ^ h ° ld opeu for him 1 • Y the
Boris sighed and again turned to see liis
home once more: the snowy curtain hid it
fiom his view; lie could only perceive a gray
mass. winch faded away in another moment
But at the turn of tlie road, near a grove of
hrs. appeared a small figure almost transform
ed into a statue from the white flakes of snow
It was Soma who, standing in the middle of
die road, made signs to the driver to stop. A
little handkerchief was on her head,
ris round the prince s an*»w n. * j .. * .1
e<l him; lie could leave as soon as pussib e,tne
mid-day if he wished. “This letter co
an order for a large amount to cover n
penses,” said Armianoff. •_!,*
After having passed a portion of the nignt
in arranging his pajiers and books, tovart
the morning Boris took a little rest, at L .
o’clock he went out, Knight two betrotnai
rings at a jeweler’s, and went to the Lniu
du Bienheureux Vassili, where Lydia baa
promised to meet him that day.
His heart beat fast when he entered the
door. , ,
“Did that moment really forebode a sep-
a rati on ho said to himself, with incredu
lity; it is not possible, for the mind at tunes
refuses to admit of certain things, even be
fore full evidence, and seems to retreat from
pain. . _ . . ,
O11 the other hand, the ring which he was
about to plac e on Lydia’s finger would be a
tie between them, which would always be
present before her, and would not that ring
si eak to her of her betrothal i
(To bp, continued.)
MRS. PRATT;
— OR, —
The Woman that was Always
Ailing.
By A. E.
There are some people who are always ailing.
One of this class was Mrs. Sophronia l’ratr.
According to her own account she was, with
out a (loubt, one of tin- most unfortunate fe
males that ever liv- *d. She was never known
to call herself well. When she didn’t have
the headache, she had the backache, or some
other kind of ache, and, as she remarked to a
neighbor, sho hadn’t seal the time tor seven
teen years that .-he hadn't been troubled with
tome ache or other. She used to be taken
down very suddenly, and <>n the most unex
pected occasions. Whcneve- her husband
refused her request for money, or in any
other way interfered with her wishes, she
was sure to be in a critical condition before
twenty-four hours had elapsed. At -ueh
times she would send for her hu-bai.d, and
inform him in the most solemn manni r that
she was about to leave the world, and en
joined upon him, if he had a second wife, to
treat her with more kindness and considera
tion ; end, uK>ve all, never to scold her for
complaining when siie was really sick.
Her hu-band finally got used to her com
plaints, and refused to lake any notice of
them. It rarely happened that a day passed
without Mr. Pratt’s being informed how deli
cate his wife’s health was. And on one occa
sion, when he told her that more than half
her ailments were imaginary, she assured him
that he would think differently some time,
for she could not live long, as she had done.
She told i ini she could bear it a little better
ii’ he had any sympathy for her, “ but tuat,"
said she, “I never exjiect from you.”
One day, early in September, Mr. Pratt
was engaged in digging potatoes in afield
about a quarter of a mile distant from the
bouse, when he. was startled by.the sudden
arrival of his oldest boy, panting and breath
less.
“ What’s the matter?” asked Mr. Pratt, in
a voice of mingled surprise and apprehension.
“Mother!”—ejaculuted the boy, but being
out of breath, that was all he could say for
t le Y.ime being.
ting what was coming, Mr. Pratt,
wv**‘ Sfcbeved from liis anxiety,^ wen*,
v-ulposedly with m- ,
She says she’s goin’
thl- hoy, in a fresh hurst,
come home and receivehei
“Let me see,” said Mr. P.,j
pear so much overcome by ■
as might have been expected,!
third time within a month tlf
has lieen dying. She’s
i guess she’ll get over it.’
fja:.^aw; vv
wants you to
words*
10 did not ap-
intelligence
ibis is tins the
it your mother
^knnlof hysterieky.
In due time Mr. Pratt reaped the bedside
ot Ins wite.
“I'm glad you’ve come, Mr. Pratt’’said
she, m a feeble voice; “I don’t expwt I’ve
got more nan hour to live. You haven’t
treated me so well as you might. Pratt, hut I
,n . l .' t , 1 t ' )r o m ' - " u * as a Christian should.”
*‘Uh, I ^cuess you ain’t so Kk»<1 as all
Sophnini i,’’ sain her lmsKmd! “Yo^Wot
Y'Ht’fi.b® u pa s bright
Fjatt,” said his
“It is true,” replied Boris,
her quick, sharp voic
"You take away the young lady with
you ?”
“What an idea! Whv no! Where did you
learn that ?”
“Then do you not love her any longer ?”
“That lias nothing to do with you.”
“And is it true that you will lie two years
without returning V
“Yes.”
“You will not take me with you?”
“I cannot, my poor child,” replied Boris,
shrugging his shoulders. “I do not know my
self where I am going. 1 shall no longer bb
at liK'rty Sonia,’’ added ho. in remarking the
frightened expression of the child’s counte
nance. "I shall go w here another man wish
es me to go—a very good man—hut i can no
longer go where I would wish."
“It is your own free will j”
"" By, yes, it is in order that I can work as
much as 1 wish.”
Sonia bowed her head and reflected an in,
stant, but it was too difficult l'or her to under?
stand. She could not comprehend it and re
turned to her first idea.
“Take me with you, master,” said she.
“Y oil promised not 10 abandon.me.”
I do not abandon you,” said Boris slightly
A hundred recollections of his childhood ckmk iw taH&ly "a paneV’LTin ^nlker!
ch,et 0,1 h ‘- r “rm. She had waited there
nearly an hour.
“Sonia!” cried Boris, pleased but startled
to see her there. “I looked for von every-
where.” -
“Master take me with you, I beseech you,”
sun the little one, with suppliant voice- “I
will be very obedient. She fixed her lar-e
eyes her master, trying to persuade him by
tue ie-vor ot her prayer. "! will do dl Hint
vott tell me. I will ’ quarrel with
You see I am all ready to go take
you!”
I cannot, my-child, you know very well
is very cold l etUni , l uk ' ki y to tlie house, it
“Farewell, master.” said
voice. “I will do all that you ha
to do.”
“Anil then I will take you with me,” said
Boris, gaily. ’ 11
“Are you in earnest'?”
‘Jfl, truI Y■ if J'OH should still wish it”
added the young man, who expected to see
this fancy pass away in time.
The stiff and frozen lingers of the child
stretched out to seize the hand of Boris, b it
he leant forward ami kissed heron I er bah
which was covered with fine snow
back to let the sledge pass on.
“Au revoir!” cried Boris, tonkin
“God keep you,” replied she.
The sledge ,resumciI its course* bet
as the next Uirn. Boris, w ho looked hack frmn
time to time? could see through the snow rul
ing heavily# the dark form of the orphan
>re he had left her. Whife he
hi- w ay to Moscow, Sonia re-
thi* blues, that’s all,
as ever to-morrow moniin
“ You're very unfeelin,
wife, “ to address such rt _
with one foot in the grave, an,ltoother'fert
slipping over the edge. However, I forgive
vou i-s 1 sanl oefore. Ami I want to have a
little serious eonvei satn>n with you concern
ing nur children, who will so soon be left
motherless. I want them to stay with von
lor tl." present. When they become older it
"ill be soon enough for them to so from
home. But now they- need a mother’s cure
and it is chiefly on their account that I am
sorry to leave you. Of couise, after a sue ,
hie time has elapsed, you will marry again"
nnil i cannot die happy without knowing who
ts to have the cure of my chili Ken in future u
con i oophronia, you’re making
years*vet." 1 ^- vou ' n
“Ah. Pratt, you’ve toll me so before
y-ou will soon feci very differently aboutV
l have thought of all my female acmaim
anct’s. but there is only one that | tt:'!
would suit you, aud that is Helen Parker the
Plan,
seei i
-tr, i
no one.
me with
in a doleful
have told me
“I listen to you,” she answerkind I call annoyed, “since 1 leave yen with my mother,
down upon you tlie Saviour’s ling.” | and I do not think she will make you unliap-
“Y*ou give your consent tf -aid he, py.”
seizing with ardor his moth*vhite and “Oh, no, she is like you.”
dimpled hand, to carry it to h?s. Boris laughed,
“Since your happiness is *, go, my-
son,” replied she. “God Yvill kps permit
me to live long enough to see tetum once
more.’
Boris fell on his knees 16 her; the
thought of losing his mother, p-Uy loved,
had never as yet entered his 1 be had al
ways had a vague impressionthey would
descend together the path of J n d that in
old age he would have at his »© the silver
locks of his mother by the si’pf his own
whitening hairs, and that siiB always
She drew
; back,
as far
Major's iiie!
“V\ ell,’••said Mr. Pratt.’changing hj g
“Helen is a fine girl, and I think v?
of her. Besidi
that you would not lie withus long jq t ;
to Hrimi aK,,it taking yottrpla^ro^
“Anil what did she say!” ask Il rs . p ,
n to have regained Mime of h er ' 10
ti:, as she raised herself hi be,j_ 11
“Oh, she said she would he Very h an _„ ,
no so, if there was an opportiniitv,’’ S ai/u\r'°
I .. turning away with a smill ’•■r) m v ® r -
think 1 anFfortunate. Soph; ifci-y’i c * You
“Fortanatel” exclaimed Ji.-i P ... f
fa! of her sickness, slm jum^o get 7
the room; “ S o tins trollop is anii, )IK , P a ccd
ueath. is she! She can unit l on L.."‘.."'Y
she expect::. I’ll live to spite ter-Gl-,,,t, llan
Tim next morning Mrs. P.. gu „ p
pared breakiiist, as u-md. T 1stw,an *- >re "
tiuie her husband was called toiler J , ias t
Judging from present indicai oas q ,'“ed.
" ill live to see Miss Helen a coimY’ "Mi
maid. ““fined old
l£ii»L si53<5.is of’I.oCt:>.—-Lntt,
tress. ho h.is been charge i by a ,,
longshoreman -with being tlft'amn, 8 "*'
' X. ot aer of his
"edile.l
■osi^ui'H-iii.m *• ill? iiie iw]
three children and his own lasirfQjj
wife, kicks up lr-r lieeis and i-ays d,
3 the
form
minion aceu-ation. W lie
larly impecunious father of
fails to provide tor himself a ij
in any other wav. lie sets
But it is not the sains ( tiling,” continued
Soma, obstinately. “I love Varvssra-PeU-ov-
na very much, but it is Yvith you that I wish
to go.”
“I cannot take you,” said Boris, severely-
and quite despairing of being able to make
the little savage understand, he added; “See
how thin and small you are. How eouidyrto-
wash the linen and carry the water and woo<f
up to the fourth story ? You see that you
could not serve me.”
Sonia, discouraged, threw a mournful glance
.e hi inse.
b you come from ?” asked Dacha
tie looked ft r you everv-
,the master has left without yom-
God speed.
i the master n-;ti we him , ■,
farewe 11 to each other ” replied the little on!?
Where was that ?” t -
“On the road.”
DOttake leav e ofl.imherelikea
Sonia made no reply, lowered her head and
took up her work. One after the other al
the servant wojneii reproached her in the
same way, but she remained calm .
Soma was silent; all were watching her.
i ] _ Particu-
1 family
upl iii i S fafaprmg
the husband of Lotta, ami as
to her to remit. This discln£re ? Y W| ites
cinat’ng little actress opens up to ffijS
and extensive field of indu-try, . u : s “ new-
some light upon what has liiiht-i-to lb*, throws
plexing my story to most of Us. t? 11 a per-
for the felioYvs that one sees-h^o- acK ounts
the stage doors and box oflii® of t£„ ? a K>ut
who are not act ora and ot t-tuinly- “theatres,
ers. They are the husbands jbfr- 0 * report-
York Star. ^ ’ 0tl a—Aeu-
Wlu-ii l!c isliacmtfk,
is as bad a hunter as he is a
this does not prevent him. i
hunting season comes round,]
fortnight in the field with doj
“And that’s tlie only pea
when he doesn’t kill anythin
his colleagues, kindly.
i%2r torx
as tiie
afts"***
>" s^ v tlle yees
one ot
The Waver Steam Fire It
Company of New Orleans wftl a nd Hose
supper on them approachi "g *titiiy anil