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THE SUNNY SOUTH.
EVEN UNTO DEATH;
—on THE—
Mystery of Monk’s Tower.
BY RONE ANHLEICH,
Of Non Hi Carolina.
Author of "His Other Wife,” "The Wid-
• ow's Wages,'' etc.
CHAPTER XVI.
^SAVED. ’
One shadowy chance— scarcely less jrerilous
than the dread certainty that opened its jaws
before the countess—presented itself to Lord
Creveldt forier rescue. That Rudigercould
reach and imerpose between the road Ninon
and the precipice was now impossible. More
than thrice his length still separated them,
and a few more of Nincjn’s stiides would
finish the tragedy.
The earl was not the man t<3 bait for the
space of a breath before the inevitable.
Either way, the worst that could come was a
fearful death to the fair, frail woman near
ing the chasm.
Sharp and loud above the deep voice of the
sea rang the Yeport af a pistol-shot levelled
from Lord Creveldt’s hand. With, an almost
human cry Ninon leaped into the air, flung
up her proud crest and fell backw ard—dead.
The ball had pierced her brain.
Almost simultaneouly (as it seemed) with
the discharge of the weapon, Lady Ina had
fallen forward upon her horse’s neck. The
movement saved her life, for her arms clung
round Ninon's neck awl prevented her being
hurled from her saddle upon the stony sur
face of the cliff, when the mare fell, luckily
on her haunches, then rolled heavily to her
right side.
As it was, a cry of pain escaped the count
ess when lx>rd Creveldt lifted her from the
earth, where she Jay beside the dead mare.
Her face was white and scared, and the agony
of her late despair still wrung her features
from their soft repose. A spot of blood
stained one temple, and the shoulder of her
jacket showed a small rent, through which a
red ooze appeared.
Neither of them spoke a single word; but
they looked unutterable things into each-
other’s eyes. There, soul'appealed unto soul
in that mysterious interchange of feeling
through which the deepest hidden secret of
the heart can make its way unbidden.
Sick and faint from the pain of her hurts,
I July Ina rested passive in the earl’s sustain
ing arms fora moment, in which all time
seemed drifting from her—and she content
to let it slip away with the tender yearning
of his eyes bent on her so.
Neither of them were aware that other
eyis read their faces as an open book; but the
earl started to hear the silky tones of Joan
Rochester saying above them!
“Is she much hurt?’’
“I have not had time for any thought but
gratitude that she is alive,” answered Lord
Creveldt, slowly, as be raised the countess to
her feet.
But it was useless. She could not stand,
and her wounds were bleeding fast.
“Take Rudiger and ride back for the car
riage,’’ said the earl to Lord Percy, who
stood by, stunned and shivering.
Then turning to Miss Rochester, he said:
“Sit down here and take her head upon
your lap, while I bind our handkerchiefs to
these bruises.”
Joan obeyed in silence, while, not unskil
fully-, Lord Creveldt staunched the ugly cut
on the countess’s temple, and without saying
“By your leave,” unwrapped the silken scarf
from Joan’s neck and made a bandage of it
to keep the kerchief in place upon the bleed
ing shoulder.
Of all this the countess seemed to take no
heed, but lay quite still upon Joan’s lap,
she had offered it to him a few hours previ
ous.
She stood for some moments watching his
departure ere sue returned to the upper
room where Lady Ina lay asleep, under the
soothing spell of an opiate, with the sinister
face of Dr. Raolfo bending over her pillow.
A very perceptible expression of annoy
ance came into Raolfo's eyes as they encoun
tered Joan’s.
He said with an unmistakable emphasis:
“I thought youw-ere going, mademoiselle.”
“You were mistaken, signor. I intend to
stay and nurse the countess.”
Greek met Greek in the look that these
two exchanged across the low, white couch
where Lady Ina lay profojmdly at rest—not
dreaming what strange affiance w-as to be
formed between Hhese two for her undoing.
With that deeply subtle intuitiveness that
amounted almost to divination, Joan Roch
ester had scented a mystery the moment her
feet crossed the threshold of the Monk’s
Tower Castle. And in the swarthy, guileful
face of the Italian, as he leaned over the
, countess on the cliff, she had traced the char
acters of veiled passions at work beneath the
surface nonchalance. Besides all this, as we
have discovered, she had a vital interest at
stake, for the protection of which this same
evil-eyed foreigner might lend inestimable
aid.
It concerned Joan Rochester's dearest hope
in life to keep Lord Creveldt’s fancy unen
tangled. It did not require half her penetra
tion to see that his interest had fastened it
self to the counters in no ordinary- manner
Dr. Raolfo might be hei relative as well as
her guardian, but that he was also her lover
Joan had discovered long before his supple
brown bands had finished their professional
work about her wounds.
CHAPTER XVII.
MEASURING SWORDS.
gentle, so lovely. Indeed, you should have i naturally along, and then breaking in sud-
seen both grandfather and grandson kissing j denly with some abstract idea which had no
and cherishing each other. The old man i possible connection with time, place, or sub
spoke to the child in the same manner that ject under discussion. Her remarks, bow
he would have done to a big grown person, ever, invariably had the effect of taking the
and Paul had always in store answers that entire company so completely by surprise
„ w . , - -1 * * — confounded everyone, so wonderfuliv preco- that they- were stunned into silence and re
mained vividly impressed on her thoughts, ’the light disappeared from the grass, and a j cious was his intellect. The little one stud- quired some time to recover from the shock.
She almost regretted her determination to ; minute later she saw it glimmer through the j ied the violin, and when the lesson was over I She was tmlv—as Flora confidentially ex
stay when the idea of a lonely vigil through , chinks of a shutter that fitted into the case-
another the dark legends of the Monks Tow- that seemingly unearthly spot of light upon
er revived in her remembrance. Ghost-bke the grass below the window,
forms seemed to move among the shadows i Then there came the faint, smothered echo
of the park and garden, upon which she gazed ! of groans within the upper chimber, just
from a front window. j above that whence the light fell, or so it
Amidst all these imaginings the face of the j seemed to her.
Italian, wearing its baffling expression, re- ; A few minutes after this appalling sound
the long dreary night presented itself. “It j ment of the upper chamber. A breathless
had already been several hours since Lord j horror held her rooted to the balcony-, and
Creveldt left, saying he would return during j again the chains were slowly dragged over
faintly moaniig and veiy pale.
The Earl tinned from her to the dead body
of the beautiful Arabian mare. He had not
dreamed that the weapon—which for years
he had carried about his person against a
time of despierate need that at any moment
he knew might come to him—would serve to
save a precious life, and take that of the poor
dumb servant at his feet. For the first time
he could be glad of the necessity that had
forced him to w alk so long among his fellows
armed like a desperado, and forever on the
alert for a reeontre that would surely end
his own or another man’s existence.
“Are you afraid to stay here alone with
her for a while'” asked Lord Creveldt of
Miss Rochester.
“No, certainly not. But why.'”
“The Monk's Tower is but half a mile away
through the forest. I will go and fetch her
uncle, Dr. Raolfo. His art is needed, and he
is the nearest physician.”
“I think that will be wise; she seems much
hurt.”
Mounting the Paladin—whose bridle the
marquis had fastened to a shrub hard by the
spot where he had dismounted—Loid Cre
veldt rode away, and soon returned with the
Italian leech.
“I fear there may be concussion of the
brain,’’said the doctor, after examining the
cut and ugly bruise on Lady Ilia’s head. She
was now quite unconscious, but meaning as
if in great pain.
“We have a shot wound here,” added the
doctor, who had ripped the sleeve from his
patient's arm and shoulder and showed a
deep gash caused by the grazing of the ball
that now lay buried in Ninon's skull. Lord
Creveldt’s features quivered with a convul
sive pang as he looked dow n upon the hid
eous furrow his shot had ploughed through
the tender white flesh of the lovely- arm,
round which the docter bound anew some
shreds of linen he had matted together like a
surgeon's pad and laid upon the wound.
It was a curious sluoy to si e how Joan
Rochester’s furtive glance scrutinized every
ebanging line upon Lord Creveldt's counten
ance.
In a little while advancing wheels announc
ed the approach of the carriage from
Rochelle.
•‘She must be taken to the castle,” said the
doctor with decision, as tl ey placi d tbe
wounded woman on the cushions of tbe
coach, with Joan beside to support her.
“Can we not take better care of her at
Rochelle!” said Lord Creveldt, loth, he scarce
knew why, to resign his guest to the custody
of her rightful guardian, and her ow n abode.
“Thanks, my lord, but she must be where
I can give my constant attention to her case,
and that will not be possible anywhere else
than at the castle.”
There w as no more to be said. The doctor’s
manner, though exquisitely courteous was
imperative.
“We shall accompany you,” said tbe earl.
Ordering the carriage to drive slowly to
the castle, he rode beside the Italian.
“I intend to remain wiib tbe countess,”
announced Miss Rochester, w hen she returned
from Lady Ina's chamber, afler assisting to
make her comfortable in bed, to w in re Lord
Creveldt waited for her in the gleat hall of
the castle.
"Doyou!” lam very glad. I could not
bear the idea of abandoning her to the gloom
and solitude of tbis dismal place.”
“1 thought you would like it that I should
stay. Then, too, I think 1 can be of use to
her. There is only one female creature in
their household I understand, and she has
not yet arrived from Ri chelle—Benedetta,
the countess’s maid, you know.”
“Yes. It is kind of you to remain, dear
Joan. Shall Isend Anson with yonrthings?”
“No, not Anson; she may be in tbe way
here. It seen s a curious establishment.
Just ask Lady Hounsley to have seme cloth
ing sent me. ’ She will know.”
"Let me not keep you now; I will call this
evening for news of our friend's health. Bye-
bye, Joan: take good care of tbe poor child.
I fear she is badly injured.”
•‘You need not be too unhappy,” said Joan,
forcing herself to smile, while her heart was
tasting seme bitter drops as she noted the
keen anxiety under the earl’s controlled man
ner. “I fancy tbere can le no vital in
jury. Tbe fleeter sstmsto have no serious
apprel ensions. In any case, I shall donij-
best for her.”
“I am sure of it. Jean.”
“And he pnessed her hand more warmly, a
thousand times, she inegited, than when
The reader is at no pains to guess why Dr.
Raolfo should regard the presence of a
strange woman as an inconvenient addition
to the present occupants of the castle.
But w-ben it is considered that he had very
accurately measured Miss Rochester’s intel
lectual stature, and much more than surmised
tbe subtleties of her capacious character, his
dismay at her resolute announcement can
easily be conjectured. A thousand appalling
possibilities flashed through his mind which
cannot now be explained.
But the unexpected, and as he clearly saw,
unavoidable fact was before him. By naf ure
crafty, and by severe training diplomatic to
the last degree, he never made the mistake of
“kicking against the pricks.” Rather made
he gracious speed, tbe sooner to be relieved
of them.
It was only a moment, therefore, that he
suffered the imense discontent he felt at. her
purpose to appear in his countenance. Forc
ing his utmost suavity to replace it, he said
in his most dulcet tones and in French:
“Bow inestimably kind of you, mademoi
selle !”
Be it remembered that he always spoke
French when it was possible—English he
found too difficult of pronunciation; and his
own language he avoided because of its flu
ency lest he might say more than he wished.
When he used the comprehensive Gallic
tongue he felt sure of himself.
“No, lam more kind to myself than to
her,” said Joan, glancing tow ards Lady Ina.
“I could not have rested a moment in peace
had I gone away leaving her like this. She
cannot need any care but your own, signor;
for I see you are as devoted as you are skill
ful.”
“Indeed, far more so. mademoiselle. How
should I not be? She is the child of my
heart.”
“Your niece I believe?”
“That, and my ward, as well as the adopt
ed of my love.”
“Yet you do not seem old enough to enter
tain so paternal a sentiment towards a wo
man who must be at least half your own age.”
Joan purposely let her eyes wander over
the handsome person of the Italian.
“Nevertheless it is true. Besides, one does
not always carry a chronicle of one’s years
upon one’s face.”
“Say rather that some faces are endowed
with a quality of immortality that defies the
touch of time.”
Joan’s splendid eyes invested the compli
ment that her words conveyed with a mean
ing far more captivating than any extrav
agance of speech. Tbe swart cheek of the
doctor acknowledged it by a very perceptible
change of color. I think it is a fact—it is
certainly my own experience—that men,
even tbe most conceited, receive a tribute to
their personal or other attractions with more
apparent sensibility than women do—possi
bly because they are less used to praise, or
else they value it more. In any case, the
flattery of Miss Rochester’s approving eyes
was not an easy thing for a man to receive
unmoved.
“One cannot doubt that, mademoiselle, in
B resence of yonr own. One would say that
leath itself could not hurt such matchless
features.”
“On the contrary, I fancy they would be
improved. I could Ihei pass fora marble
Psyche. As it is, the color mars the ideal
ity,” said Joan, without a shade of embar
rassment.
Dr. Raolfo had crossed from his place be
side bis patient’s couch, and now- stood fac
ing Joan beside tbe broad French window
that looked upon the ruined gardens. From
tbis point they could see the heavy stone but
tresses of the ivy-covered tower.
“In heaven’s name, what brought youto
this abandontd aid desolate place?” asked
Miss Rochester, abruptly changing the theme
of their talk, as her eye rested on an angle
of the tower wall, green with damp mould.
“Its piciuresqueness. mainly. Then, tco,
its profound quiet. Lady Ina is an artist
and I am a student. She loves the wild
beauty—I tbe stillness of an abode like tbis.
We examined many mere modern and com
fortable residences without finding anything
to attract us to locate in them. This charmed
us both.”
Joan made no response to this assertion,
but kept her gaze upon the gloomy old tower
with a sort of laseination.
“You know the legends associated with
the castle ?”
“Certainly. They add to its value in my
opinion.” ,■
“And the countess?’’
“Is romantic enough to fancy them also.”
Joan dissented from tbis idea with a shiver
as she forcibly witLdrew her eves from the
dreary scene before her, and turned them to
her e’empanien's fe ce. Evidently he had
been intently studving heis. His glance
shifted hastily, and he stepped once more to
the bed and touched Lady Ina’s pu'se.
“Since you are good enough to remain
w ith us, madt moiselle, I shall use the privi
lege of my profession, 'and give you some
direc tions concerning my patient.”
Joan crossed to the couch and fixed her
gaze attentively on the doctor, while he con
tinued :
“Please to keep this bandage carefully in
position, and constantly saturated with the
iced water. At imervals of half an hour
moisten her lips with tbe draught tbere in
that goblet, and od no account quit her side
for a single instaDt until my return. Every
symptom must be carefully observed and
reported.”
"You can rely upon me. I am a good
nurse, and not w’ltbcut some experience.”
“So much the t etter. Lady Ina's condition
is very criticai.”
With this tbe doctor moved noiselessly
frern the chamber, closing the door seeurely
after him. His slippered feet made no sound
in the gallery. Joan listened, but could not
decide in what diiection he had gone. Hours
passed; the sullen clouds had begun to vent
their wrath in lew mutterings and sinister
flashes of lurid light. The nis.ht drew on,
and a mere dismal scene than the castle pre
sented can scarcely be imagined. No sound
of human life stirred anywhere about it.
The air seen ed thick with the breath of the
brooding ten pest.
Joan Rochester loved warmth and light
and ease with the fervid fondness of a native
of the terrid zene. The chill and darkness
of this st01 my eyenirg oppressed her griev
ously. Sle longed fora lamp to assist the
blue flickering fie me of tbe coal fire in dis
pelling the gloom. A thousand ghastly
fancies flitted through ter train as one after
the evening to make inquiry of the wounded
lady’s state; but the rain was falling heavi
ly, and Joan could not persuade herself that
tbe earl would choose to bra've the weather
w-hen he could as well receive the tidings by
a messenger.
There was much more than surprise in her
mind when Dr. Raolfo, returning with a
lamp, informed her that the earl was below,
and desired to speak with her. With some
thing of malignity, her eyes sought the
fever-flushed face of the unconscious woman
w-ho occasioned this intense solicitude. Dr.
Raolfo encountered that hook on its passage
to and from his patient. Inwardly^ he
smiled—outwardly he expressed nothing.
“Give me your hand, mademoiselle, lest
you lose your footing down the dim stair
way,” said the doctor, w ho had accompanied
Joan through the gallery after posting Ben-
detta beside her mistress.
She put her fingers in his hand, but shrunk
away, finding it cold, and its clasp convul
sive. It seemed to her that the immutable
grip of a fate had closed on her.
Raolfo looked up into her eyes^nd smiled
so much as to show the gleam of his pure
white teeth. His face was simply demoniac
as she saw it in the jiallid light of the single
candle that burned in the great hall.below.
With sharp petulance she inquired:
“What amuses you, signor ?”
The smile broadened, and the doctor re
plied, jest full}-:
“Mademoiselle is a sensitive plant.”
“Your hands are like death. One need not
be like the mimosa to recoil from their ghoul
ish touch.”
She was laughing as she spoke, but did not
succeed by this device in hiding the real aver
sion that she felt.
For reasons of his own, Dr. Raolfo chose
to preside over the conference of his two
guests until the last moment. Neither of
them perceived that his restless black eyes
were delving beneath the surface of com
mon courtesy that prevailed to find the clue
by which to unravel the web that enmeshed
tbeir lives.
If Joan had discovered the doctor’s senti
ments toward Lady Ina, the doctor had not
failed to catch a glimpse of some feeling far
different to mere kindliness under the earl’s
anxious countenance, which he had watched
incessantly from the instant Lord Creveldt
came to tell him of the countess’s accident.
“You will not fail to let my mother come
if she grows worse ?” said the earl, on tak
mg leave of the doctor, who gave the requir
ed promise.
CHAPTER XVIII.
MISS ROCHESTER EXPLORES THE HAUNTED
“Giacomo will serve us some supper now,
mademoiselle. The countess and myself
have not adopted your English custom of
dining at night, but take the meal of the day
in pnmitiue fashion at two o’clock,” said'Dr.
Raolfo, as he conducted Miss Rochester from
the large saloon, in which they had received
Lord Creveldt, to a smaller chamber further
down the hall, that was fitted up quite hand
somely for a dining-room, and in which all
the meals were served.
A small round table was spread with ele
gant silver and glass.and very delicate viands
and fruits with choice wines.
Giacomo seemed thoroughly versed in the
art of serving a meal attractively.
In this warm bright apartment Joan for
got for a little the weirdness that pervaded
the place, as she sat opposite the saturnine
host, pouring out the exqu site tea into the
most delicate of china cups, a feeling of com
fort displaced the chill, bodeful sensations so
lately experienced. A change equally pleas
ing had come over the doctor, who seemed
entirely to have cast aside the sinister aspect
most common to him, and assumed in its
stead, a manner at once soft, genial and can
did. discoursing in his native tongue of va
rious general topics. Finding Joan familiar
with the scenes and customs, as well as the
literature of his country, he was at no loss
to captivate her interest wirh his wit and
the rtone floor, after which there rose a wild
shriHt, a hideous human cry of mortal an
guish, that clave the midnight silence. Then
all was still as a tomb.
Joan Rochester felt hei* brain reel as if a
deadly missile had pierced it. For one
supreme moment she seemed bound up in a
tissue of demoniacal sensations, but not once
losing her consciousness of the actual.
Hers was a nature that quickly recoiled
from a sudden shock to grapple desperately
with whatever might be tbe occasion of it.
It was that nervous intrep dity that one
sometimes finds in women of strong heroic
character, and which so dominates the nat
ural timidity of sex as to enable a very weak
woman to face the utmost peril undaunted
That she had listened to natural and not
superhuman sounds was the almost instan
taneous conclusion in Miss Rochester's mind.
The next was a resolve to iuvesigate their
origin at all hazards.
Hhe once more fixed her dilating eye upon
the tower. The glimmer through the inter
stices of the shutter was no longer visible;
the reflection on the grass from the lower
window had reappeared. This fact put an
end to all doubt in Joan’s mind. There were
at least two occupants of the Monks tower—
one who kept watch below with a lamp, an
other who tenanted the darkened turret.
She hesitated no longer as to what she
would do. She re-entered’her chamber,
closed the glazed door, drew the heavy cur
tains across it, and turned the key in the
door that separated the two rooms. Turn
ing the flame of her lamp so low as to leave
her room quite dark, she passed out upon the
gallery, and locked her chamber door after
her, taking its key from the lock. A little
light poured through the lofty stained win
dows at each end of the gallery, enough to
enable her to thread her way cautiously
from door to “door along its whole extent.
She tried the handles of all save Lady Ina’s,
and found them locked and the keys absent.
Passing down the stairway that was now in
total darkness, she pursued her way to the
grand saloon, or reception room, that extend
ed along the front of the building from the
ball to the corridor that connected the castle
with its tower.
Scarcely had she entered the saloou, when
she heard the approach of muffled steps
along the corridor at the end. Hastily con
cealing herself behind a large piece of furni
ture, she waited for developements.
The door that opened into the saloon from
the tower side was softly opened, and Dr.
Raolfo, bearing a taper light, emerged from
it. He was clad in a long chamber robe of
black velvet lined with sables; his jetty locks
were surmounted by a small round cap of
black velvet also. The flame of the taper
made a faint halo about this approaching
figure that seemed to Joan’s fevered fancy an
incarnation of the doomed spirit of the
wicked alchemist, Grifolino, of whom she had
been reading. A strange, dark fire seemed
to bum in Raolfo's eyes, and a deadly pale
ness overspread his face. The hand that
carried the taper appeared to tremble, and
his step was hurried and unsteady.
He passed swiftly through the saloon and
the hall, and Joan heard him ascending the
stairs. She guessed rightly that he was on his
way to the countess, and resolved to employ
the time of his absence in reeonnoitering.
Her own feet wavered as she moved for
ward to the entrance of the corridor.
The door was ajar, and as she passed
through it, she felt a chill wind sweep over
her. It was like the mouth of a charnel
vault—so dark, so cold, and damp. She
hurried along towards the ray of light which
she had seen under the closed door at the end
of the passage. She opened this door, and
found herself within a curious apartment
filled with quaint tripods; piles of old vol
umes scattered on tables; cases of phials,
and bottles of various shapes and sizes; chem
ical apparatus, and vessels of copper that
suggested to the girl the dark science of the
astrologer; microscopes, maps, a large tele
scope, and a crucible, under which burned a
spirit lamp, completed the illusion.
Beside a long table in tbe centre was a
his grandfather took him in his arms and I plained—“a clever old laity, but sometimes a
kis-ed his rosy cheeks millions of times. j little singular and took dislikes. ’’ The latter
When the dark events of IS7I came, Paul j circumstance was so evident as to need 110
was not quite eight years old: as for the old j mention, as she was occupied during the en-
man. he did not care more for politics than a I tire dinner in glaring at Clennam as if he
toad does for a glass of wine. To love and | had personally affronted her. mi l finally ex-
educate his child was all his politics, and 1 I pressed her sentiments so plainly as to lieces-
dare say it was the 1 est one. At the end of I sftate a quiet removal to another apartment,
May, when the Versailli-ts broke into Paris, j still audibly inquiring “what he came there
for the conquest of which they had to tight i for Another peculiarity of this interest-
seven days and nights, at a cost of thirty j ing personage which appeared highly amus-
tbousaud dead and wounded, the old mail I ing to Flora, although a recent acquaintance
was just there where you now- see me, on the j could hardly be expected to appreciate its
humor, was the manner in which she ate
toast, handing the crusts to her friends for
first steps of that door, beating tbe measure :
to his darling Paul, who was playing *be j
‘Adieux to Lepnora,’ Neither tile one nor the
other paid the least attention to the fearful |
gun-firing which was raging in the streets. 1
‘Very well! splendid!’ exclaimed the old man. J
• ‘my dear boy, you'll soon play better than I
me, and I'll leave you my place at the the
their refreshment with an easy grace, which
was a contrast to her righteous indignation
against (’lennam for refusing those dainties
and thereby fixing firmly in her mind for all
time the knowledge that he had a “proud
stomach,” was a “chap" and required a meal
atrel' The whistling of a bullet cut the of “chaff” to regulate his digestive organs,
words short off his lips; the violin dropped I It is not surprising, considering the change
from the child’s hand and the old man had | in Flora, her peculiar legacy, and the two
hardly time enough to receive his grandson
in his arms. Paul was dead: a bullet had
broken his chest. Was it a communist's or a
Versaillist’s! Nobody ever knew. But is it
no: a shame to kill seven-vear-old children?
Ah, good Jesus!
The old man remained a few minutes mo
tionless on the spot as if he ha i not the con
sciousness of the appalling misfortune with
which God had just visited him. Then he
took up the violin and resumed the’Adieux to
Leonora’ at the precise note where the mur
derous bullet had interrupted the child, and
sent him to his mother in a better world,
where there are no Yersaillisrs or Commun
ists, and the poor old man broke into a heart
rending laughter, broken by enthusiastic
‘Very well! splendid!’ Alas! he was mad.
That part of the Trovatore, the ‘Adieux to
Leonora’ is the only tune he ever recollected
since that terrible evening of May 26, I87I,
and he went on playing it in the streeis of
the capital with the everlasting accompani
ment, ‘Very good! Splendid!’
Friday before last he was playing in his
garret when suddenly the violin ceased to
weep; a ‘Very well! Splendid.” more accent
uated than usual was then distinctly heard
and nothing else. I hastened to his room
and found him dead in his chair, his violin on
his knee. I was the only one who followed
his hearse to the cemetery, and I keep his
violin as a souvenir of both little Paul and
his grandfather.”
I shook the woman’s hands with gratitude,
and went home deeply impressed with com
passion at the touching story of the poor, old
fiddler.
DICKENS.
Glances at I*en-I*ort rails by flit*
Great Author.
•FLORA. - '
erudition concerning those subjects in which | huge leather-covered chair that revolved on
. . - . . 1 a. a niTTAf ntiH naov it cT.nnrl nn actrfl 11) m FI
she manifested the deepest interest. After
an hour of this informal association with her
host, Joan was inclined to tax her imagina
tion with fanciful exaggeration in having
attributed any dark designing characteris
tics to this student, so simple and quiet in
his habits, so elegant in his manners, so thor
oughly versed in all polite usage.
It was Dr. Raolfo who interrupted the
symposium by proposing their return to the
chamber of his niece.
Joan found that a couch had been pre
pared for her in the room adjoining the
countess’s chamber, and which w-as properly
Lady Ina’s sitting-room.
“You will pardon the irregularities of our
entertainment, mademoiselle. We are not
prepared for very elaborate hospitality, as
you will discover; but I trust you can man
age to pass a comfortable night, neverthe
less. There will be no need for you to watch,
now that Bendetta is here. I also shall be
almost constantly in attendance upon the
countess."
Left alone once more. Miss Rochester was
conscious of renewed mistrust of her environ
ment in the haunted castle.
The inyiting whiteness and softness of her
couch did not dispose her to repose. On the
the contrary, she fe’t nervous and excited.
She took a book from the well-filled shelves of
a rich mosaic cabinet, and sat down beside
tbe silver lamp to read. By chance her er
rant hand had fallen upon a copy of the Di
vine Comedy, and, as she imagined, by
strange coini idence, the pages opened at a
canto of the “Inferno.”
An irresistible fascination held her eyes in
thrall upon those passages descriptive of the
tortures of the dark alchemists of Arezzo
and Sienna in the loathsome obscurity of the
tenth gulf.
All was silent in the adjacent room. The
rain had ceased, and the wild winds were
hushed. Page after page of Dante’s “Vis
ion of Hell” was devoured with a feverish
abnormal relish, until the small hours of the
night had come to add their solemn mystery
to the place.
At last, as if overborne by the pressure of
her own fancies, Joan rose, cast the volume
from her, an 1 crossed to the closed door that
divided her own from the countess's cham
ber. listened to hear if any one moved in the
sick room. Not a sound reached her.
Applying her eye to the keyhoie, she saw
that Bendetta sat near her mistress, but fast
asleep. Lady Ina, too, seemed wrapped in a
motionless and torpid slumber.
Miss Rochester then walked to the broad,
deep casement, that gave upon the cage*
like balcony which projected over the gar
den.
She was surprised to find a pale, white
moonlight, that struggled through drifting
clouds, bathing the landscape. Opening the
glazed door, she stepped out upon this bal
cony, and leaned over its stone balustrade.
Her glance sought tbe blackened tower, rife
with its legends of evil spirits.
The blood seemed to stop and freeze in her
veins as she perceived that a stream of spec
tral light shone from an ivy-draped window-
in the octagon, which light was hid by an
angle of tbe buttressed wall, but was reflect
ed on the sward beneath.
She could not be mistaken, she felt. That
patch of light on the grass was of a sickly
yellow hue against the wide-spread radiance
of the silver moonbeams.
The windows presented to her vision on
the near side of the tower were totally dark.
Every sense was sharpened as she strained
ear and eye towards those silent walls.
Across the inferyening space she seemed to
catch a sound like the clanking of heavy
chains dragged over a stone pavement.
Visions of the w icked Friar, manacled in his
dungeon, rose in her mind. Tales of the
avenging fiends, with their scourges of fire,
recurred to her memory, as she gazed on ,
pivot, and near it stood an astral lamp,
whose globe of lambent flame filled the dis
mal chamber with a golden radiance. Lender
the lamp lay a parchment scroll and a
chemist’s mortar of purest porphry, in w-hich
was a clear white powder that glistened like
pearl-dust.
With a vision at once swift and penetra
tive, Joan took in all these details. Her eye
rested with rapid yet deliberate scrutiny on
every object, until she came to a small, low
door that seemed to be that of a closet. This
she opened, after turning the large heavy
key that stood in a massive lock.
She perceived chat, instead of a closet, this
door opened on a narrow, winding staircase
leading to the chamber above.
She listened. Not a sound stirred over
head. She put her foot upon the steps to as
cend them, and at that instant heard the
echo of a footfall in the corridor. Dr. Raolfo
was returning!
To be continued.
A I.ove Willi nn Overplus of Nenl intent
Thomas Moore assures us that there is
“nothing half so sweet in life as Love’s young
dream.” I have no doubt but what that is
true, but still it is a bad plan to endow that
“disease” with immortal youth, and refuse to
believe it has become Love’s middle-aged
dream, however “sweet” it may still be to
the parties immediately concerned. Men
are not nearly so apt to fall into this delu
sion as women.
Arthur Clennam was perfectly satisfied
after one despairing glance at his matured
first love, that the “lily” of bis youth had
become a “peony;” in fact, that time and a
rather injudicious allowance of porter, had
transformed the fair and ethereal Flora into
the round-faced and buxom Mrs. Finching.
She, on tbe contrary, persisted in turning
“Time backward in its flight” much against
its inclinations, and imagined herself still
artless and bewitching, and Clennam roman
tic and adoring.
The fact that fifteen years had elapsed
since they had been so cruelly separated by
their respective father and mother—who had
made such a scene; “looking at each other
with your Mamma’s parasol between them
seated on two chairs like mad bulls” (as she
somewhat disconnectedly explained to Ar
thur!—and that during that interval she bad
married “Mr. F.,” the man of many virtues
who had proposed to her, according to her
own account, seven times, and in the end
“handsomely consented to be taken on liking
for a twelvemonth,” did not effect the cir
cumstances in the least. Indeed, the latter’s
whole life and death were not impressed on
her mind w-ith any more distinctness than
was that “cold in the head,” occasioned by
the protracted fir of crying which had taken
place in the little back drawing-room. Tbere
was the room “still at the back of the house
and still on the first floor” to confirm her
words,if Arthur doubted her veracity in the
least.
Not only were these touching recollections
vivid to her mind, but she was determined to
carry Clennam back to the days when he
had been “bound with a golden chain,” and
to his utter horror and astonishment, give
to their conversation the tone . of a lover’s
quarrel, instead of the cordial friendliness
which shoul l have existed between such old
acquaintances.
She seemed to so thoroughly enjoy this
peculiar delusion that Artuur felt a great
deal of hesitation in insisting that .his hopes
had not been blighted and his life ruined by
the parental severing of that chain. “When .. ,
she refused to be “denounced as heartless by j mediately brought her narrative to a close,
the whole society of China,” without one ef- ! declaring tbe girl was not strong enough to
fort to vindicate herself, and in justice of [ work any more that day.
herself must insist on saying that he had j Returning to her warm natural manner,
been quite as much to blame as she, and had | she took away the sewing and devoted all
he made use of the necessity for returning her energies to making her charge comfort-
the volume of “Paul and Virginia” by so 1 able,
much as a “red wafer” upon the cover, she
should have understood it to mean for her to
follow him
What could he do more than assure her
that he was perfectly satisfied with her con
duct, and quite resigned to the termination
gentlemen of the party, who were proportion
ally odd in their way, that Arthur Clennam
rose to go feeling that this visit had been an
unusual one at least.
He attempted to shake bands cordially anil
frankly with Flora, perceiving that under
this giddy exterior her heart beat as warm
and true as when he had really loved her.
But the lady objected to this open manner
and preferred to whisper in his ear that the
“past was a yawning gulf,” that a “golden
chain no longer bound him,” that she “re
vered the memory of Mr. F., but would tie
at home at half past one exactly to-morrow.
It is needless to say he did not call at “half
past one exactly to-morrow, and they did
not meet again until she and “Mr. F’s Aunt”
took the counting-house by storm, ami
brought him the desired information of
“Little Dorrit”
The change in Flora s manner while speak
ing of the latter, and the sincerity of her de
sire to help her were so much more becoming
to her than the “captivating bashfulness” she
displayed when “the past" was the subject of
her remarks, that Arthur would have given
a great deal to lie able to banish the em
barrassing topic from her mind forever.
He was just beginning to think that the
pleasant wish might actually be realized some
time in the future, when the inopportune ap
pearance of two figures in the doorway dash
ed his hopes to the ground and caused Flora
to sink back in her chair, exclaiming in a
tragic tone which afforded her the most ex
quisite enjoyment: “Papa! Hush, Arthur,
for mercy’s sake.”
“Mr. F’s Aunt” added further to his dis
comfiture during that wretched interview,
by directing her most hostile remarks entire
ly at him.
The information that “you can’t make a
head and brains out of a brass knob with
nothing in it. You couldn’t do it when your
Uncle George was living; much less when
he’s dead,” struck its victim so unexpectedly
—wooden legs being the last subject referred
to—that Arthur was dismally certain his
was the head whose emptiness this simile was
intended to descrilie.
His meek reception of the compliment did
not appear to soothe the irritated lady how
ever, as she became suddenly co ivinced that
“He” wanted to get rid of her, and she de
clared she would not go; suggesting that “he’d
better chuck her out of the winder” if he
dared.
Possibly the pleasure her visit afforded
him might have been protracted until it be
came pain, had not the never-failing miud of
“Pancks” provided a stratagem which sue-
cessfully accomplished her departure.
Never did Flora more thoroughly enjoy
herself than on the first morning of “Little
Dorrit’s” arrival. She found the quiet, gen
tle little person so much more satisfactory
than Arthur himself, who would spoil her
romancing in spite of everything with his
stupidly sensible remarks.
“Little Dorrit” made such a delightful
listener, allowing her to talk herself com
pletely out of breath without a single inter
ruption. With her feet upon the fender and
the girl opposite bending over her work,
with her pale face turned a little away from
the light, Flora began at the very beginning
of her acquaintance with Arthur and gave
some astonishing accounts of him which
would have considerably surprised that gen
tleman could he have heard them.
To do her justice, she would have been
horrified into complete silence had she known
the pain she was unconsciously giving to
this girl whom she so wished to befriend.
But her only object being enjoyment, she
imparted unreservedly that they “were all
in all to each other; it was bliss, it was
frenzy, it was everything else of that sort in
the highest degree, when rent asunder we
turned into stone, in which capacity Arthur
went to China and I became the statue bride
of the late Mr. F.”
Tne patient little worker opposite stitched
in silence. A more observing person than
poor giddy Flora might not have noticed
that she looked anything more than pale and
ill, so much self control had this fragile little
creature learned to exercise over herself in
her hard life.
She felt no inclination to smile over Flora’s
description of tbe “dreamy” life she had led
with “Mr. F.” That time when it was neces
sary to mention Asparagus and it appeared,
or hinted at any little delicate thing to drink
and it came like magic in a pint bottle.”
“Little Dorrit” was trying to be quite sat
isfied that her friend loved this kind-hearted
woman, and to be happy over the prospect
of her happiness, for as to their being ulti
mately united in spite of the “watchful
eyes” which Flora had spoken of as surround
ing them, she never entertained the slightest
misgiving.
The drooping figure at last became so
weary as to be apparent to Flora, who im-
The Parisian Fiddler
And His Son.
BY ALFRED ESMERY.
The Parisian fiddler has just died. Every
day one could see him walking about in the
streets of Paris, with his violin under his arm.
A long shabby overcoat and a stovepipe hat,
which had been new twenty years ago, were
the most striking features of his dress. With
his lean, pale face and his temples adorned
with locks of gray hair he looked like those
Nuremberg dolls, cut by the primitive sculp
tors of the Black Forest, from the wood of
the old druidical oaks. His eyes had glances
either melancholy or tragic according to the
preoccupations of his mind.
Suddenly he would stop before a store and
then play the “Adieu to Leonora” from
Verdi's Trovatore. Then his mouth could
be seen smiling, a childish joy illumin
ated his strange face and his feet seemed to
dance a saraband in their old shoes. “Very
well! splenlid!! did the old fiddler exclaim. _ _ _ . „ .
The passers-by could not help laughing at 1 surrounded their present relations with the j ever pictured Arthur in a deceptive light
The very last time we see her, she appears
a little embarrassed and a trifle more discon
nected—if possible—than usual; owing no
doubt to the great change in “Little Dorrit’s”
social position. Repairing to the pie-shop,
, , „ where the “three kidney ones” are blind to
of the affair. She rejected the prosaic idea I the conversation, she dissolves into tears and
of friendship with the greatest scorn and 1 begs to remark that if “Fancy’s fair dreams,”
this eccentric fellow; but a feeling of sadness
soon replaced the ironical applause at the
striking contrast of the weeping fiddle stick
with the apparently foolish joy which contor-
tioned the whole body of the poor artist.
When the last measure was over everyone
put his hand to his pocket and numerous sous
were deposited in the wooden bowl.
The old fiddler was one of those original
types of whom the Parisians were always
as proud as they are of the gigantic saucepan
in the Hotel des Invalides or of the obelisk on
the Place de la Concorde.
One morning the sinister rumor of his
death was circulated by some boys. I imme
diately inquired where the old fiddler lived
and on the very evening of that day I was
there. An old "woman who made a living by
frying potatoes and herrings for the poor
people of the district, welcomed me at the
street door of a dark, seven-story building,
whose architecture must have been a contem •
porary of the crusades.
“Alas! monsieur.” she exclaimed with a
voice half broken by her grief, “he was bur
halo of a romance long since departed, even 1 such ideas have been forever banished by the
while she perceived with the intuition of her | knowledge of the tender relations which ex
sex that she was not what Arthur expected j i s t between him and another,
and that he was disappointed to find her so However “withering” it might be to know
changed. Po«r Flora! It was hard to give that Tirae had iven her more 6 flesh than was
up this interesting romance, just at an age . 8trictly spea king, graceful, and that “it»-
when it could be most fully appreciated,
simply because she was m longer young and
slim. A taste for porter should not neces
sarily kill ail love lor sentiment.
With an idea, perhaps, of convincing Ar
thur of this fact, she refused to give up and
descend to the dull and commonplace level
on which he wished to meet her.
So she continued to signal mysteriously,
nod, and give him the benefit of re-urrected
love-looks until she so bewildered her former
lover, who was so positive there was nothing
to be mysterious about that he began to en-
meaning a union with Arthur—“might have
been,” she did not wish to be ungenerous to
either, but heartily wished them both every
good fortune. She moreover admitted with
an honesty which might grace many heroines,
that she didn’t know a'ter all if it had not
been all nonsense between them although
very pleasant at the time.”
Poor Flora, however, clung to sentiment
to the very last, and when one thing failed
her, consoled herself with another. Thus
the interview ended with a tragic speech in
which “withered chaplet” and “crumbled
tertain doubts as to his entire sanity, and , . -
fear that his sudden return to old associations j column figured largely, and wound up witn
had been too much for his brain. j a resolution to “retire to privacy and look
Of her being genuinely kind-hearted he | u P° n as “ es °* departed joys,
was quite certain when she triumphantly j I would not presume to point a moral from
informed him that “Mr. F.” had left her a j this character, but fancy that Derhaps it is
ied one week ago. Ah! be was a very good legacy, 'hat she particularly wished him to j as well not to marry one s first love. Cer-
man, and however eccentric he would not j see. Which legacy on being produced, 1 tainly young Flora would have developed
have hurt a flv All who knew him mourn 1 proved to be—not some valuable as he ex- into old Flora quite as rapidly married to
his death sincerely.” ! pected: but the oddest little spoonfaced old Arthur, as she had under the existing cir-
‘ But,” said I. "could vou not tell me his | lady of eccentric, not to say crazy, turn of cumstances, and the only excuse I can find
story f’ ’ ’ I mind, whose name as far as he could find for bis fickleness, was his extreme youth
‘•Oh.’ certainly sir, for I know all about it. I out was “Mr. F’s Aunt.” Anyone will ad- j during that romantic period and his imper-
Well, the poor old man had been first violin- I mit that a woman who could look upon a ' feet knowledge of the style of woman he
ist at the orchestra of a fashionable theatre, ? bequeathment of this kind with pleasure and ; really admired,
ten years ago. His beloved daughter had 1 satisfaction must be truly amiable. Particu-
died a few days after having given birth to a lariy as in this case, the old lady had an un-
son, little Paul, on whom the old man be-. pleasant habit of remaining perfectly silent
stowed a motherly love. That bov was so until a conversation was flowing easily and
MrZBTTE.
It is more common to see an extreme love
than a perfect friendship.