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THE SUNNY SOUTH.
NOW FIBST PUBLISHED—FBOM THE ACTHOB’S ADVANCE PBOOF SHEETS.
AN ISHMAELITE.
BY MISS M. E. BRADDON.
Author of “Lady Audley's Secret,” “Nobody's Daughter,”
moot s Legacy,” “Vixen,” Etc., Etc.
“John March-
CHAPTER XXIII.
“AS A EIBD THAT WANDEBETH FBOM DEB NEST.”
An offer of supper at the Maison Dorce or
the Restaurant Vachette was made, as Lis-
ette had anticipated, but Paquerette refused,
much to her chaperon’s vexation.
“Indeed, 1 could not eat anything,” she
professed, when Hector pressed (he point,
suggesting the Passage J< uffrey, if they did
not like the full glare of the boulevard, or
evin the Palais Royal, though that was out
of the way; or they might go to Philippes’
—the Rocner de Cancale, quietest and most
classic ot haunts, in his own old neighbor
hood, the rue Montoruueil.
Paquerette thought it was cruel to talk of
supper, when her nerves were strung to their
utmost tension, wliPlfehe seemed walking
in a new, strange world, and upon pave
ments made of air, and had no more idea
of ever being hungry or thirsty again than
a sylph has.
“It is the very hour for Tortoni's,” said
Hector, when he had run the gamut of the
restaurauts as best known to grandin and
Hohemiau. “You shall at least take an
ice.”
He led them across the boulevard in the
midst of horses and carriages, and they
went to an upstairs room at the famous con
fectioner’s, where, forty years before, when
Tortoni’s was a rendezvous for statesmen
and princes, wits aud authors, Spolar, the
crack billiard player of the first empire,
nsed to exhibit his skill, to the delight of
snch men as Talleyrand and Montrond, and
where the head waiter, Provost, wore hair
powder, and combined the manners of Ver
sailles and Marly with an equivocal dexterity
in the art of giving deficient change.
The windows were open to the baloony
and Paquerette could see the lights and bns-
tle of the boulevard—carriages pulling up
in front of the building, beauty and fashion
alighting with the garments blown by the
chill March wind, it was a clear spring
night—stars shining, moon rising above the
honse-tops yonder. Paris all alive with the
sound of voices, the hurrying to and fro of
feet. There was an excitement in the very
air men breathed just now, for the rumor
of an impending war grew louder every day.
The Bourse was in a ferment, and that great
question as to the custody and ownership of
the keys of the holy plaoes, the subterra
nean shrines and churches of Bethlehem
and Gethsemane, which had long been agi
tating clerical circles, had taken a new de
velopment and meant a great war, iu which
France and England, the old enemies of
Crecy aud Waterloo, the hereditary foes of
eix hundred years, were to fight shoulder to
shoulder against theNortheu foe.
The alliance was popnlar, the war was
popular, and the sons of Ganl were flushed
at d glad »ith the prospect of the strife.
The Emperor was keeping pace with the
electric eagerness of his subjects. Newmar
kets, new boulevards, new bridges were in
progress, works of Augustan grandeur. Al
ready the dens and alleys of old Paris were
being marked for destruction. Might not
this usurper by and by paraphrase the boast
of the Roman, and say that he had found
Paris Hiplace of slums, and that he left her
a city “fpalaces?
querette looked out in the March midnight,
between lamplight and starahine. The
theaties had disgorged their crowds, the
cafes on the boulevard were at their apogee.
It was (he last boor of harmless idleness, of
open, innocent pleasure. A little later and
most of those bright facades would be dark
ened, the crowd would have melted away,
and vice and crime, the painted houris, the
the night prowlers, would have the pave
ments to themselves,save for the steady foot
fall of an occasional sergent de ville tramp
ing on ms monotonous beat, like a fine
piece of mechanism that could not possibly
work wrong.
Paquerette ate her ice slowly, dreamily,
scarcely tasting the delicate flavor of last
summer’s strawberries, the 6xotio aroma of
orushed vanilla. She was listening to Hec
tor de Valuois’s lowered voice, as he stood
by her side in the window telling the old,
old story—the tempter’s story, which the
serpent whispered to Eve four thousand
years ago, aud which the ears of all Eve’s
daughters absorb to-day as it were the new
est invention in the world.
To Paquerette the story seemed full of
strangeness and wonder. She had been
wooed before, she had been won before,
wooed honestly, tiuthfully, soberly, by a
good and brave man; won easily because it
had been her convenience to be won. Life
had been very blank for when Ishmael of
fered to share and guard her lot, she had
flung herself into his arms, as the bird,
peered by the terrors of an unknown world,
flies back to its cage. But there had been
no wild rapture in that wooing, very little
wooing on either side. Her heart had never
been touched as it was touched to night.
She had never before been tempted to sur
render conscience, honor, life even, as she
was to-night, for the love of the lover who
pleaded to her.
Lisette was fond of ices. She ate two of
Tortcui’s larg s make, and had a glass of
maraschino afterwards to prevent the ices
doing her any harm. She was so completely
occupied by her consumption of this re
freshment, and by her obvervation of the
people who were silting at the little tables—
the women iu fashionable gowns, the men
in fashionable overcoats and gibous hats—
that she took very little notice of those two
standing by the window. And they seemed
nnconscions of her and all the ontside world,
or saw it only as a picture -a piece of mov
ing dumb show passing before their eyes, as
they looked down at the bonlevard with its
long line of lamps,. its glittering cafes and
theaters.
“Zanita is not so beautiful as I expected
her to be,” said Paquerette by and by, after
a pause, her thongnts reverting idly to the
box on the pit tier, and its little court of
men with stars aud ribbons.
“Beautiful! Nobody ever called her bean-
tifu,” answered Hector lightly. “She is
chic; she is the fashion; people talk about
her—that is all. They will talk about some-
bodj else next year; and Zeuita will be for
gotten. It is a short life and a merry one.”
“And the end may be sad.”
“The end may be the hospital, or the
river, or a brilliant marriage. Such wo
men as Z mita have made great marriages
before to-day. Who can fathom the depth
of a fool’s folly?’’
me alone very long. He is a man who has
always lived upon his fellow creatures, and
no doubt I shall conut for something among
his resources. I shall have to go up and be
taxed.”
It was nearly one o’clock. Paquerette
began to be frightened, and to hurry her
footsteps. What would Ishmael say? Heo
tor reassured her, declaring that her hus
band would be absorbed by his books and
drawings, and would not know the hour.
There were no public clocks in that desert
region yonder where Paquerette lived.
“It is the dullest street in all Paris,” she
said, shuddering. “I hate to go baok there
it is like going into a tomb.”
Hector walked with them to the end of
the street, and there he and Paquerette
parted, with silent pressure of lingering
hands, with eyes looking into eyes under
the street lamp, a parting which foretold of
meetings to come, although no words were
spoken. Lisette accompanied her yonng
friend to the apartment on the seoond floor.
If there was to be a quarrel between hus
band and wife she would be there to soield
the offender. She had taken Paquerette un
der her wing long ago; aud unhappily she
had now taken Hector under her wing also.
He pleased her, he dominated her by his
poetical looks and patrician air. He be
longed to the world which had always been
the world of her choice and of her affec
tion; not the world of honest labor and pa
tience in well doing.
Ishmael had gone to one of hia political
clnbs, and the conclave had lasted nntil
late. He had not yet returned. There was
a little note for Paquerette on the mantle-
piece.
“As you are enjoying yourself at the
opera, I shall go to the oerclede Lafayette,”
wrote Ishmael. “There is to be a grand de-
hate to-night, and I dare say I shall be late.
Don’t wait up for me.”
Paquerette breathed more freely. She
dreaded the sight of her husband’s face. It
was a relief to stave off the evil hour of
their meeting.
If she could have told him the truth—that
she had long ceased to love him—that she
had given the strongest feelings of which
her heart and brain were capable to an
other! Unhappily, candor is not easy in a
case of this kind. The burden of sin might
have been lessened, perhaps, by some hard
and bitter truths; but hand in hand with
the dark shade of sin travels the shadow
called shame, and they two must creep on
together by obscure passages, by loathsome
lanes and foulest winding ways, rather than
face the broad light of day. Almost for the
first time since her baby’s death, Paquerette
lay down to rest without saying her prayers
and withont looking at the distant grave
yard where the little one lay.
Ishmael went his way through the bright
days of April and May, the balmier time of
Jane, nntroubled by any doubt of his wife’s
loyalty or any apprehension of her danger.
He was not a careless husband, but be was a
husband whose life was so full of work, and
of all-absorbing interests connected with
that work, as to leave no margin for morbid
fancies or jealous fears. He loved his wife
IT olJgnmil^pertlaps, fo 1 ^lonuiy'"as^ne'EaiT rai^Sfl^bf*U
loved those little baby brothers of his. After
his fashion, he was honestly and faithfully
attached to her. She had not touched hie
deepest feelings - she had not entered that
holy of holies in the heart of man which
opens to receive one image in a lifetime.
The altar in that sanctuary was still empty,
the lamp unlighted. She had moved him to
pity her; she had made him fond of her.prond
even of her graceful prettiness, the growing
refinement of her thoughts and ways. But
she had not gone further than this. She had
not made herself the sharer of his hopes and
dreams, the chosen companion of his life.
Her society was not all the world to him
not all-sufficient company for mind as well
as heart. He had hoped at first that she
would become all this—that she would learn
to be interested in all that was vita! to his
success; but he found after a little while
that it was not in her nature to care intense
ly for anything outside of the narrow oirole
of her own small interests and frivolous
pleasures. Her piano was more to her than
all the life-blood in all the hearts of Paris.
A new song moved her more than the
mightiest convulsions that slirred her coun
try. This talk of an impending war in the
East, for instance—a war which, howeve.
victorious to France, must inevitably swal
low up thousands of Frencb soldiers in a gulf
of fire—hardly moved her with one fear or
grief. She could not realize the pain or loss
of others, outside the little space which was
her world.
“You will not have to fight, will yon?” she
asked her husband with a touch of anxiety.
"No, love. I had a lucky number drawn
for me two years ago at Rennes. A good
priest I knew looked after the busine'6, and
I am exempt.”
That was all she oared to know. The can
non might thunder; France and the foe
might roll in the dost, destroying and de
stroyed; so long as the horror and the ter
ror of it all came not across her path.
Th little rift within the lute, this laok of
sympathy between husband and wife, had
gradually widened to a great gulf. Isbmrel
had oome to regard bis pretty young wife as
the ornament of bis domestic existence—a
something to be cherished and cared for,
to be kept beantiful and neat, but not as
the half of his life. If he were worried he
told Paquerette nothing of his trouble; if he
were flushed with some idea, some improve
ment or invention which might bring him
gain and fame in the future, he did not ask
her to share his hopes. He had tried to in.
tere-t her in his work, to explain the bean
ties of the mechanical art, bat sbe had not
even tried to understand him. She had
shrugged her shoulders, and tnrned away
from his diagrams with disgust. Why could
he not draw caricatures after Gavarni—sol
diers, battle scenes, after Meissonier, as
Hector de Valncis did, instead of those ev
erlasting wheels, and angles, and numerals
which he was forever jotting with his clum
sy carpenter’s pencil?
Refused all sympathy where it would have
pleased him best to find it, Ishmael became
daily more devoted to his work and studies.
That thirst for knowledge which had been
an instinct with him as a little child on
board the steamer—when he wanted to know
why the engine did this or that, and who
- made the waves rise and fall, and why the
I hey went down to the boulevard again, | sun was red in the evening—was still a part
Lisette following them. Oa the steps of j of his nature. Like that heaven-bornmath-
■ ?£ nl 8 they , , ust , a S a > Q9 t a man of ; amatician, Clerk Maxwell, who used to ques-
middle age, slender, elegant looking, with tion his mother abont everything he saw,
the graceful figure of youth, but with the i “What is the go of it ?” “Yes,” when ade-
careworn forehead, faded eyes and iron 1 qaately enlightened, “but what’s the
gray hair and mustache of advanced years, i particular go of it ?”— Ishmael, in imitation
He recognized Hector with a careless nod, | of this eager cariosity, advanced from the
and honored Paquerette with a deliberate .rudimentary labors of a simple gachenr to a
stare. i very considerable mastery of the meohani-
“Who is that, asked Paquerette, as they . cal arts as involved in the trade of a builder
passed on. j and contractor. Nor had he narrowed his
“A kinsman of mine. Balzac says that ! mind within the circle of his own interests,
in every family there is one member whose ‘ His evening recreations, always of an intel-
thinkers and talkers among the Reds still
left in Paris, dreamers who cherished the
old impossible dream of a Franoe self-gov
erned, a democracy of all the talents.
Strange for those who have survived until
to-day to discover that a Republic is ever so
much more costly an institution than even
an Empire, and that nepotism Bnd place-
hunting, and bloated sinecurists, and cats
that catch no mice, can thrive as well under
the flag of th6 people as under golden eagle3
and an imperial master.
All young men are radicals at heart, and
Ishmael had a sneaking fondness for the
Reds in these early years of the empire,
albeit he oould see that the new master of
Franoe was doing great things for the coun
try, most of all in the building line, and
was a man to be respected as a worker and
not a king of Yvetot.
The summer wore on, the allied armies
were marching upon Varna, and the Rus
sians, after terrible repulses and losses, had
raised the siege of Silistria. War news was
eagerly waited for in Paris; but of that
fatal expedition to the marches and deserts
of the Decrntja, which cost Franoe so many
of her bravest soldiers, the Parisians were
told very little in those days. It is only
long after a war, in the journals of doctors
and newspaper men, that the dark story of
disease and famine, the shameful details of
mismanagement and neglect, become known
to the world.
There was trouble nearer home than in
the swamps washed by the Danube. The
pestilence which raged in those Roumanian
deserts, in the tainted atmosphere of Varna,
was doing its deadly work in France and in
England.
The year of 1854 was one of those terrible
seasons which are remembered as cholera
years. A cloud of death hong over the
crowded slums of Paris and London. The
black flag hung at the entrance of streets
and alleys, warning the stranger of his peril.
It was a dreadful time; and yet the daily
work of men and woman went on, houses
were bnilt as well as coffins, the clink of the
hammer sounded eheerely on the new boa
levards and in the new markets, and there
were merry-makings and holidays, and the
ribald jesters who make light of heaven aud
hell cried, as of old, “to ihe health of the
cholera!” as they tossed off their coguiac or
their petrol at the wine shops on the road to
the overcrowded cemetery, where the gorged
earth refused to perform its office of purifi
cation, and the reeking field was one foul
mass of corruption and decay.
Ishmael laughed to scorn all danger for
himself, bnt he was full of care for Paquer-
ette. He looked at her anxiously every
evening when he came from his work, took
her little hands in his and drew her towards
him in the full light of the window to see if
there were sign of the spoiler in that del
icate faoe. But Death, the Spoiler, had set
no mark upon Paquerette’s beauty. There
was a worse enemy at work, and Ishmael
saw no sign of that greater evil.
Never had Paquerette looked prettier than
in these August evenings Sbe knew how to
set off her beauty to the utmost advantage;
she had acquired theart of dress to the high
est perfection compatible with small means.
She followed the fashions with admirable
dexterity which imparted to cheap cashmere
and a straw bonnet all the grace and style
of famous milliners in the oonrt quarter.
And there was a nev brightness in her man
ner that heightened her delicate prettiness—
a light in her eyes, a flush upon her oheek, a
faintly tremnlons look in the half-parted
lips, whioh recalled the image of a bird
poising itself on quivering wings before
flashing into sudden flight. Ishmael re
membered just snch a look in her face that
day at Vincennes, when almost strangers to
eaoh other, he held her in his arms as they
waltzed to the mw-ic of the cracked old or
gan on the scanty trampled green-sward.
Ishmael was nervous about his wife's com
ings and goings at this time of pestilence.
He questioned hey more closely than of old
as to where she vent; warned her pgainst
infected neighbolhoods. They were only
too near the fever dens of that terrible
existence is the disease of the rest. That
man who passed just now is our family mal
ady.”
“He looks like a gentleman,” said Paque
rette wonderingly.
“He is a whited sepulobre. The history
of that man is full of dark and seoret
Pages. I never see him without a oold the purlieus of Leicester'Square)* and wast-
shiver. And now my name has oome be- j iug their eloquence in the restaurants of
f Jre the public, I don’t suppose he will let j Rupert street and Castle street, there were
lectual kind, took him among circles where
all thing* in heaven and earth were dis
cussed with the feyer of youth and enthu
siasm. His clubs were democratic dubs,
for albeit proscription had thinned the
ranks of republicanism, 'and the shining
lights were for the most part languishing in
of centuries; its blind Windows, and dark
and filthy entrances which look like the
openings of caverns; its population of rag
pickers, sewer men, dealers in broken glass;
its font odors from gutter and muck heap,
mixed with the reek of coarsest viands; its
low-browed, murdferous wine-shops, where
bottles and knives fcilay their part in many a
midnight brawl, and where, in the gray
light of next morning, the patron wipes the
stains from tables where the red splashes
are as often of blood as of wine. Here the
cholera fiend might be supposed to find
congenial quarters, to hold high revel in a
nest that bad been prepared for his coming.
Ishmael entreated Peqnerette to avoid all
snch neighborhoods; to take the broad, airy
highways when she went for her walks; to
be carefnl what shops she entered; in
word, to go abont as little as possible.
“If I were to tale your advice I should
make myself ill by staying at home,” she
answered fretfully one morning when he
was particularly urgent in his lecture. “I
should get the cholqra merely from brood
ing upon it. Monsieur Vielbois told me
there was nothing so bad as fear and low
spirits. You need not be afraid that I shall
go for a walk in the Passage Menilmontant;
it is quite bad enough to live within a qnar
ter of a mile of that detestable place. 1 gel
dom go anywhere, except to Madam Moque's,
and I generally do all my marketing with
her.”
I am glad of that,” said Ishmael. “Lisette
is a clever woman, and she won’t lead yon
into danger. Oh, by the way, you have given
me so many oharenterie dinners of late.
You know I am not particular what I eat,
but one gets tired of that kind of thing day
after day—a perpetual fl ivor of garlic and
sage, or that faint taste of stale truffles; and
when a man has to be about all day nsiDg
his arms and legs, a mare nourishing diet is
better.”
“I thought yon liked me to deal with the
Meques,’’ retorted his wife sullenly.
Forgetfulness and indifference had been
growing upon her of Jate in regard to all
domestic affairs. Sbe thought more of a
pair of new gloves or bonnet strings than of
ler husband’s dinner; and just at the last,as
she was harrying home from a day i.n fairer
soenes, she would look in at Moque’s en pas
sant, and ask him to send something—any
thing for dinner at once; and in this man.
er Ishmael had been maue to consume a
good deal of the rebut of the charcutier’s
shop.
“Yes, I like you to deal there for anything
we really want,” answerad Ishmael quietly.
He was not the man tc lose his temper for
such a detail as a bad dinner seven days a
week. “But we need not live all the year
round npon oold pig to oblige Lisette’s hus
band. Beef and mutton are an agreeable
variety, and a good deal more wholesome.
Let ns have beef and mutton in future, my
pet.”
That means that I am to be at home all
the afternoon to cook the dinner,” said Pa
querette petulantly.
“Surely a pot-au-feu is not 6uch a troub
lesome business as that! Why, what a lit
tle gadabout!’’
Paquerette crimsoned and looked down.
“My life is so dull in this dreary room,”
she said, “with those intolerable sphinxes
staring at me all day long.”
“You have your piano, dear.”
“If I hadn’t I should go mad. I tell you it
does me good to get into the air. You are
out all day. Why should be cooped up with
in four walls ?”
“There is some difference,” answered Ish
mael, gravely. “I have to go out to work
for our daily bread, while you have only the
home to think about.”
“If I were not to go out now and then
life. Of late yon have gone to a theatre or
a concert two or three times a week. 1 won
der Lisette can so often get away from the
Cristal.”
“They are tired of her at the Cristal,” said
Paquerette, shortly. “They want newer
faces, younger singers. If yon would only
have let me sing my little patois songs at
the Cristal I should have been able to earn
forty or fifty franos a week, and then yon
would not be the only person to earn our
daily bread.”
These last words were spoken with a
sneer, the token of irritated nerves. Paque
rette kept glancing at the solemn black
faced clock between the bronze sphinxes.
Her hnsband had come home to breakfast
and was returning to his work later than
nsual. She expected a letter whioh most not
be delivered while Ishmael was there, and
ehe was in agonies.
“My child, how pale you are!” oried her
hnsband, pausing with easqoette in hand.
“I’m afraid you are ill.”
“No, no; only a little nervous. You wor
ry me so with all that solemn talk about
nothing. There, there! don’t be late for
your work. Yon shall have beef for your
dinner, as much as you can eat, and I will
neg make my debat at the Palais de Cristal;
that is all past and done with.”
“My pet, can yon wonder that T refused to
lat you appear before that rabble yonder?
You, my wife, with bare arms and should
ers, and a painted faoe, like the rest of
them! The very thought of it fills me with
horror.”
“I might have appeared at the opera and
made a mad success—like Bosio, perhaps,
bat for you,” she said gloomily. “It is hard
when God haB given one talent to be obliged ! etinot. T e pleasure of killing those bean-
Ciroe in Paris, whom he married and
brought home to the island, only to torment
his very existence into the grave, when she
disappeared, but not before she had con
trived to so embitter little Romaine’s boy
ish years that his temperament, naturally
quiet, became imbued with a melancholy
from which at the age of twenty-four he
had never rallied.
I will now speak of the house and grounds
as they appear a few month after Romaine’s
return from Europe, where he has been cul
tivating his talent for painting. The heavy
castellated mansion of stone stood back
npon a rooky eminence a quarter of a mile
inland, and terrace after terrace led down
to the bay. These terraoes were a perfect
fairyland of flowers. Roses from all climes
grew in profusion—Damascus roses, roses
of Cashmere—
“Oh! who has not heard of the vale of Cash-
mere,
Whose roses are brightest that earth ever gave?”
And roses sweet as those by Bsndemore’s
stream bloomed here interspersed with
fonntains and minature lakes. This emi
nence was on the north of the island, while
away to the south the gentle undulations of
woodland, dense shades of live-oak and pe-
oan, with a trout stream meandering from
its home in the rocks, formed a scene of
beauty not unlike au English park. Here
aud there groups of startled deer raised
their lordly heads aud suuffed the breeze,
as if it were saorilege for a stranger to
place a foot on their domains. Flocks of
whirring quail go scudding by, thrilling the
sportsman’s heart with a pleasure which
must be a remnant of savige or animal in
to hide one’s light under a bushel.
“My dear, the time may come when your
light will not be so hidden,” answered Ish
mael with infinite patience. “I may be a
rich man some day, and then you can sing
to an audience whose praise will be worth
having, without appearing on a public
6tage.”
“ ‘May be,’ and ‘some day,’ ” mocked
Paquerette. “I have heard those words be
fore. The grandfather used to say he
would be rich some day.”
Lhmael stooped to kiss her relnctant lips,
and went his way without another word.
What good is there in arguing with a spoilt
child crossed in its infancy?
When he went home that evening Paque
rette was absent as usual, but there was a
large piece of beef simmering iu the pot-au-
fen, from which rose a goodly odor of vege
table soup, and the cloth was laid neatly
with a solitary cover.
Beside the wine bottle there lay a letter,
in Father Bressant’sqnaint, cramped hand—
a brief letter, bnt to the purpose, and quite
long enough to spoil Ishmael’s dinner.
“Go at once to Peuhoel,” wrote the priest.
“The pestilence has been busy in our poor
village, and there has been great trouble at
the chateau. Lose no time, if you would see
your father alive. If I am spared I shall
meet you there.”
Ishmael wrote to Paquerette telling her
that he was going to Brittany to see a rela
tive dangerously ill. He left her money to
last for a fortnight, bnt hoped to be back
with her in a week. He promised to write
as soon as he arrived at his destination;
urged her to keep up her spirits and take
care of her health. She conld Btay with
Madam Moque during his absence, if she
felt dull or nervous alone.
He left his dinner untasted. On his way
out he looked into the meat shop where
Madam Moricesold her groceries, her choc-
late, burnt onions for gravies, and little
bottles of mushrooms ann anchovies in oil,
the refinements of the grooer’s trade, whioh
had bnt a small sale in the neighborhood,
only the Morices were a prudent aud frugal
couple, neither gave or took credit, lived
npon little, and contrived to make a small
ba-iuess profitable.
“I am called away in the country by ill
ness,” said Ishmael hurriedly. “If you can
look after my wife a little in my absence, I
shall take it as a favor. She may mope
while lam gone, “TOT 'itii’il.V. 1
- m*
much,” was the answer, with acnrionsshrng
of her shoulders : “but I will do what I can
—for your sake.”
[to be continued.]
tiful oreatures while iu the act of following
the first law of nature, can only be styled a
species of cruelty.
As I said before, Rimaine had only been
a few months at home from his European
tonr. Of coarse his retain had been talked
of far and near, and the beauties aud belles
of the coast towns were on the qui rive for a
glimpse of the handsome woman-hater and,
if possible, for an opportunity to try the
arts known only to the femiuiue mind.
Business at length compelled a brief visit
to B —, where we will drop in on a group
gathered ou the gallery of the Wiudsor
Hotel, and listen for a moment to the re
marks of two yonng ladies and their friends.
“Oh, Nora!” said gay, fascinating Belle
Garner to her cousin Nora Gillian, “do you
know that the Island Prince, the woman-
hater is in town? I mean to captivate him,
aake him by storm, so don’t interfere, pe
tite, with your little riante face und spoil all
of my air castles.”
“I promise yon fair cousin, that yon shall
have fair play. Doubtleis this Island Prince,
as he is called, will yield withont s struggle,
for who could resist you darliug ? Your
matchless bounty carries all hearts by
storm.”
And sweet little Nora wound her arms
around the tall queenly form of her dark
eyed c main. Belle’s beantiful faoe flushed,
and her large black eyes flashed triumphant
ly as she swept gracefully down the length
of the gallery, her little worshipper cling
ing to her arm, chatting gleefnlly, glancing
from time to time at the bright faoe she
loved so well. Ah, little did she know the
hand she fondled would strike her down to
death should she cross the path of her
hopes.
“Ha! ha! ha!”laaghed gay, society-lov
ing Mrs. Trevor, and with whom Belle was
no favorite, to three or four ladies by whom
she was surrounded. “If Mis- Garnt-r knew,
that for the first time in his lire, Romaiue
Glenn had expressed an admiration for wo
man, and that worn in her cousin little Nora
Gillian as she was walking on the beach this
morning, she would not be so confident of
the all-coDquering influence of her great
black-eyes; and then to boasttoo of her pow
er, bah ! It was not so when I was yonng.
Innocence, pnrity and goodness will assert
themselves, and nature made no conceal
ments when she formed N»ra’s face.”
Aud comfortable looking Mrs. Trevor
funned herself complacently as she rocked
The Island Prince.
BY K. K.
“Oh, sparkling clear thy waters flow
And wander as they glide,
TotSe fair trees that bend below
To kiss the loving tide. ’
The location of the spot I am abont to
describe is away to the Southwest of the
United States, one of the many islands
which lie eff the coast of Texas. It em
braces many acres of land renowned for its
fertility and easy cultivation of the soil, as
well as its beanty of natural scenery, bab
bling streams and andulating swells of
woodland vie with each other in minister
ing to Nature’s hand yet Art has been at
work also, of whioh I will speak hereafter.
The island whi'-h comprised a part of one
of the wealthiest es'ates in the Southwest,
had been handed down from generation to
generation of a prond old Soottish family ;
in fact the ancestors of Romaice Glenn,
now the sole owner, had once been a power
ful clan in Scotland, and seemed never to
have forgotten their natural proclivities.
The notes of the pibrooh and bag-pipe were
sometimes heard around “Melrose” as the
half feudal romantic-looking building had
been named nearly a centnry ago. The
tones of the harp were often awakened and
accompanied by Romaine’s own rich, soul-
thrilling voice in some sacred aria of Han
del, or some simple Scotch ballad, afforded
recreation to the melancholy yonng heir of
this fit.e estate.
How else did he occupy his time? In read
ing. in writing, in walking, riding, sailing,
hunting, fishing, and most of all in paint
ing, for whioh purpose a studio had been
fitted up in the eastern tower of the bnild-
ing, whioh gloomy and frowning as its ap
pearance indicated, necessitated something
oright and beantifnl to make its interior in
viting; the stndio certainly redeemed mnch
of the gloom overshadowing the house and
even its master. I will presently speak of
the cause of the melancholy which shadowed
Romaine’s yonng life, prejudicing him
against mankind generally and women in
particular, in fact making him almost a
misanthrope.
This studio was indeed a pleasant room,
pic'ures, bnsts and statues, modeled and ere
ated by hands now dast, bat whose names
will live nntil time shall be no more, adorned
Little murmnrs of assent and admiration
went around the little gronp. After a few
moments more of chat and seaside gossip,
all dispersed to their rooms for a siesta be
fore dinner, and a consultation as to toilets
for the hop later on in the evening.
Three honrs later we fiud ourselves in the
ball room, just at the moment when Ro-
maine Glenn bends low in acknowledge
ment of an introduction to Miss Garner, he
leads her out for the waltz jast commen
cing, and they take their places. Now they
are swimming gracefully to the measure if
Strauss’ “Beautiful Blue Danube.” All eyes
are upon them. He with his fair blonde,
bnt melancholy face, and ehe with her dark
resplendent beanty elicit murmuis of admi
ration. “Paris and Helen,” ‘ Prince and
Princess,” “Apollo and Diana,” are heard
from admiring friends. Never while she
lives will haughty Belle forget the sweet
moments which flew by on winged feet; and
to her dying hour, the strains of the “Bean
tifnl Blue Danube” bring to mind the most
intoxicating hour of her life. The perfnme
■of the honeysuckle on that Angust night, the
moonlight, and above all, the ravishing
tones of that deep manly voice as he told
her of foreign lands, the homes of poesy and
art, of buried cities,the wonders of Pompeii,
the Alhambra, the Aercpolis in Greece, and
most of all interesting to him, the home of
his ancestors “Aula Scotia” where he had
seen the old abbey, after whioh his own
lovely home was called. The poet says :
“If yon would view fair Melrose aright
Go visit it by pole moonlight.”
Entranced she listened, not heeding the
enrioas glauces of other gay suitors, until
at last, he led her back to the side ot her
chaperon, and with a deep bow relinquish
ed his charge.
He found a seat in a deep embrasured
window, whose curtains formed a partial
screen, where he oould watch the dancers
without being disturbed. He had not f »r-
go’ten the riante face of little Nora. Never
before had he been so impressed by wo
man's smiles or witchery as by the childish
innooence and purity of her countenance.
At last she was seated quietly by her aunt.
He left the place of his concealment and
approached the corner where she was sit
ting.
“My nieoe, Miss Gillian, Mr. Glenn,”
promptly came from Aunt Seymore’s lipB.
The mandate of social etiquette having
been obeyed, they were at once free to en
joy the congeniality of spirit whioh flashed
from eye to eye, and as words sprang to
their lips, they felt not as strangers to eaoh
other, but as if in some remote period of
their existence they had known and
I had almost written loved each, for after all
regard with feelings kindred to my own!the
melanoholy man whose yoath was as if it
bad never been ? Oh, tell me, darling; will
you, can you ever be mine ?”
In that moment it flashed upon her that
never more on earth would she love anothe
as she had loved this man, and that lire
passed away from his side would be a
dreary, blank existence; yet the words or
her cousin rang in her ears, ‘He is mine,
again she seemed to hear from the rosy
lips, and with her cousin’s influence still
over her, the sudden strangeness of the
whole proceeding. She hesitated, pale and
trembling. .
“Let me think,” she murmured. It is
so strange I cannot realize it all. Give me
one month to fiud out my own heart. I
thought yon would have loved my Cousin
Belle; she is so beautiful, so bright, so fasci
nating, that all hearts bow beneath her
sway. How could you pass suoh a lovely
tropic flower and stoop to pluck a little
wayside violet like me ?”
And her sweet blue eyes shone through
her tears as she raised them wistfully to his
face. The moonlight, shining full on his
brow, showed her a face all aglow with an
enthusiastic love whioh she could not doubt,
but her instinctive womanhood prompted
her not to y ield her affections too readily,
aud her allegiance to her cousin led her to
doubt whether she was doing right in usurp
ing her claims, unfonnded thongh they were.
Rising, she said:
“Let ns return to the ball-room, lest our
absence be noticed.”
Pressing the little hand passionately to
his lips, he dropped oil one knee and ex
claimed:
“By this kiss, the first ever placed on the
hand of woman by my lips, I swear to con
secrate my life to yon, my own precious
love By the splendor of the heavens, noth
ing shall oome between us. Henceforth aud
forever you are mine: I know aud feel that
you love me, although you admit it not.
Come, sweet.”
Aud rising, he placed her arm in his and
conducted her baok to the ohaperone in the
ball room, only to remaiu a short time
before the gay company dispersed —not,
however, before B-lle had again won him
to her side and fl ished the lightning of
her dark eyes into his. Night after night
’twas the same. Belle always chained him
at her side; only at short intervals c mid he
get speech with little Nora aud assure her
of his unabated love. Her little face grew
pale, and the sweet, blue eyes had a sad
look of resignation in them, pitiful to see
in one so yonng. Rrave little Nora was
yielding to her fate, as she thought, tu her
opinion it was useless to resist the influence
of her cousin Belle, sooner or later he will
yield, she said to herself.
While matters stood thns, the master of
Melrose decided to give a fete on the island,
much to the surprise of his household and 1
to the special disgust of his old tutor, who
retired to his sanctum, while the house-
cleaning, the brewing, the baking under the
supervision of old Huger was going on.
At last all was ready. Romaiue had come
home with some friends on Tuesday, his so-
oial qualities having rapidly developed as
his prejudices thawed. Toe partvof ladies
and gentlemen would arrive on Wednesday
eve at nightfall from B by Romaiue’s
new yacht, the Swan. He and his friends
were to receive them at the water's edge.
Melrose was to be illuminated. Chinese
lanterns were to deck the rose terraces, mu
sicians were engaged to make the hours fly
merrily for the throng of brave and beauti
ful guests.
Wednesday eve came. Not for a genera
tion had Melrose put on such a festive air.
“All oouspired to yield delight.” At the
water’s edge were gathered the host and
his friends to receive the gay party, whose
voices could plainly be heard on board the
advancing vessel.
Home were singing, while the merry laugh
ter of others came rippling over the waves.
All seemed gay and happy. A r . last the boat
arrives, and as they crowd tne plank from
the boat to the pier, there is a shriek, a
splash, and a girl is struggling in the black
Will UVD UUfcll llUiC Cliatl Gu ilU IHvIC) dUUrUCU g - _ * a L rt . i |
the walls, filled niches, and corners; on the “ Ah. ! h of g acquaintance,
home would be as bad as St. Lazare,” retor- against womankind, and which greatly an
ted Faquerete, petulantly. “I would rather ; ded to the reason of the yonng heir being
be back in theRae Sombrenil, where Iconld : dabbed a Woman-hater. As a consequence
sit in the yard all day. At least I conld se6 ; of the long predominance of this feeling,
a little bit of sky overhead, and hear voices among all the retainers at Melrose conld
from twenty open windows, and_ see faces be found only two women, Aunt Hagar aud
but the individuality, unanimity, magnet
ism, call it what you will.
“Something the soul that moment caught—
bomething it through life had sought.”
“As yon setm wearied from dancing, Miss
Gillian, will you accept my arm for a seat
on the piazza, where we can et j >y the fresh,
cool air, after the glare and heat of the ball
room ?”
Sue rose and laid her hand lightly within
his arm, withont seeing the frown which
disfigured the beautiful, dark face of her
cousin, Belle, as she saw them leave the
room by one of the long windows which
opened down to the floor npon the gallery.
He drew her to a seat beneath a column
covered with a thick growth of clematis. A
silence fell npon them, so delicious that in
the brief interview heart seemed to speak to
heart, and the lava torrent of a yonng first
love rushed through his veins with tamnltu-
one rapidity. The mesmeria influence—or
yonng charge, his own cultivated prejadhe; ca H it by any name you please—communi
cated itself to her trembling, resisting yet
consenting heart. Almost from her first
the easel was a half finished painting rep
resenting the death of Socrates. “Aroond
the reclming form of the philosopher clus
tered Apollodorns, Cebes, Seimmiaa and
Crito, aud through the window of the prison
came the last slanting, quivering ray of the
setting sun, showing tne street beyond,
where against a stone wall, near a gleaming
guardian, Hermes, huddled a mournful
group—Xantippeand her seeping children.”
A beautiful bust of Clytie adorned the low
marble mantle.
Here in this tower room our Island Prince,
as the country people called him, snent hia
happiest hours, with no other companion
ship on the island than his faithful servants
and retainers, nay, we must except his
old tutor, a faithful adherent of his father’s
family. David Kendrick was an educated,
cultivated gentleman of the old school, and
being a bachelor himBelf, he had perhaps
unconsciously instilled into the mind of his
and people going and coming. This honse
is like a tomb.”
“It is something to be in a respectable
house where there are only honest people,”
feeling nearer anger than he had ever yet
felt with Paquerette. “I don’t think yon
ought to complain of the dullness of your
her daughter Phillis, colored servants who
had been for many years on the island in
the capacity of housekeeper and chamber
maid.
Romaine’s mother died in giving him
birth, aud his father, after remaining many
glance her eyes, her soul, had been irre
sistibly, strangely magnetized. Taking her
hand, he said:
“Sweet Nora, do not be frightened when I
tell you that in you I have found the em
bodiment of my love-dream. Lonely as my try round. Their summers are spent at
life has been, gentle one, 1 have had a dream their island home, and their winters are
of happiness, which 1 scarce hoped to have mainly spent in the home of her parents in J
realized until I saw yon, sweet one. You the city of San Antonio, whioh bids fair to
have, doubtless, heard my whole history. | become the most important city in the
stact and the men are in the water; but Ro-
maine, quicker than all the others, nas
reached the spot where the form of Nora—
for it is she—went down. He knows not
who it is, but clasps her nnoonsoious form
as sbe rises and bears her to the land.
Heeding not the hysterical cries which greet
him, up the rocky eminence he bears her,
clasped close to his heart, for ere this he
has recognized the sweet, nnoohBoions faoe.
He reaches the hunseand lays heron a couch
in the library.
“God love thee, gentle one 1 May the
Lord do so to me, and more also if aught
but death part thee and me!’’ he murmurs,
then leaves her in the hands of the kind-
hearted old housekeeper and her daughter.
Hastily changing his clothing, he descends
to the waterside only to find chaos and oon-
fnsion, where, scarcely half an hour before,
all had been so gay. Belle was raving and
shrieking, trying to wrench herself free
from restraining hands and fling herself
into th- sea. Her aunt and others were try
ing in vain to soothe her frantio cries. Ut
terly exhausted, she at last falls into a re
sistless heap, and is carried np to the man
sion and put to bed in one of the onest
cuambers. Fortunately, a yonng pi ysioian
had accompanied the party, who gave his
attention first to the half-drowned girl, who
soon recovered from her fright, none, the
worse for the plunge in the dark water. Dr.
A prescribed perfect qniet for Belle,
who, under the eff- ots of an opiate, lay in a
stnpor. A low fever set in, which threat
ened her life as well as her reason. Of
course all thought of festivity was at an
end. The p irty broke np, only Mrs. Levi-
son, Mrs. Trevor, Nora and Dr. A re
maining to be near the bedside of the sick
girl.
For weeks she lay nnoonscions, until one
bright September morning, when all nature
seemed rejoicing in bright sunshine, clear
waters, songs of myriads of birds, she woke
to take np the burden of life again. Alas!
poor Belle. Life can never be the same
again, thy sin hath fonnd the ont! Lying
there, gazing through the bay window at the
foot of her bed, “on moout and wave and
heaving sea,” she oried in anguish,
“All have left me!
Hope that blessed me, b ias that crowned,
Love that left me with a wound,
Life itself that turned around.”
She sobbed npon her pillow, when the
nnrsesoothingly remonstrated against ondne
excitement, she asked to see her oonsin
Nora.
What passed between them was not made
known. Daring her convalescence Romaine
and Nora took many long walks and rides
through the domains of Melrose, a perfeot
unders anding having taken plaae between
them. In a few weeks Belle was able to
travel, she and her Aunt embarked for an
extended trip to Europe.
Little Nora went to her distant home only
for a few months, when she returned to the
island the worshipped wife of Romaine
Glenn. To no one bat her hnsband did.
Nora tell the secret of her seeming aoci-f
dental bath on the night of her first visit to
Melrose.
Belle had confessed to her that the diabol
ical idea entered her brain to get rid of her
aid leave nothing between her and the man
she loved. As Nora had placed her foot
upon the plank, Belle gave her a push that
sent her fir out into the foaming water],
from whioh Romaine had rescued her. Belle
expressed mnch penitence for the diabolical
impulse, which came near ending in an aw
ful tragedy. With characteristic sweetness
she was forgiven by Nora, but it is said her
return to America is indefinitely postponed.
In foreign capitols she is one of the queens
of society; foreign papers often bring ac
counts of the appearanoe of La Belle
Americana, to the quiet, island home of
Nora. She is now a happy mother, as two
bright boys have blessed their anion. Ro
maine has lost his air of melancholy, and
is as jovial as any land- holder in the coun-
Their summers are
years a widower, became infatuated with a Can you give me a hope that you can ever South.
INSTINCT PRINT