Choisy
page: (TitlePage) [View Page (TitlePage) ]I .4 JT~2~ CH OISY A NOEL. BY JAMES P. STORY. B O ST JAMES R. OSGOOD LATE TICKNOR & FIELDS, AND 1 875 O.N: AND COMPANY, FIELDS, OsGooD, & .0 " Judge her love by her life." LUCILE. page: 0[View Page 0] '~ ~ ) '-I? I Entered according to Act of Congress, in the year 1872, BY JAMES R. OSGOOD & CO*, in the Office of the Librarian of Congress, at Washington. Cx IU\ St. ~i 5~S UNIVERSITY PRESS: WELCh, J3IGELoW, & Co., CAMBRIDGE. CHAPTER I. KNAVES AND ACES. S OMEWIIAT past the hour of eleven, one bitter cold night in December, in the midst of one of those terrible snow- storms that occasionally visit New York, a hack might have been seen forcing its passage among the drifts that filled Broad- way, the horses floundering desperately under the lash of the brutal driver. It crept slowly up from Delmonico's at Cham- bers Street, and paused at the door of an up-town club. Its occupants, two gen- tiemen, emerged and entered the house, after bidding coaches to wait, - an order which lie received without responding, be- ing engaged in hurriedly throwing the blan- kets over his steaming horses; which done he addressed himself vigorously to the prac- tice of gymnastics with legs and arms, paus- ing only to make futile efforts to resuscitate the consoling spark in his short clay pipe, and exploding in anathemas over his fail- ure. The two gentlemen, whom we may now inspect as they enter the warm precincts of the card-room, would be collectively de- scribed as young men, though it is probable that a wide difference exists between their ages, - how wide, however, it is not easy to determine. The elder has that wonderfully clear olive complexion which tells no tales; and though you feel instinctively that his is a face marvelously preserved rather than young, you are puzzled, nevertheless, when it is a question of years. Either would have been called a handsome man: the elder was strikingly so; while there was a peculiar charm in the face of the younger which never failed to attract, and which it was yet impossible to define. XVe who knew him often vainly endeavored to analyze the secret of Chancy Wales's physiognomy; it seemed to be something in the turn of his head which brought the frank face full before your own; something in the quick glance ~of the big, brown lion's eyes with their baby lashes, in- expressibly winning, but not to be de- scribed; it gave you a little heart-warming, at any rate, and made you wonder if he had a sister who looked like him. Tom Harris was wont to say that Charley won more friends by his good looks than most mem (10 by kindly deeds, though it is not to be iii- ferred that he was lacking in these. As fbr his companion, Dick Huntley, every one who toiled five hours daily under the shadow of Trinity, in the days I write of; knew that face with its spotless Italian skin, its blazing black eyes, and the famous long mustache which were the envy of masculine New York. A chorus of welcomes greeted the new- comers, the younger of whom, at least, was a prime favorite at the club. They had been dining at Del's, down town, Hmintley said. "I had just gone around for a quiet steak, you know, when whom should I stumble on but the irrepressible, whose movements are ever characterized by a sub- lime disregard of time and place. I had an excuse for dining at nine o'clock; but why he should have been foraging at that un- sccmly hour is a matter fbr grave specula- tion. Whatever he had been up to, I 'II testify that it gave him a famous appetite; he has consumed more beef in the last two hours than I thought it possible for mortal man to devour. If all the jeunesse dore'e equalled him in gastronomic prowess, we should have a famine in the land; and as for wine, be is Bacehus redivivus!" We laughed at the speaker. None of us loved the man, who never entirely discarded a certain vague sarcasm in his ready flow of words; but, too clever to be ignored, and especially as Charley's friend, he held a certain title to our friendly consideration. "What does he say?" cried the younger, turning to Huntley with a laugh, - the rare merry laugh that was so contagious; "he 's nothing if not criticaL' Just as if he did n't know I never dine at the barracks stormy evenings!" By this term the young man dignified a palatial brown-stone front on the avenue of avenues, as by the equally idiomatic appel- lation of "mill" he designated a certain bank office down town, wherein he figured C rf, CHOISY. -4----- page: 4-5[View Page 4-5] CHOISY. KI~AVES AND ACES. 5 in a mild capacity a part of each day. Of real "barracks" and real "mills" it is prob- able he had a very hazy idea indeed. "As for the charges preferred," he con- tinued, assuming the forensic with fine effect, "they are weak inventions of the enemy," (" Hear!") "made to cover his own sin. I have always observed" (" Hear!") "that men in Mr. Huntley's position inva- riably adopt the poor refuge of Father Adam in the matter of the apples." "Charles, my boy," said Iluntley, blow- ing a far-reaching column of smoke from be- neath his mustache, "you are profane!" At the same moment he drew out his watch and consulted it with close attention. This seemed a rather absurd thing to do, with that fine clock from Tiffany's staring him in the face; but the movement had the desired effect: it caught Charley's attention, and the young man suddenly turned, saying, "Ah! there 's Simms, - want to see him," and moving away as he spoke. It is not every club or other confraternity of genial souls that can boast the possession of so estimable a functionary ns Sinmis, - Mr. William Slinnis, - steward, purveyor, housekeeper, and general domestic manager at th~ Mayflower. In making this asser- tion I feel sure of the hearty support of every member of that eminently high-toned association. It would be a pleasing though voluminous task to enumerate the many excellent and endearing qualities of this our keeper of the keys; but it must suffice for the present to say that his most con- spicuous claim to our general regard lay in his services in the capacity of the metaphor- ical "uncle," a sort of bank of accommoda- tion on legs. He carried at all times an old - ~nd somewhat greasy-looking wallet secured by a long tongue of leather, and which was of such exceptionally large proportions that some of the younger members facetiously termed it a "valise." In this was ever to be found an unfailing supply of the circulat- ing medium, and for this reason, chief among many others, the Lares on the hearthstone were not more respected at the Mayflower than Simms's antique and well-lined book. Most of us could recall the days when its contents comprised an assortment in charm- ing variety of the crisp, gray notes of many kinds, - dear to our hearts, when green- backs and national banks were undreamed- of possibilities; but no one could remem- ber that it had ever been less grenfy or less worn. It was our convenient treasury at all times; and even if one is rich, as I trust my reader is and as we all hope to be some day, emergencies may happen when the ready purse of the humblest friend is a blessing to be grateful for. The same customs prevail in different lands; and as I hear young Sawyer, who is playing whist yonder at rather high figures for points, call on Simms for "fifty more~" so has it been my fortune to hear Monsieur le Baron Depenser, at the Cerele Massena in the beautiful city of Nice, demand of Gabriel, "Donimez-moi done encore cent louis"; and Gabriel is only our friend Simms reduced to the dimensions of le gart~on suisse. It was always comfortable to have Simms about, and he always was about precisely at the critical moment; so obliging too, and of course you felt no compunctions in drawing on him. You gave him little memoranda, to be sure, of the va- rious amounts received from him, antI some- times, after a bad lot of cards, it was really surprising to find what a number of tens and twenties you were in for on his account; but again, luck would run in your favor, and you would clear the score on the spot; and of course you never fiiiled to do the hand- some thing by Simums, who was so grateful and so glad you had won your money back. I never knew him to lose that invariable pleasant smile which implied such a depth of humble respect; not even when l)OO~ Weakly, who, after stealing half a million from the Bank of Blank, had also made a serious inroad on Simms's exchequer, and "pai(l all debts" by blowin~ out his brains. He saul "Poor gentleman!" very sadly when he heard of it, and there was as little disturbance of the pleased arrangement of his features then, as this night when Char- ley Wales came up and asked a loan of two hundred dollars. "Certainly, sir, very happy indeed; will you step this way?" And Charley got his money out of the trusty old receptacle which had never been known to fail but once, - the night that Fred C- lost thirteen thousand to the bogus "Pole" at e'carte' in the winter of 185-. The two friends left the club almost un- mediately after Charley had effected his loan, and old Ted Byrnes, sitting near, glanced at me significantly over his paper as the door closed on them. As I looked back inquiringly, he elevated his shaggy brows, and sententiously remarked, "Sup- per-time at Sam Worthington's in half an hour; deuced fine suppers he has too. Young Wales is having his fling all around apparently." I say" Oh!" only, and Byrnes subsides behind his journal. 1 am only ojme of Char- ley's countless friends; I like him immensely, and he is pleased to give me some evidence of a reciprocal feeling; but I am not au- thorized to criticism his goings up and down, and if he chooses to sup at Sam Worthing- ton's or any other midnight table, it is en- tirely his own affair. I am rather sorry, to be sure; if I were sufficiently intimate to warrant the liberty, I might be tempted to sttggest to him that the convives at Worth- ington's sometimes found the feast more ex- pensive than even its rare viands would lead them to expect. As I am not, I hold my peace to Chancy and to shrewd old Ted also, and, bundling into my wraps, plod homeward through the snow, just as the hack, with its half-frozen driver on the box and the two men within, goes plunging through the drifts around the corner. It is but a short way from the Mayflower to the handsome house in a side street where dwells the gentleman alluded to above as the dispenserr of nocturnal cheer. A quarter of an hour brought the hack to his residence, and Charley bounded up the steps, while his coml)anion pause(l to have a word with the coaches. The broad steps, as well as the walk before the mansion, were cleanly swept, - a condition rare enough on such nights as this even in that aristocratic local- ity; but Mr. Worthington was a personage whose domestic arrangements, from the street-sweeping outside to the minutest de- tail within, bordered on perfection. A vig- orous pull of the bell was instantly followed by the opening of a curiously concealed panel in the groutid-glass of the inner door, and through this a face of ebony, in which kindness and dignity struggled for predomi- namice, looked out with polite but scrutiniz- ing eyes. The rapi(lity of this inspection was such that the invective levelled at the dusky guardian by Huntley, who "could n't abide the d-d nonsense of guarded doors, with all the snows of Russia in the air," was uttered in the rosy glow of a widely opened portal, across which and the brilliantly lighted hall beyond the new-comers betook themselves to a cloak-room. Here several other representatives of Afric's trodden race - smooth, sleek, well-dressed blacks (and nothing in nature is so smooth and sleek, being well dressed, as they) - stood, brush in hand, in graceful readiness to divest the gentlemen of their top-coats and render the myriad small services of the toilet. Never hope, reader mine, to receive such attentions with equal skill and tenderness in any other land than this, or from an other hand than Sambo's: your gar~on coiffeur of the Palais Royal or your oily paruechiere of the Tole- do; the clumsy wretch who comes to the call of "Boots" in a London tavern; and the yellow-haired, strong-sn~elling barbarian of the Lindenstrasse; - all these are frauds and deceptions when compared with our ~ jovial black genius of the wisp-broom. In the benighkd Old World, Sambo and his graceful wisp are alike unknown. Highly pleased was the foremost digni- tary with Huntley's familiar salutation. "Joe, you shade of Dis! you grow blacker every day. By Jove! we '11 have you skinned for the fleece to hang P the heavens for funerals ! - Easy with that boot!" Joe showed two magnificent rows of teeth and laughed hysterically after the manner of his race, the others joining con arnore, until the room gleamed with ivory and echoed with their deep guffaws. A moment later the dark faces sobered again into utter in- expressiveness; but an almost imperceptible shrug of several sets of shoulders succeeded the departure of the humorous gentleman and his friend. "Know de young un?" whispered one. "I should say 1 do, niggah!" returned he who was called Joe, rather grandly; "dat's Mister Wales, - son of the big un over dyar." And he shot his thumb over his shoulder, to indicate the locality. "Hi-uin!" ejaculated the first, as only a negro may, and a whole orrery of rolling eyes was momentarily visible. "We shall hardly find any one here to- night, I fancy," said Chancy, as they moved down the marble hall. The words were spoken easily enough; but a close watcher might have detected a shade of nervous un- easiness in the speaker's tone and manner. His companion saw it, and laughed lightly, discoursing in a quick, pleasant way as if to dispel the shadow. ___________ "Ab! shall we not? never think it, old fellow! You will find a frill quorum here to-night, just as surely as you will find all the notable housewives crowding Stewart's and Macy's on rainy days; it 's that Cu- rious antagonism of human nature to re- straint, or some profound sympathy with the elements in our mortal clay, - a bone fbr the philosophers; we must get Hodgson to en- large on it learnedly at the club. Why~ the stiffest game of cards I ever saw was played under nailed hatches on the Hero, with a living gale outside, and the women praying for their lives at the other end of the cabin, - twenty thousand on the table, and won by a simple pair. They always dj~ink the hardest down there at the long bar in Broad Street when stocks are sick and everybody losing money. This is n't yery apposite, I suppose; but one is not ex- pected to be apposite after nine-o'clock din- ners at Delmonico's, is he? Here we are!" Above the great, swingingAoors of stud- ded green baize before which they had now arrived, a reflective mind, retaining some consciousness of the situation, might- have seen a graven inscription as terrible in its import as that which met the eyes of (Iream- ing Dante, and in the honest young heart of Charley Wales such an impulse of con- science was yet possible. He was not a saint in his ways of life; but he had neyer entered here, he had not thought indeed tliat he ever should. Was it of this that the elder thought, -man of the world, clever, unerring mask that he was, all-seeing but inscrutable? We may not know; but poor 4 I, 11 CHOISY. page: 6-7[View Page 6-7] KNAVES AND ACES. harley, hesitating on the threshold, as if the the dinner down town; but Huntley delib- ounds of revelry alarmed him, felt himself erately investigated the merits of a broiled rawn on by the arm of his friend into the quail. "These are not precisely aou.s autres, blaze of light and the Babel of voices be- you observe," he said, in a carefully modu- ond. lated voice, "though, I dare say, you will The veteran Byrnes had spoken with his recognize some of the faces. A queer lot usual perspicacity in remarking on the Worthington draws to his table sometimes. excellence of Mr. Worthington's suppers; I confess, I don't like the style; but if one they were triumphs, I may say prodigies, feasts with Dives, one must n't make faces at of their kind, and served in a style and Dives's friends. Look at that red-faced old ami(l surroundings unequalled in luxurious sinner over there! Of course, you know him, completeness between King's Bridge and - Judge Grab of the - Court. What a the Battery. The apartment which the two wall of emptied bottles and debris he has now entered was the theatre of the feast, - about him! And now lie is groaning in a long room lighted to dazzling brilliance secret at the cruel rien sic ca j)lus of his by a massive "sunlight" chandelier, and stomach. He 'd pay handsomely now for fitted with every device of art which could the old Romansecret of eating two dinners; t once proclaim its character and add and to-morrow he '11 be sending some poor t ~leasino~ornament to the walls. No doughty devil to the Island who has stolen a loaf to oman ever sat down in a triclinium such as cheat starvation, while his judge was gorging his. And the scene that it presented at the his skin in a kursaal and sleeps the sleep of momentwith the great table in 'the midst the just! That little fellow beside him, gleaming with scores of dishes, burnished who is talking so fast, is Tommy West, the silver every one, from the tiny salt-eups to 'Puck ' of the ' Evening Tirade'; he is cram- the colossal illuminated articles which sus- ming items from the Judge, you may he sure; tamed the smoking joints, and surrounded 1 fancy him scribbling short-hand notes on by a gay company who ate and drank and his knee at this' 'moment. - (Ab! Frank, laughed and drank again, was a rare one to how are you? Vile night, is n't it? SmaU stumble on this bitter night, with the winds house, I fear.) - That's Howler of the 'Va- of winter howling without and Death stalk- rieties.' Seen him, of course; name, nature, ing in the frozen streets. Wretched little and occupation expressed in the word. After Tim, crouching in the shadow of a wall all, you see, it is not this sort of material that with his pilfered coals while a grim police- keeps Worthington's mill grinding; these man moves past across the way, would have are species of parasites which attach them- thought the fairy spectacle a vision of heav- selves to his establishment as a public in- en, and wondered greatly to hear the good situation in its way. IL fancy he finds it a people call it a "hell." nuisance to feed them in such numbers; but The table was well filled, and the hum of he uses them all in their various capacities, conversation mingled pleasantly with the and makes them serve as a kind of claqucurs. clatter of dishes and popping of A genius in his way is Worthington, and corks. As Huntley and his companion pos- will be the Rothschild of his order if he lives messed themselves of vacant places and sat long enough. But you are not eating any- own, the master of the feast, a man rather thing. Try a quail. No? - well; pledge ast middle age, with a fine, prepossessing the game-laws to better success then, - quail * ~ice set off by masses of handsome gray in December ! - shame, is n't it?" air, had risen an instant in his place and "Who~'s the individual in the red tie?" bowed a courtly welcome to the new-comers, asked Chancy, who drank off his Rederer ud now addressed some sharp orders to the without stopping to count glasses; "he 's been tenants. Nods of recognition passed be- looking at me ever since I sat down." ance with his convives, not a few of whom, Agency!" Charley did not seem to see ween Huntley and several of the company, "The deuce he has! Perhaps he 's Charley evidently possessed no acquaint- marking you; it 's Carson of the Detective however, with curious but fur- the joke, and Huntley rattled on: "Very tive glances- good fellow is Carson, but a great ass; there 'They had taken seats somewhat apart was never anything so absurd as the idea of from the others, and Huntley suffered no his being a detective, unless skill in that minute to pass unoccupied. He noticed profession proceeds from some occult pnin- instantly the slight tremti'lousness of his com- ciple in nature which acts independently of panion's hand, as the young man raised his brains and is unknown to common mortals, first glass to his lips, and rattled away there- a faculty of' scent' perhaps, like a dog's. after in a running commentary on the per- In this instance it 's a plain ease of the lion's sons present in his ensy way, not forgetting, skin, so far as one can see; and yet he flour- at the same time, to keep the wineglasses ishes wonderfully in his me'tier, and fairly always well supplied. Charley' found noth- blinds you with his diamonds; mysterious p - that tempted his appetite so soon after fellows moving in mysterious ways, these detectives. Excuse my writing; just the closing prices for Worthington." While speaking, Huntley had scrawled some lines on a card, and now sent it by an attendant to the host. Only "the closing prices," as he had said; but the oldest head in the "street" would have puzzled, I fancy, over, "Erie broke at 62,-old Southern nowhere, - a bird in the bus/i, I think, to- night." Whatever the meaning hidden in the sporting phrase may have been, the recipient apprehended it at a glance. Not once did his eye wander towards Huntley, nor did the amused expression with which he was listen- ing to a profound critique on the last ballet at Niblo's, from the lips of an aldermanic pertonage on his right, vary a shade. But below the table his slender fingers carefully reduced the card to minute fragments and dropped them on the floor. "Does he dabble in stocks too?" asked Charley. "I fancy so, in a quiet way. They say he has an account at Sharp's, and is in with the bull clique on Central. I should not object to his balance, myself; it must be something handsome, aiA money is all of a color in Wall Street. But won't you eat any- thing really? Try the oysters. -Ahi! Rob- bie, my boy, come ra? Easy to see what you come from in your winsome court dress. Nice night for a party!" "Only a 'sociable' at the Nesbits," responds "Robbie," who has just arrived, resplendent in evening costume, but rueful of countenance;' "awful slow, - square dances, church music, and a cold feed; but one must do the proper thing, you know, in that quarter." "To be sure!" said Huntley, with a comic grimace; "the bee goes where the honey grows. What a pity they should be so rich, those girls, and yet so - what shall we say, Bobbie?" "0, let 'em down easy, say 'plain,"' answered the elegant youth, plunging into a dish of steaming oysters before him. "Ah I this suits me! Imagine cold fowl and sal. ads in this temperature, washed down with thimblefuls of thin sherry ! - Here, you nightshade I give me some champagne. - The fellow stands and grins like a satyr while one is congealing by inches! Lively lot here to-night, eb, Huntley ? - and your friend? Wales, is n't it?" "Yes," returned the latter, rather coolly; "thought you knew him." The table was now almost deserted, and our two friends arose and left Young Amer- ica, cst. nineteen, to his meditations and his champagne. "Queer fish, that Huntley. Don't know whether I quite like him, and I wonder Wales fancies him so much. It 's all right, I suppose. Deuced good these oysters are! Wonder if he had been playing? Looked * flustered. Handsome boy. Odd I never met him." And Robbie dropped the subject in order to devote hiihself more exclusively * to his hot " saddle rocks." Crossing the supper-room, Iluntley and his companion entered through noiseless, swinging doors the salon beyond. It was a large double parlor extending through to the closely curtained windows on the street, * with its spacious area apparently magnified by aa ingenious arrangement of large French mirrors; but even the superb finish of the eating-room scarcely prepared one for the matchless luxury of this magnificent apart- ment. There was a lavish richness in the appointments which fairly cloyed the sense of vision, and which, it is possible, would have its effect in stimulating certain emotions in the beholder and promoting just that excited and sensuous state of mind which is most favorable to "the house." Never was sin so dressed before; never so flattering to the sense, so terribly tempting to the eye. F~inrni ture of enigmatical cost was scattered abbut in graceful confusion; statuettes in Parian and bronze, b~jouterie loading handsome bracket-rests, and inviting smaller paintings of the Jerome school. Over each of the two heavy mantels of wrought marble hung a glowing chef-d'auvre of the copy- ist's art in life-size glory; the one a reproduc- tion of the Naples Danail (in which Titian's warm flesh is almost as golden as his gold), the other the self-same Rubens type of profligate mother Venus intent with Bac- chus and their votaries on drinking each other under the mutual table, - the familiar picture of the Uffizi which one grows thirsty with looking at. The verh~st anchorite, escaping the charm of these seductive pic- tures, would inevitably have been ship- wrecked midway between them, where a glittering cabinet presented a full array of never-failing decanters, flanked by open boxes of fragrant cigars. The whole gorgeous ensemble, from the velvet medallion beneath the feet (upon which the incongruous excrescences of spit- toons would have startled a!oreign eye) to the superficial cornices of cm~imson and gold which surmounted the tinted walls, was a marvel of sumptuousness, to which the great chandeliers of gilt bronze, hung with crim- son swinging globes, gave an almost magic charm. Sales de Jeu are common enough in the older world; big, blazing halls, with trick- ling fountains, exotic flowers, masses of fresco, and dancing arabesques: but it remained for the genius of our own land to produce the fabulous splendor of a New York "gambling- house." A long, broad table ran across the lower L '6 CHOISY. 7 page: 8-9[View Page 8-9] CHOISY. KNAVES AND ACES. 9 Il III end of the parlors, and was surrounded by chairs; mimic inlaid cards of ivory gleaned 4 from the green cloth which covered it; and the various apparatus of the game, including tall piles of divers-cQlored chips, were there- on arranged under the skilful superintend- ence of the several functionaries. Hazard has taken many forms and rejoiced in many names since they gambled on their finger- ends in the streets of old Rome. This was called "faro," in French phara- on, - a plague of Egypt that has fallen on our time. Most of those who had left the supper- table lingered briefly over their cigars about the reading-table and dropped away one by one; but several surrounded the gaming-table and shared or watched its for- tunes. Our two friends smoked apart with Worthington, who had joined them, and who conversed in the well-schooled, easy manner of his order. As I have said, he was a handsome man, with a clear, smooth- shaven face, finely cut features, and keen, deep-set cyes4 but not even the studied smile or the graceful suavity of his address could entirely hide a sinister something which pervaded him, and was soonest de- tected in the lines about his mouth. His dress was unexceptionable, and itsonly orna- ment a brilliant of great size which sparkled in his shirt-front. lie was undeniably at- tractive,- a well-graced actor on his stran- gest of stages. And just as he had dressed his rooms with cunning art, so nature had flung an attractive glamour about his person: the eye found no outward sign of what the heart might feel, - the nameless evil that lay beyond. "Very kind of you, Mr. Wales, very kind of you indeed, to honor us with a call," he had said, coming up to them and extending his hand for a greeting, which Charley acknowledged rather awkwardly. "Such a wretched night as it is too; as much as a man's life is worth to be out in it, I should think. I have wished a dozen times this even- ing that my house could offer accommoda- sions sufficiently extensive and pleasant to tempt all these good people to stay the night out. As it is, 1 fear it would come to camp- ing out on chairs and sofas with 'short com- mons' in bedclothes. Ali! I see they are going out into it again.- Good night, Judge. Good night, gentlemen. I wish you a safe passage; if you can't do better you can come back, you know. - Nothing stirring in the street, I suppose, Mr. Wales?" "I know of nothing. Huntley is the man for 'points."' "Ahi yes, to be sure; and the man to improve them as well, if we may be allowed the surmise; eb, Mr. Huntley? Will you excuse me? I see the Judge is in trouble with those stupid servants." And he passed swiftly into the hall, from whence came the ~cho of the deep-voiced dignitary of the - Court in tones of wrath. "Let 's look at the game," said iluntley. :~ ~ see Sanders of the Whirlwind Club is playing, and it will be worth watching." They approached the table and took places in the ellipse surrounding it, which comprised a score of men, seated and standing, half of whom were engaged in play. The man at the cards, a mechanical creature with a face of marble, through whose fingers the paper squares seemed to glide by a momentum purely their own, favored the arriving couple with a scarcely perceptible glance; and the twQ assistants beside him, impassive ma- chines like himself, dealing out and collect- ing the losses and gains and keeping the busy score, did the same from sheer force of example. Aside from the habitual so- lemnity of these men, which was, how- ever, frequently relaxed in smiles at some winning player's joke, the scene savored little at this moment of the gaming-table as we see it in its glory in other lands. The lively rattle of conversation and occa- sional well-put jest, the innovation of liquors and cigars at the table, and, above all, the absence of that long-drawn moment of sus- pense which is inseparable from the Euro- pean roulette or the deal at trente et quarante, divested the picture of much of the repulsive effect which horribly strained attention and death-like silence give it abroad, and made it even more dangerous. The play was at the full. "Two aces out!" "Queen-deuce!" "Copper thejack!" "Chips for that!" "Make your bets, gentle- men!" "How will you have them?" fell in a chorus on Charley's ear, mingled with the clicking of the ivoryjetons. Among the seat- ed players was a young man whose burning cheeks gave token of the perilous excitement within. He had been winning largely, and at the moment he caught Cbar~ey's attention was in the act of exchanging a mass of chips for the corresponding amount in notes. "That 's Sanders," whispered Huntley; "they tell me he won fifteen thousand here last night, and is doing nearly as well to- night. 'Pon my word, I feel rather in the vein myself. I believe I will try them a turn or two. Chips for this, please," he added, tossing a roll of bills to the banker; "fives and tens; and, waiter, some Bour- bon and cigars. You '11 have some, Char- ley?" The attendant served the desired articles with miraculous dispatch, and Charley drank off the liquor without noticing the quantity. There were two vacant seats near them, and Huntley took one of them, making place for Charley, who, intent on the game, sat down mechanically beside him. Huntley staked ace full for a considerable amount, and won; 21 I I 44 44 44 CHOISY. moved to the deuce, and won again; and was a third time successful in the same corner, having thus quadrupled his original fuse. He shrugged his shoulders slightly, and said to Charley, who had watched his play, "Ought to have doubled. Are you com- ing in?" Young Wales had sat there with the fever rising in his veins. To stand by that table was dangerous; to sit by it was to fall. He nodded, threw some notes across to the nimble-fingered "banker," and in five minutes more he had become oblivious to all the world and the things thereof beyond the ebb and flow of the noisy jetons and the white-faced, emotionless man who manipu- lated the swift cards. 0 that strange intoxication of play! that something which thought cannot pene- trate or words describe, - terrible, inexpli- cable, inhuman! Who shall analyze it, who rob it of its delirious attraction, who resist it? God save us! most of us have felt it at one time or another; out to feel it always! It would kill most of us, I think; but there are men who live on in its atmos- phere a sort of vampire-life, who have won the secret of the old alchemists, draining the poison-cup and laughing at death. This one whom we meet in our walks of life and speak of in undertones as a "gambler" be- longs no longer to our common world; lie cam~ exist no longer on the every-day food of humanity, and there has ceased to be a charm for him in those things which consti- tute the happiness of men. He has found another world within this world, and changed his being to fit therein; by the loss of every- thing he has gained a something, and almost defeated nature by achieving the unnatural. He is a man apart, - a living horror, from whom there are none of us so strong that we do not shrink with aThudder, knowing what a little will make us like him, and what a secret life is his. There is no escape, for there can be no cessation; no rest, for chance, abetted as it may be, as it almost always is, by fraud, is ever uneven; no profit, for all values are wiped away for him who lives from cast to cast; nothing but the wild swift course down to the bitter end, broken by intervals of desperate reverses or frenzied transports of success, and ceasing I invariably with mysterious but significant abruptness. Poor Charley Wales was a gambler no more than you and I, who have looked down I at the savage rage over some broad, pro- tecting shoulder, felt its cruel influence, and come away sobered hmmt unscathed. Led by a cunning hand within the magic circle, he felt, perhaps, something of his danger, but ~ did not dream of falling. Who ever did? t Who, at his age, walks not gayly along the ( dizzy precipices of to-day, weaving some ii 2 bright dream for the morrow? 0 ce with- in, he went on blindly and floundered miser- ably at last. Let us be charitable to the man whom, instead of ourselves, partial fate plunged into the abyss. He played at first with marked success, and, staking heavily, to " follow his luck," as Huntley suggested, gained largely, and pur- sued the mad career with intense excite- ment. Drink after drink of burning spirits passed his lips, and countless cigars were consumed with reckless rapidity; he never noted the frequency of either, or that they were served to him assiduously without his command, any more than he noted Hunt- ley's infrequent play and the gradual de- parture of the other gamesters. He was aware only that the statue-like dealer had disappeared, and that Worthington himself, smiling and affable, had taken his place, drawing the cards with an equally dexter- ous hand. "Robbie" had come in a long time before and put down a note, "to pay," as he would have said, "for his supper"; only in this instance it won another, whereupon he incontinently pocketed both and went his way, not without a shrewd glance at Chancy's excited face. "Quite a new thing for him, I should say," was the reflection of the period's child. "Humph! hope he '11 get off cheap, that is all The fortune of the table changed at last. The circle of~ other players had dwindled down to some three or four betting at ran- dom and paid with a carelessness that must have excited the suspicions of a sharp ob- server as to their real character; and the busy hum of the hour before was succeeded by almost unbroken silence. It seemed the proper moment, and Charley's store of "chips" and notes began to melt away as it had accumulated; even more rapidly, indeed, for never does the player brave the hazard so recklessly as when the losing turn arrives. The effect on the young man showed how completely he was under the tearful spell; the desperate stakes, the an- ~ry exclamations, the trembling hand and ~onvulsed face; - even Huntley, who watched him with a Strangm expression of patience on his face, shivered once or twice at the spectacle. When the very last )f Charley's "chips" went back to the ank, however, he said with well-assumed mrelessness, "You are not in luck, Char- ey; better break off." But even as he poke he showed a handful of his carefully servedd chips on a card. "D-d if I do," cried young Wales, upon vhom the reckless drinking of the pre- rious hour was beginning to tell violently in his momentary respite from the excitement )f actual play. "Loan me some chips," he Aded, stretching out his~hand imperiously page: 10-11[View Page 10-11] 10 CHOISY. as he spoke. Huntley smiled, and pushed th e whole pile towards him. "There's the lot, if you want them; three hundred, I think. Plenty to play on if you strike the vein, - eb, Worthington?" The gambler smiled back, and knocked the ashes daintily from his cigar in the in- terval of the deal. "I have seen a bank broken on a start of just one sixtieth of that amount, say five dollars," he replied; and added to Chancy, "My best wishes for your better success, Mr~ Wales." The words attended the draining of fresh- ly filled glasses, after which the game went on. It was all one way now; in three brief casts of the cards the borrowed stakes had followed those gone before. Charley sat in his place a moment, staring moodily at the table, whereupon the three or four other players seemed suddenly inspired with fresh interest and played with great success. It was only a moment, but evidently an anx- ious one for his companion, who watched him with hawk's eyes. Charley broke the pause in a hoarse, changed voice: "Give me some brandy, waiter, your whiskey is rubbish; and a cigar. - Got any money, Huntley?" Worthington smiled affably at the insult to his whiskey, which was really very fine. And Huntley ~re~v out his porte-monnale. "I 'as not riCh to-night, Chancy, but I can give you something, I guess. Let 's see - two hundred - thirty - fifty - five, two fifty-five-that's my pile - tout ce qu'il y a lIt declans! If you will play, it is yours." Chancy seized the notes and played them, without awaiting the exchange for chips. Luck came back to him one little moment, just long enough to fan the dull blaze into a raging flame again; then, in a few adverse turns, left him penniless as before. Again he sat an instant in gloomy silence. It was an awful moment, and one which burned itself upon his memory, despite the numbness of his senses, haunting him for months afterwards, a phantom of regret and shame. Huntley was making an entry in his mem- orandum-book; but he did not fail to catch the young man's glance as it wandered towards him. "Just a record, you know," he said, laugh- ing, "I shall not worry about it. Five fifty- five, was n't it? Quite enough with what you have lost. You are not in luck to-night, Charley. Better go, had we not?" He rose as lie spoke; but a sober observer would have seen the devilish anxiety in his face, and how far from his heart was the desire to go. "Wait!" said Chancy, hoarsely, rising also as he spoke. He was obliged to stand in his place a moment, and clutch the back of his chair, while the room with its gilded walls and dancing lights swam in a wild whirl before his eyes. Then with a thick- spoken oath he staggered across to the liquor-stand, and, pouring a glass from the first decanter he encountered, drained it at one gulp. The draught nerved him for the further effort of reaching the secretary in the upper salon, - an elegant affair of rose- wood and green morocco, hung with little packages of blank checks and drafts on all the city banks, and offering every conven- ience for their filling up. It was with none of these that he had to do, however. With some difficulty he selected a paper from the contents of his pocket, and managed with desperate momentary firmness to write a rapid endorsement across it. His dearly purchased strength barely enabled him to regain the table, where the mechanical motion of cards and jetons went silently on. More than one pnir of eyes had watched his movements with intense interest, though, had he been competent to detect it, he would have found no change or emotion in any face when he returned. He sank heavily in his seat, nnd threw the crumpled paper on the board with a demand in thick, almost unintelligible tones, "Money for that!" An evil chance seemed to have guided Charley Wales's footsteps all this day. It moved him to stop at the Metropolitan on his way up town, to see an old acquaintance who was over from "the Jerseys." In the office he encountered Mr. Perkins, - President Perkins of the Penkinsville Bank (National), who was at that moment in something of a quandary, and who greeted him with effusion. "Ah, Mr. Wales! how fortunate! You come in the nick of time to my relief. May I ask your attention a moment?" Inasmuch as Mr. Perkins, or, more prop- erly, the institution which he represented, kept a valuable account at the great bank- ing house of ~Vales, Burton, & Co. in New York (for Perkinsville, be it said, whereof the Penkinsville National is the principal financial agents settled and mostly popu- lated by the family Perkins, is a manufac- turing town of considerable pretensions in the neighboring province' of Connecticut), the young man acknowledged the warm greeting of the country banker with great respect, and was properly glad to be of ser- vice. lie excused himself to his friend and stepped aside with the President, who drew a portentous wallet from some obscure recess of his waistcoat. "I intended to call at your office to-day, but I had so much to do, and was so delayed by the storm, that I did not succeed in get- ting down at all. I am in receipt of a tele- gram which really makes it imperative for inc to return home by the evening train; KNAVES AND ACES. 11 and I must ask you to take charge of this It was a cheerful feast that turned the cold draft and have it credited to us in the world without to laughter, and from it the morning, if you will be so kind; having friend from the country went homewards brought it so far myself; I felt reluctant to dreaming sweet dreams all along the hideous trust it to the mail. You will give me your Passaic flats. Long months afterwards Char- personal receipt, please; business, you know; Icy recalled that hour and taxed his confused thank you! I see they are calling me for memory for every detail of its events; what 4 the coach. Please give it your attention in was most prominent in his recollections was the morning. My respects to your father. his own ready humor at the expense of Will be down again in a week. Good even- President Perkins, of whom he had given a ing!" And Mr. Perkins hurried away after ludicrous personation in his account of the the Titan who was bearing off' his port- incident 'of the draft, and the subsequent manteau, leaving Charley standing with the drifting of their conversation to the subject gaudily illuminated scrap in his hand, which, of gaming. He remembered that Huntley through the m~dihm of certain written cx- invested this part of their causerie with rare pressions interspersed among divers designs interest by drawing lifelike pictures of the "~ of a pictorial character (inclusive of a rather Old World kursaals, and relating some cnn- flattering vignette of Miss Prudence Perkins ous reminiscences drawn from less public in the guise of Collimbia smiling seductively sources. Charley Wales, in gcncral esteem, k at Industry, an idle youth with a superabun- was a "young man about town," as the dance of ribbon on his hat, who leaned upon popular phrase is; but so much of the rather his scythe in the opposite corner), informed undefined menu of distractions which thnt the world that the Bank of Commerce in typical personage affects as comes under New York was requested to pay at sight to the head of play was limited, in his case, to the order of Messrs. Wales, Burton, & Co., occasional whist or pool at his club. Beyond the sum of ten thousand dollars," and charge this his gaming experience had never cx- thc same to the account of the Perkinsville tended; he heard often enough of the high National Bank of Perkinsville, Daniel play at the various notorious resorts, of Perkins, Pres." It was not an affair of very their luxurious splendoi and singular pros- great moment to Cliarley, who simply put perity, but gave the story only so much the draft in his pocket-book and rejoined attention as curiosity at the moment prompt- his friend; hut the financial gentleman from ed. lie had always declined invitations to the "districts" did not fail to revolve the look in at some of the gorgeous "hells," matter in his mind during the long transit declined with a certain emphasis, moreover, to Twenty-seventh Street; and though he regarding them and ~ic class who frequented in no way doubted the entire safety of the them as essentially foreign to his own circle; ~ proceeding, he acted upon the su~estion~ of' and how it came at~ou~ tiiai, aftem' ~he dinner '~ great business caution (which he no doubt this night, he had gone with Huntley to inherited from his respectable ancestry, an(l Worthington's, he was never able clearly to which is said to characterize the good people understand. Some remark of his implying of the "district" from which he hailed), and a certain curiosity about high play had been stole time at the station to write a brief note met by Iluntley with the suggestion that it to Wales, Burton, & Co., informing them was "something which ought to be seen that he had handed that evening to their once," - the animus of which suggestion has Mr. Wales, Jr., "their No. 72 B'k Coin, led young feet across many a dangerous Ru- $10,000," etc., which he "presumed would bicon. They could "drop in at Worthing- be at hand with receipt of this advice." It ton's in 00th Street at supper-time for ten may be added that this note went safely to minutes," Huntley said, "and see the 'tiger' post that night, and was duly deposited in in his glory." the desk of Mr. Wales, Sen., the following Chancy had borrowed the' money of morning, while his son was still in bed with Simms, - finding he had non~m about him, - desperate headache and a heart-ache feeling the natural desire of one in his posi- cyond cure. tion to enter among men on an independent The same evil chance led Charley to tarry footing, and with no definite intent to play. at the Metropolitan with his friend, and, as He might risk the money and lose it, for tIme latter was going home by a night train, that matter; it was a trifle for him, and finally to propose dinner at Delinonico's, the would have cost him no more afterthought two having lunched together at a late hour than he had carried home many times after down town, which was conveniently en route bad cards at the Mayflower, and slept for the Jerseyman. At the Chambers Street peacefully, nevertheless. And so they had restaurant they chanced on Mr. Huntley, "dropped in "at Worthington's, and looked, who, being a friend of Mr. Wales, was very - and stayed. happy to meet Mr. Wales's friend, and the When the draft fell upon the table, three had dined together as men may dine Worthington glanced sharply at Chanley, at Delmonico's, and only there in the world. who glared back at him with sullen eyes lii page: 12-13[View Page 12-13] 12 CHOISY. and angrily reiterated his demand. The sir. Gentlemen, the game is closed!" And gambler took up the paper, gave it a mo- the tally-box rattled sharply, as the weary mentary inspection, and, unperceived by keeper sent it spinning into the middle of Charley, stole a look towards Huntley. The the table. latter had risen quickly at the young The sounds had no meaning for Charley. man's return, and moved across to the side- He had sunk into a helpless, almost uncon- board, where he was engaged in filling a scious state, and was quite insensible to sur- glass rather nervously wh~n he met Wor- rounding. thington's eye. He shrugged his shoulders "Hold him a moment, and call Iluntley," and gave a slight inclination of his head said Worthington, as he rose from his seat. in answer, and, without drinking the liquor The mask had fallen from his face, on which he had poured out. sauntered off and an expression of disgust had replaced the threw himself on a lounge by the reading- studied smile. table. Huntley came hurriedly forward. He Worthington opened a small side-drawer spoke to no one, but with assistance got in th~ table, and took therefrom ten crisp, Charley up and arranged his wraps. Out- new notes, which he handed to Charley side a coach was waiting, the horses blank- with his unfailing smile, after depositing the eted to their ears, and the driver drowsing draft in their place. Young Wales noted inside. The sky had cleared, and the neither their number nor denomination, but bright starlight of the winter morning shone clutched them fiercely, and threw some of down on the snowy streets. them on the mimic ace. "Leave the windows open, John, and "Draw your cards, d-n you!" he cried, take a turn about the square with him, be- in thick, uneven tones. Alcohol and to- fore you take him home," said Huntley to bacco had welinigh achieved their work the coachman. upon him, and he rocked unsteadily in his Some time later the carriage drew up be- seat as he spoke. One of the men sitting fore a tall mansion on the avenue. The driv- ne~sr sidled up to him cautiously, and er descended and ran nimbly up the steps. Worthington, albeit as unruffled and smooth His knock was almost instantly responded as ever, dealt the cards very rapidly. The to by a man-servant, and the two, with some waste was a knave, the bank's card an ace; difficulty, got the young man into the house, the queen won for the players, and Charley where the c~achee left him, and hurried had lost, away. It was no light task to convey the Probably no external influence could have living yet helpless burden up stairs; but at longer kept alive a single spark of intelli- last it was accomplished, and the young gence under the heavy stupor which was man fell at once into the deep slumber of creeping over body and brain; but a spasm body and brain which follows excess, and of feverish excitement seemed to thrill him which, happily, has no dreams. again, even as his head was sinking on his breast, and to nerve him with strength to In an upper apartment of the gambler's rea~ph the bitter end. house the two men, Huntley and Worthing- "Gone again!" he mumbled. "All right, ton, seated before a glowing grate, held a old fellow; try it again, - ace!" brief conversation following young Wales's t'he movement of the cards was light- departure. 'ning-like. Of course, he lost. "Deuce wins, "It 's all right, I suppose," said the latter ace loses," was the dull echo from the un- in conclusion, and rising as he spoke; "but moved dealer. it was drawing it pretty strong for the It seemed for an instant as if the young young one; I don't see your object." man had been shocked into something like "It is not necessary that you should; and consciousness of his situation; his face was mind you, Sam, I must stand clear in this, livid, and he fastened the big brown eyes on whatever turns up," responded Huntley, Worthington with an expression that tried rising also, and preparing to go. "Be even the steel nerves of that veteran, sharp with the draft; lef Knarles see to it But it was for an instant only; with an in the morning at once. The old man may unintelligible oath he pushed the remaining kick at it; but he must 'pony'; honor is notes upon the card: "There, d-n you; his religion, and, after all, it 's a mere baga- take th' rest, - on the ace!" telle for him. Don't tell Knarles too much. This movement cost the last remnant of you know. No, thanks, I '11 not stop. I 'ye his strength, and he would have fallen from my game to play, and must stay at the hotel. his chair after it, had not his neighbor put Beastly headache I've got! How he did out an arm and supported him. The mel- drink! Good night. See you at Sched- ancholy farce of the falling cards followed, her's at noon." - scarcely need of it now; and after it the "Good night, - and be d-d to you for clear, cold voice of Worthington, "Deuce a precious scoundrel!" added Worthington wins, ace loses! Sorry for your bad luck, in an undertone, as the door closed on the CAST OUT. 13 other. "Not the sea side of you on a dark long gone years. There are pitfalls all night, if Iknow it, my boy!" And with this among the flowers and the fairness, but significant reflection Mr. Sam Worthington never a thought for them has "my lad "- betook himself to his luxurious bed. "When all the world is young, Aud all the trees are green." So he tumbled bodily, like many another as open-eyed, as brave, as thoughtless, as CHAPTER II. hopeful; but he was a free rider andfell hard. Did any one, I wonder, ever traverse that CAST OUT. flowery road without a stumble? I think WHEN Charley Wales woke the next day not; not even you, honored or reverend with the meridian sun streaming in at his sir, who bear aloft the strong lance of windows, he was in a condition of mind justice, or teach us the right way. Alack! which would have been chaotic, if a great if the whispered tales of other days shall pain had not given it some character. The sometimes verge on truth, some of you old servant stood by his bedside as he opened tripped grievously in your time, and seepedd his heavy eyes. some very muddy sluma by a hair I- We "I made bold to wake you, sir; it is are all of a mould, and poor old Jack Fal- nearly lunch-time, and Miss Emma thought staff is our apologist, ha may we do, you would wish to be called." indeed, in these days of vilany, when Adam "So late! I will get up. You may leave in his innocence fell? the soda, Stephen." It was ss6~ of his pleasant life, however, Stephen withdrew, and Charley lay gaz- that young Wales thought. If he groaned ing with burning eyes at the faint winter in remorse, he did not groan in regret. He sunshine on the wall. A dizzy host of remembered what he had done, - for he was memories were struo~rling for precedence one whom no depth of intoxication could in his aching brain, but for a time he could render oblivious to an act of guilt,- and the grasp no one of them clearly. What was horrid fact stunned him for a time with its it? What had occurred? Ah ! - the din- weight, ill as he was from the effects of cx- ncr down town with Birch and Huntley - cess. But though physically weak, he was President Perkins - the club - Simms - resolute enough to think calmly, and close Worthington's - supper - detective c/ia- on the heels of what he had done followed os Out of this, in a little time, a vague, the thought of what he must do; but it was chilling memory took shape and grew, - the here that the situation took on its most dazzling salons and the faro-table, the cir- dreaded phase, for it raised before him the dc of faces dancing fantastically about, and figure of his father. only die one horrible, unmoving figure in It could be said that Edward Wales, the the midst, with set lips and unlaughing banker, had a son, but it could scarcely eyes. He had played, too, - 0 yes! - be acknowledged that Charley Wales had the money borrowed from Simms - lost known a father. The hard, cold man of it, and - and Huntley's and -0 my God! gold possessed none of the qualities which we He started upright in his bed, and clutched associate with that name. He had been the at support for an instant, while the room - terror of Chancy's earlier years, removed the handsome, cheery room, with its pie- but ever remembered, as he was the oppres- tured walls and its scattered wealth of Id- sive shadow of the young ~man's later life. joux, gathered with so much artist-pleas- To meet him in this crisis, and to meet in nrc in the years gone by - swam in a him tIme judge, was the ordeal from which mad whirl before his eyes. A moment Charley shrank. later and he was searching with shaking The sun was adding its cheenfhl light to hands among the papers in his pockets, the warmth of a crackling fire in the break- searching wildly but silently, with com- fast-room as Charley entered it, a half-hour pressed lips and a strained look in the big later, struggling to look at ease. A young brown eyes. girl stood by the grate as he came in, and No, it was not there; the truth came turned quickly, with a half-reproachful, half- back to him more clearly now, and there anxious face, which grew very tender as she was no need to search. He. sat down with noted his pallor and haggardness; but she a groan, appalled and sickened; brain and said, merrily enough," The 'late' Mr; Wales, body shared the blow, - both nervous and as usual. What a bad boy you are!" weakened with poisoned drink. The weight "Spare me, little coz," he answered with crushed him, and for the first time in his an effort at gayety sadly in contrast with young life the courage faded from the brave his nervous step and manner. His eyes boy's heart. fell unaccountably before her own, and he His had been a pleasant life, a merry, seized and fumbled the paper without speak- morning gallop across green fields and sunny ing, while she rang for lunch, and sat down hills, like yours and mine, reader, in the at the table. She glanced furtively at him I page: 14-15[View Page 14-15] CHISY.CAST OUT. several times, as she busied herself with the coffee, before speaking again. "You are not well, I fear, Charley; yes- terday was such a day! You ought to be careful. Were you kept down town by the snow?" "Yes; it was awful, was n't it?" (He was thinking how awful it was, and wonder- ing behind his paper what she would think of him if she knew it.) "I did n't care to ride up with the governor, you know; so - Well, to tell the truth, I was near not getting up at all." And he wished he had not, poor boy! "I-low tiresome! I wondered what you would do all day, as I watched the storm from the window. It quite reconciled me to the misfortune of being a woman, as Clara would say, to see the pitiful state of these famous business people in the omnibuses. Uncle himself was late last evening." He was not listening, and she said no more, but watched him with troubled eyes as he left his food untasted, and rose to go. "Won't you have another omelette? I fear that was cold.'~ "No, it 's good enough. I 'm not hungry, and I must go down; ought to have been at the office two hours ago. One o'clock! How I slept!" He rang for his coat, which she took from Stephen and helped to put on. "Never mind,~ Em; thanks. I - you did not find a paper - that is, anything in these pockets, Stephen?" "No, sir," replied the servant. "Your hat, sir?" He moved to the door, and Charley turned to follow, but something touched his arm. "Good by, for all day." She stood with her hand extended and a smile on her face, - a delicate, beautiful face it was, - but in her sober eyes was all the in- stinctive intelligence of her woman's heart, which had fathomed his disturbed manner, and sought to know its hidden cause. A world of anxiety and undisguised affec- tion was in the gaze; he saw it and hesi- tated, took her hand, and hesitated still; then, wrenching it almost convulsively, turned away to the door with a tear-choked "Ta, ta." She crossed to the window and sighed, saw him go by, walking with his quick, elastic step, and then returned to gaze silently at the fire, where she still re- mained when the wondering servant came to remove the untouched luncheon. It was "late - ddivery" time in Wall Street when Charley descended from the omnibus at his father's office, and went up the broad steps with a tremulous heart, - "late delivery," for the ragged bits of stained and unprepossessing paper clutched in the handa .f hatless and breathless clerks dash- 14 15 CHOISY- lug madly along the swollen curbs, and plunging into the river of mud and snow which filled the street, - "late delivery "for the millions of men's possessions which they hurried thus from aide to side, -"late de- livery," too, for poor Charley, going in to meet his fate at that fan~iliar threshold. A strange visitor had preceded him at the house of Wales, Burton, & Co., on that morning of sunshine and sodden streets, by an inch of time; and it is in inches that time brings on its revenges. Mr. Wales, in his private office, was running rapidly over his large morning mail at his usual hour, when a clerk announced that a gentleman wished to see him. The interruption was unusual, and Mr. Wales did not like un- usual things in business. "Name?" was all he vouchsafed in re- sponse to the message, without pausing in hls work. "Here is his card, sir; 'Mr. Knarles.'" It was not a promising cognomen, and the banker frowned at it. But 'he said, sharply, " Show him in." Mr. Knarles's appearance was not pre- possessing, - a lean, sly-faced, sharp-e~Ved little man, in a rather seedy black suit, - and the banker frowned again as he glanced up at his visitor. He recognized him, how- ever, - he never forgot a face, - as one of those parasites of crime who live on the courts. In fulfilling the one unavoidable duty of citizenship in the jury-box, lie had once beheld in Mr. Knarles the earnest champion of unmitigated villany; and it was with sensations of decided repugnance that he received his obsequious salute. "1 must beg you to state your business briefly; I am fully occupied," he said, curt- ly, motioning the lawye~' to a seat. Mr. Knarles had not completed his very pro- found obeisance, but he accepted the posi- tion with cheerfulness and alacrity. "I appreciate the value of your time, Mr. Wabs," he began, with bland equanim- ity. "It would be difficult to find any one in New York who could fail to do so, I am sure. I will occupy as little of it as the case admits. May I ask if we are entirely private here?" Quite," responded the banker, with some impatience, and still busy with his letters. "Excuse my pressing the point, sir, it is important." Mr. Wales turned off from the perusal of a portentous Western letter covering an infinitude of those highly illuminated drafts, such as the good men of the border delight in, and, turning in his chair, pointed to the door. "You ~a~,turn the key, sir, if you think it necessary. He thought he had divined the man's errand; his presence could be accounted 4,' 4, for in only one way, and he merely won- ed his hand for the paper. But the banker dered that this man should have preceded paid not the slightest attention to the words their own regular detective. But he was or the movement, and he withdrew his hand. alive to the requirements of the case, and After a moment Mr. Wales asked, sharply, as the lawyer returned to his seat he gave "What is your price for this?" him his full attention. "Our price! I must remind you, sir, "My business lies in' this, Mr. Wales," that Mr. Worthington has advanced the full said the lawyer, drawing, as he spoke, a amount, with no deduction for interest or slip of paper from an emaciated memoran- commissions -" dum-book, and extending' you examine it?" ~ the same. "Will "Bah I" Mr. Knarles was growing bold, and the The banker received and inspected it banker showed his first symptom of fueling rapidly but closely, pausing only to note the in the impatient exclamation. indorsemnents. He had not yet read the "Does this constitute your entire claim note of President Perkins, and he was puz- against my - against the indorser?" he zled; but his face told no tales. continued. "How came you in possession of this?" "It does. I am prepared to hand you he asked abruptly. Mr. Worthington's receipt to that effect." "it is held by my client, who received it Mr. Wales turned, and touched his bell. in ordinary course of business," Was the "May I trouble you to unlock the door?" ready reply. he asked, without looking again at the law- "And who is your client?" yer, who obeyed with a readiness that bor- "Mr. Samuel Worthington of 00th dered on precipitation. To the clerk who Street." answered the summons the banker said, Mr. Wales re-examined the draft, with "Bring me a blank check." the tenor of which the reader is familiar. It was brought and laid before him. It bore the iisdorsement, "Pay S. Wor- "To whose order?" he asked. thington. Wales, Burton, & Co., per 0. W., "Mr. Samuel Worthington, ifyon please," Att'y." The banker's face grew a shade responded the lawyer, whose face was now more rigid as he studied these lines, but agitated by repressed satisfaction. the change would easily have escaped a It did not please the banker, however. less observant eye than that of Mr. Knarles. He frowned darkly at the name, and after That gentleman was something of an ama- a moment of hesitation filled in the check teur in the study of physiognomies, and rapidly to the order of the firm, and de- he felt no little admiration for the severe- snatched a clerk to the hank for the cur- ly impassive man before him, whose impen- rency. Pending the messenger's return etrable expression almost defied scrutiny, the silence was broken only by a single in- "You must be aware," said Mr. Wales, terrogation and a ready reply. Mr. Wales coldly, but without removing his eyes from faced about, and, curbing the rising disgust the draft, "that this is worthless." which was evident in his face, met the eye "On the contrary, sir," responded the of the Tombs satellite with a fixed look. lawyer, with an affectation of alarm, "it "I have no guaranty that this will be was received by my client in good faith, as kept silent," he said. I have said, and in regular course of busi- "The best, sir," returned Knarles, quick- ness. The full amount has been advanced ly. "It is for our jaterest that it should upon it, - advanced, I may say, without hesi- be." station, as the very honorable character of The banker felt something like a shud- the endorser -" der at this significant admission. It had "The endorsing party has no power to cost the proud old man an effort to exact consign this draft; his power of attorney it, and he was paler thami before when he is a limited one, and applies to a simple passed the thick roll of bills which had detail of office business only. The indorse- been brought in to the lawyer. He gave ment, as I have stated, is worthless." only a glance at the receipt given therefore, The banker spoke with impatience, but and turned to his desk' again, while Mr. Mr. Knarles deliberated sober y a moment Knarles somewhat laboriously ran over the before replying. He seemed even affected money. The few words of acknowledg- by the intelligence, meat which the latter ventured to utter re- "What you state must, of course, be cor- ceived no attention, and the lawyer, finding rect, Mr. Wales, and I need not say that it them unheeded, shrugged his thin shoulders, puts an altogether different face on the smiled softly to himself, and passed out. matter; I may say, an unhappy face. It Outside, the smile spread blandly over the makes it necessary for me to consult my sharp, cunning face, and the little man be- client at once, as he will desire to protect stowed a remarkably cheerful salute upon his interest with his usual promptness." the old cashier, who looked up over his spec- Mr. Knarles rose as he spoke, and extend- tackles at the unwanted visitor, and won- page: 16-17[View Page 16-17] 16 CAS' CHOISY. dered again at the hiatus occasioned in his check-book by such a customer. It deserves to be recorded that the amiable Mr. Knanles, on leaving the office of Wales, Burton, & Co., so far diverged from his usual habits of business as to drop down to Delmonico's and partake of a glass of hot brandy-and- water, for which indulgence he found a twofold excuse in his successful negotiation and the bad state of the streets. The banker sat tapping idly on his desk for a time, - a long time for him, in thse busy hours of work, - his eyes resting thoughtfully on the two slips of paper lying before him. The old cashier, who looked in for some instructions, saw something in his face which sent him away again on tiptoe. Then he gathered up the draft and receipt mechanically, and put them in a small side- drawer, the key of which he kept in his porte-monnaie. The absent look was still in his eyes as he closed and locked the same; they fell purposelessly upon the mass of unopened correspondence, and wandered, as by fateful chance, to a morning journal which lay partly folded on the desk. There they rested, rested long, until the old in- telligence seemed to flash back into them; and with a convulsive movement he reached out and took up the paper. It was only the "World"; but as it rested there an advertising column headed " Ocean ~ was conspicuously in view, and it was this heading which hat caught the banker's gaze. He ran down the list rapidly until his eye paused or the name of a steamer which was to sal two days later; the old, instinctive habii brought his pencil to the place anc marked it, and the paper was then care fully deposited in a pigeon-hole within reach. Then, without so much as the sigl which a younger heart heaves against it trouble, the man of business went back t4 his business, and the cashier, looking h again, found in the busy worker, going o with his letters, the unchanged, untirin! "principal" of every day. "When Mr. Charles comes down, tel him I wish to see him, Burns." "Yes, sir; and the blank?" "I will give you a memorandum later remind me of it." In due course Mr. Wales came acros the hurried communication of Presiden Perkins, which, after reading it, he put I his pocket. The honorable directors of th Bank of Perkinsville received, the nea day, a letter from their~ INew York Corr( spondents containing the rather extraurd nary statement that their "No. 72 Bl Coin at sio'ht for $ 10,000," handed to 311 Charles W'ales on the evening of the 17t instant, had been "accidentally destroyed. The amount, however, had been credited to their account in flaIl and instructions noted. "Would they kindly forward du- plicate draft at their earliest convenience?" The worthies of the up-country corporation wondered somewhat, but complied in all confidence, and thus the draft disap- peared forever from the surface of things. The old cashier received a memorandum for his blank " stump," - a charge of $10,000 to the private account of Mr. Wales. He was also instructed to credit the balance of the Perkinsvile National with a like amount, and charge the same to Profit and Loss without interest, against the arrival of their remittances, so that in the balance-sheet of Wales, Burton, & Co., that day, the house account stood debit $ 20,000, half of which was a knotted puzzle to all the working heads but one. When Charley passed the great office doors, where a rabble of nervous delivery- boys crowded the passage, the cashier found time over his lightning task to deliver the senior s message. The young man's heart sank at the words; they told him that his sin had already found him out, and for an instant he could almost have turned and fled, reading his guilt in every face. But he went in, passing by his associates with eyes on the floor and pale cheeks, making no response to their friendly greetings, - a strange discourtesy in Charley Wales. A bright-eyed clerk, running rapidly through a mass of bonds, noted at, and exchanged significant glances with his mate. I "Row on between the old un and Char- ley." I "I guess; they don't hit off at all - lately." a What passed between father and son a within the locked inner office in the next s half-hour neither the curious employees nor the world ever knew. Charley came a out as he had gone in, and left. the place a with a dazed look on his face, and no word ~ for any one. Outside, on the street steps, he paused and bared his burning head I mechanically to the cold breeze; it ached fearfully, but he was hardly conscious of the pain; and as he stood there with listless eyes wandering down the restless thorough- fare, a dreamy feeling was born of his s bewilderment which was deeper than ,any Lt sense ol physical distress. Strangely soft a and significant the familiar scene became e to him at that moment, with the 1a~t rays :t of the early winter sunset the ici- ~- des which clung to a thousand airy cor- i- ners of the spire of old Trinity, and glint- u ing down along the line of house-fronts to r. the bald colonnade of the Customs, and a b host of memories surged up within him at ." the thought that it was the last time he :d should ever gaze upon it. Long ago he had felt a child's pride in the knowled~ that his father was one of those great m who kept houses down there filled wil gold; he had gone down at long interval as he grew to boyhood, and watched wil wondering eyes and beating heart ti vast human machinery which worked swiftly and so faultlessly in the big office investing the picture with all the boy romance, and thrilling pleasantly at sigi of the name he bore staring down at all th passers-by in great gilt letters. He ha grown up ambitious to share in the labc and glory of this marvellous employment but it had proved hard and unsatisfying a] too soon, and the scene he gazed on no~ had long ago turned cold and colorless enough. But in this moment a rare chang had fallen over it, - the melancholy inter est that clothes the face of a friend going long journey. Few men had ever throw the same amount of sentiment into th~ sober lines of walk and wall in that feverish mart as did poor Chancy in those fee moments on the steps; but a sharp touci on the arm put it all to Thght. "Ilallo, Charley I one would think you had found a new architectural study, or v bit of charming scenery in the old street. judging by your artistic pose. Lucky ii you can; though, for that matter, a man in your shoes may build his 'castles in Spain where he likes, fine, five-storied, substantial ones, marbled and mansarded and all that, eh? Egad! you may build yours even here, if you care to. That 's one picture; but only look at mine I Woe is me! There is Erie down a half, and Brooks sending that infernal red-headed oflice-boy up in hot haste for 'margin.' I call him my Spectre Rouge, and I believe he is ethereal; I shied a quarto of Kent at him the other day when he popped in, and it went through him; he stood there, unwinking and un- moved, when I had thouo~ht he would go down like a ten-pin." Ti'ie gossipy friend hooked arms with Charley, who walked up with him, mechanically, to the Broadway corner. "You look done up, old fellow. I saw you putting out with Dick Huntley last evening, and wondered what was on; none of my business, of course. Huatley 's a good fellow, is n't he? Only wish he would let one know him better." The name aroused Chancy; he excused himself to his friend, and clambered into an omnibus. The first settled thought he had had for hours came with the mention of Iluntley; it grew to be a feverish desire by the time he had reached and descended at the club. It was early, and there were only a few loungers in the parlors as he entered and sought out the steward. Simms met him with his unvarying smile. "Not pleasant out, Mr. Wales?" 3 D1cK. There was but one man among the host who called themselves his friends to whom Charley could have opened his heart in the strait int~ which he had come; that man was Huntley, and there was something more than disappointment in the deep feel- ing of loneliness, of utter helplessness, which weighed him down after the perusal of this untoward note. But the unselfish soul re- tained no bitterness for its frii~nd. "Poor Dick I I am always dragging him into some scrape; I wonder he has not dropped me long ago; any other man would,~ I fancy. What a fool I was!" He had conferred that unhlattering title on himself many times during this weary day, but never with more emphasis than at this moment, when the losses, - he could not recall whether they had been large or small, - and the inconvenience to which they might subject Huntley, filled his thoughts. He stood musing by the fire un- til people began to straggle in and arouse T OUT. 17 3 "No, it is not. I say, Simms, here is a check for a thousand, and I want you to pay off some things for me. I will give you a memorandum o? them; they will foot up with what I owe you about eight hundred; you can give me the balance now." "Certainly, sir," and the celebrated wal- let made it~ appearance. "Goinrr out of town, Mr. Wales?" "No - yes - that is, for some days; have you seen Huatley to-day?" "0, beg your pardon, sir, I had nearly forgotten it; there is a note here for you from him, I think." Simms hurried away and returned with the missive, which Charley tore open and read with eager haste. It was as follows: DEAR CHARI.EY, - I have just re- ceived a telegram from Sterns at Washing- ton; he has botched my business there, and I must go on at once, though I have a roar- ing headache out of our fling hLst night, and had hoped to recuperate here quietly to- day and measure the damages with you to- night. I can't for my life recall the events, but I find myself a penniless wretch this morning. Did I loan you anything? I hope so, I 'm pure, though I am sorry we went to Worthington's. It was your suggestion, you know, and there was no holding you when you got there. Telle est la del How- ever, it is no great affair, and we 'II be good boys and not try it again. I am awfully sorry not to see you, but can't help it. Take care of yourself, and don't go to 00th Street again. I '11 be back in three days' time, and until then believe me, Yours, FIFTH AVENUE HOTEL, December 18th. page: 18-19[View Page 18-19] 18 CHOISY. him by their salutations; then he went into the street and walked slowly towards his home. It was quite dark now, and lights were gleaming softly in the windows as he passed up the avenue; he saw the swift shadows flitting across them, and pictured to himself the happy home-citcles in the warmth within. In his desolation he never paused to think that in each there brooded some heavy trouble like his own; he only saw in them the blessing of a home with a thousand sweet and sacred influences dwell- ing therein. They were not for him, and his steps grew slower as his young heart sank. Once he gathered a sudden resolution as the memory of the fair-faced girl of the morning flashed upon him; but the stern face of his father intercepted the sweet vis- ion the next instant, and his shame fell on his soul like a pall. He paused irresolutely on a street corner, and was standing there when an omnibus came clattering down. Scarcely conscious of what he did, he hailed it and got in; he could go anywhere, rest anywhere, now, but in his father's house, where every object seemed endowed with a pitiless and accusing voice. Huntley had written and dispatched more than one swift epistle in the busy half- hour at the hotel previous to his departure from town; and there had gone around to Mr. Samuel Worthington in 00th Street, by the same messenger that had conveyed the note to Charley at the club, a communica- tion of a different character. It was re- ceived and read by Mr. Worthington over a very late breakfast, a meal at which the obsequious Knarles enjoyed the unspeakable felicity of assisting, an honor bestowed probably in recognition of his successful ne- gotiation of the morning. Huntley briefly urged prompt action with the draft, - an en- tirely unnecessary proceeding as we have seen, - and closed with the words, "I am off to Philadelphia, as, whatever occurs, I am best out o he way; and in whatever does occur, I must not be involved. If any- thing special turns up, telegraph me at once at the Continental." Worthington perused the paper impas- sively, Mr. Knarles watching him covertly over his glass. That notable attorney had acquired some bad habits in the practice ol his profession, and could not wholly divest himself 'of them in private life; moreover his curiosity had been sadly piqued by tht events of the morning, and he thirsted fom more enlio'htenment than he had received from the "cautious gambler. It was nol every day that he could bring himself int such happy relations with a great man o the street, and he was beginning shrewdly to regret his too faithful pursuance of hi: client's interest and too slight recTard to hi own. He ventured at the thira glass o wine to remark innocently, "I was not aware that young Wales played; not a regular thing, is it?" Worthington repelled the gentle advance promptly. "We will not speak of the matter any further, if you please, Knarles," he said, coolly; "you have acquitted yourself satis- factorily, and we will not forget it; but it is desirable, for various reasons, to let the mat- ter drop." The lawyer smiled apologetically; but he suffered much self-condemnation on his way down town, visibly indicated by repeated sober shakings of his head, and, arrived at his office he sat down and entered in his private books a careful minute of the trans- action so far as he had figured therein, with shrewd addenda of inferences; when this was done, he indulged in a lengthy medi- tation, the conclusion of which was marked by a significant wrinkling of his brows and the philosophical ejaculation, "Who knows?" CHAPTER III. OUT OF THE WAY. CHARLEY did not make his appearance at the breakfast-table the next morning at the Wales mansion, - a not uncommon oc- currence, to be sure; but Mr. Wales noticed it, and asked Stephen if his young master was at home. The old servant made a feeble effort to evade the truth, without uttering a direct falsehood. "I don't think he is up yet, sir," he s4d. It is not likely that the subterfuge de- ceived Mr. Wales, even partially; but he said no more, and the meal passed off in silence. There were present only the bank- er and the young girl of the morning, who, with the absent Cha{rley, composed the small family of which it behooves us now briefly to sketch the history. Mr. Edward Wales had been a hard- working man of business in Wall Street for forty years. He began as a youth of fifteen with the simple details in the office of Bur- ton Brothers, even then a prominent house, not, as I might have noted, in the Wall Street of to-day, but farther down in the antique shades of Beaver Street, from which the modern thoroughfare of finance received its earlier settlers. Tireless and ambitious, with exceptional abilities and a routine of life rigidly shaped to the groove, even in those early days, in which it was destined ever afterwards to run, he rose and pros- f pered in his place, until in time he assumed, without question, the foremost position among the working heads of the house. s At twenty-five he was the brain of the con- f cern. The principals were old men, driven 4 '4 OUT OF THE WAY. 19 each day more imperatively to seek the re- ing way to the one Power he felt himself' '4 pose which age demands, and which it will unable to oppose, and go back in silence to not be denied; but they clung with the self- his post. ishncss and the pitiful tenacity of their He possessed ~a single relative of his own years to the traditions of their trade, and family, a widowed sister, who lived with her when the issue could no longer be avoided, children upon the Hudson, and her he be- they bought over the name and body of sought to give a home to his son. They their lieutenant, as for ten years they had were far removed in character, this brother paid the hire of his faculties. He married and sister. People who had known both the~dnly daughter of the' elder Burton, and marvelled at the relationship, ignoring what became the junior member of the house on was, perhaps, pure cause and effect in na- his wedding day. The old association of ture, - they were the offspring of different name and line was thus insured, and the niothers. She granted his petition gladly corporations of Burton Brothers & Co., and and thankfully, though not without condi- Mr. and Mrs. Edward Wales, were simultane- tions almost sternly insisted upon. One of ously recognized by an admiring public, these was that the boy should remain under Business principles had been rigidly ad- her care and government till he reached hered to, merit and ability rewarded, and manhood. Her woman's shrewdness had the sensitive requirements of old age ful- measured long ago the character of her filled; and if sentiment had no share in the brother, and she knew how unfit he was to transaction, the absence of it had in no way guide and mould a young and enthusiastic marred the harmony of the event. The intelligence. She saw something like the man-world looked on in sober approval, and hand of a generous Providence in the event applauded the successful clerk; and the wo- which gave the boy to her to guard and man-world smiled upon and envied the Cs- foster. She saw also the shadows that lurked tablislied mistress of the fine new dwelling in far-away years along the path he must on Union Square. The years rolled on, follow. She was a good woman, a Woman marked by the birth of our hero and the of strength and tenderness; one of those deceased at brief intervals of the two worn noble yet silent natures whose influence seniors. By special provisions of a joint sweetens life, and makes our earth some- will, the old name was to figure still over thing more than a clod. the door in Wall Street, to remind the To her requirements Edward 'iVales with- world a little longer of men the world would out great deliheration consented. It was rapidly forget; and some well-established practically a surrender of his child; but he charities, seldom heard of but through siini- could not but feel his helplessness, his mr channels, received into their secretive inability to undertake himself the task of mnaws portions of the Burton gold. iN~t education; which feeling, be it said, was not notably large, however, were those portions; unmixed with a certain unwillingness to these twin workers understood too well the make the sacrifice of his time and attention business impropriety of withdrawing active that the responsibility would involve. capital, and the great bulk of their wealth The compact was sealed, and the bewil- fell to Edward Wales, "our dearly beloved dered little waif ~vent away to his new home. son and nephew," with conditional legacies The great town house was not closed; Mr. to his wife and, son. XVales preferred to remain therein and live Five years after his marriage the banker's as nearly in the old way as possible. wife suddenly sickened and died. Their Little Charley's life reopened in the love- association had been utterly colorless and liest corner of the world, where the blue uneventful, perfect in every domestic detail, Jludson rolls smoothly to the sea, and the brightened by little or no sentiment per- fringed Highlands, full of mystic shades and haps, but clouded with no mi~takes.- If he elfin-haunted gorges, rise on either hand. had never loved his wife, as many good peo- Amid these glorious scenes the bi~y, it might pIe imagine it right and necessary to human be said, was born again; his infant sorrow happiness to do, he had at least heartily re- quickly faded from his mind, and with it all specter and admired her as the embodiment the chilly memories of the gloomy town of womanly propriety, the sober; frugal house and the tuneless life therein. In the mate, in whose noiseless revolutions there new atmosphere the natural impulses of his was never an ecceiitricity or an error. being warmed into new life and grew with his Her loss in those days was a terrible blow growth; he went back to Nature Nature's to Edward Wales, the man of thirty with child, and drew strength and gladness from the heart of fifty. It was the first, abso- her glad presence. lately the first, cross which had marked Those years of Charhey's life were beauti- that continuous story of success; his life ful, bountiful years. He grew up amid the and his soul rebelled against it, as he stood truest and tenderest of home influences, and Over the dead woman in her coffin; but he from a wise guidance and careful combina- could only bow in a dumb, uncomnprehend. tion of task and play derived a store of page: 20-21[View Page 20-21] 20 CHOISY. mental wealth, gathering fruits of knowledge his boyhood's friend was more than that in paths of roses. His aunt, Mrs. Howland, of a brother, and something like that of a lived near one of the busy towns of the woman. lower river, upon a charming estate where The lapse of these'fourteen years brought she had known the great happiness of her the long charge of his aunt to a close. married life and the immeasurable after-sor Fred was going to college, and it was the row of her widowhood. Her own children, desire of Mr. XVales that Charley should a boy and a girl, the former older and the lat- accompany hins'~cousin; but the longing for ter by several years younger than Charley, business career had grown with him and and our hero, comprised her little family, in taken a strong hold of his heart, and he which the noble woman, sealing her life sor- pleaded hard to be allowed to go into the row in her heart, found her consolation and office. It was to his aunt that he turned, reward. I need not dwell on these years, or and the good woman listened with an follow minutely the golden threads of the anxious heart. She fully understood how young lives which were knit together in mistaken, almost fantastical, was the ideal that time in unalterable affection; nor do I which he had conceived; but she was as need to venture far on the ever-debatable fully alive to the impolicy of sending ground of education. him to college. To tell the truth, the Mr. Wales was an infrequent but a regular young man had grown rather beyond her visitor at the river home, coming at certain cast. The boy so gently aiid t~a~ily guided intervals on a Saturday and remaining over and controlled had become the youth who the Sabbath. There would be a general must control himself; and Charley's was a attendance at the church in the morning on nature of which, while she admired and these occasions, and long afternoon rambles revered it, she knew the weaknesses and bydhe river, during Which Charley would faults. But she accepted the mission recount the events of the month to his father, to his father, and said to Mr. Wales: and respond to the latter's brief and rather "You must n~t sen(1 Charley to college; absent catechising as to his progress in it will not do. I send Fred, but he is of knowledge. If sometimes a child's inspira- another sort. I can trust my son without a tion, a dim yearning for some trifling tribute thought; but I should fear for Charley, even of a father's affection, stirred the boy's heart, under Fred's protection. No! it will not it perished in the atmosphere of this cold answer, brother; and besides, the boy's heart mane in whose soul there seemed no corner is set, as you know~ on another course." left unoccupied, no guarded space which "YcsI am aware of his desire. I need the busy revolution ofgold-gatliering schemes scarcely tell you I consider it a mistake. had spared to the ordinary affections of He is not qualified for active business, and nature. it is not required that he should be; the Fourteen years of Charley's life passed necessity of labor does not exist for him, aiid away unmarked by any notable event. There probably never will; and though I can't say had been small troubles, and sicknesses, and that I regard it as fortunate, I accept it as accidents; but even in these ills the happy a fact. The question is home was signally favored. Once, indeed, Mrs. Howland interrupted him: "You little Emma fell from a corner of the boat- must not make an error there, Edward; the house into the river below. Charley, then necessity of occupation does exist and is ten years old, - not large of his age or phys- paramount for Charley; without it every ically strong, but of heroic stuff, - dashed in day of his life will be full of danger. In a headlong to save his ~ousin, without wast- word, there is nothing to do but to take ~mim ing breath to call for help. It was in the into the office, but it must be done carefully spring-time, the ordinarily placid river was and intelligently. He will he disappointed, swollen by freshets, and both the chil- I know, and for this you must make gen- dren would inevitably have been drowned, erous allowance and compensation~ Gm~ e if Stephen, the house-servant, had not seen him a post of some importance and respon- the accident and called assistance. To sibility. Make him conscious of its value offset this claim upon his aunt's speechless and its opportunities, and bear with his gratitude, his cousin Fred pulled him out of earlier shortcomings. It must be done a vent-hole in the ice the winter following, carefully, very carefully, brother, and with at 'the imminent risk of his own life. If patience; for his future welfare hangs on there had needed anything to cement more these few coming years." closely the bonds of affection which already Mr. Wales accepted the situation in the hound this happy home-community together, end, but with a certain inward impatience. these events completed the work. From the There was a discordant character about it day of the adventure on the frozen stream to a which grated on his peculiar notions. It later and moreterrible one, when Frederick would be an innovation on the old, uimbroken, Lowland breathed out his life in Charley's and unvarying rule of his office, and that arms in an army hospital, the love he bore the party in whose favor the exception was OUT OF THE WAY. 21 made was his son weighed but little again his repugnance to the irregularity. Charl reeked not of this, however, in the delig] with which he entered into the world of hi dreams, amid began the soulless lesson. have intimated that his business career w~ not a success, and I shall not attempt a di cussion of causes; it will be readily divine that the awakening to the hard realities the new life, the utter ruin and desolatic of his old poetical ~tructure, and the mi~ ture of humiliation and disgust, followed swiftly iii his ease; but he held on bravel for a time, battling with the discouragement that confronted him and stifling the protein of his soul. Mrs. Howland's health suddenly faihe and in the following winter she came, pursuance of advice, to live in town. Mi Wales had previously left the house on th Square, where the innovation of glittering; signs and public tumults warned the quic dwellers beyond its limits, and taken up hi residence in one of a block of palaces on th Avenue, where his sister came, at his request and established herself with her daughter It was a brief period of comfort for then all during the winter. Mrs. Howland ral lied from her weakness, and Charley foun a priceless boon in the renewal of the old sweet association. Emma Howland wn blooming into beautiful womanhood, with rich inheritance of her mother's lovely auc noble nature; and even the banker relaxed in a measure from his frozen preoccupation in the changed atmosphere of his home, an~ was conscious of a certain dim suspicion al times that his life had been barren of mucl~ that was good and seemly. The spring that succeeded was that mem- orable one in which war woke from its sleep of fifty years, and walked forth in our land. Fred Howland was at Harvard, and from its patriotic shades, in those (lays of blazing enthusiasm, he was among the first tQ go to the field. He fell at Big Bethel by the side of Theodore Winthrop, and died in Charhey's arms a few days later at F6rtress Monroe. The blow killed his mother; not all at once, but it checked the improvement of her health, and with the autumn flowers she passed away. The blank that fell upon the young lives of Charley and his cousin, through her loss, cannot be expressed in words. More than the young man realized, perhaps, was it a loss to him at the time when he was beginning to drift away from his uncongenial task to wayward paths, im- *& peeled, rather than checked, by the cold dis- pleasure of his father, to drift as he would never have done had the soft hand and mother voice of old been there to restrain him. - s The few years which preceded the open- ing of this history were uneventful, yet still st memorable, because in them his distaste ~y for business and proneness to unlawful dis- 1t traction grew too strong for control. His is father gave him no moral help; he had never I cared fbr and scarcely understood the thou- ~s sand nameless attractions in hifli which divide s- the thoughts and labor of most men; he no- d ticed only their influence in extreme cases, f and condemned them unexamined in the n mass. For his son he l]ad as little charity, ~- if not less, than lie would have had fir the d most alien of his employees. But where he y would have crushed the wrong tendency in s the one, he met the other with a silent re- mt seatment infinitely harder to endure; and when, in time, he hurled the punishment on I, his son, it was without a warning~ word. n Chancy had looked forward to his admission into the house as a partner, on his cominct e of age, as a matter of course, and the expec- ~ station had helped to restrain him in the t weary struggle. When the anniversary ar- s rive4, however, and was let pass without a ~ movement in the direction of his advance- ,, ment, he threw off the last bond of his alle- giance, and in his bitter humiliation aban- m doned the hope of any possible future sue- - cess in the office. He turned more fully I from that day into those attractive ways wherein the men of his age find solace and entertainment in the days of their youth, and, if less recklessly than most, with still as little I ambition for anything better or dread of I anything worse. He did not positively go down upon the black books of the world as I one of the undefined fraternity of "fast young men"; society dealt leniently with the great banker's son, and would still have smiled sweetly and sought its mildest ex- * pressing to the end for him, had his name been a synonym of vice; but there re- mnained for him a better influence, far stron- ger and dearer than even he dreanmed, which was ever a living shield between him and the grossest evil. The lessons of a child- hood such as his had been, the daily contact with natures as delicate and pure as his own, had wrought a bright and unfading strand in his character, which wotild strengthen the weaker man, and which, if it could not pre- vent his stumbling, would hehjin him in the effort to rise. At the breakfast-table that morning no further mention was made of the missing Chancy, but his father wrote a brief note, before leaving for the office, to be handed to his son when he should come down. As the banker withdrew, his eye met the anx- ious glance of his niece, and he paused an instant in evident hesitation; then he passed out quickly, covering his departure by some last injunction to the servant. Charhey came in later in the morning, and met his cousin on his way up stairs. She seemed to have been watching for him, but page: 22-23[View Page 22-23] 22 0110 he only addressed her with his ordinary salute, and went hurriedly to his room. Here he read the communication from his father. "I must remind you," it said, "that you have but twenty-four hours to make your final preparations in. I will attend to everything down town, so that it will not be necessary for you to revisit the office, and I will see you when you go. I haie said nothing of the matter to your cousin, and would recommend you to leave all explana- tion to me." He sat some time ruminating over the lines. He looked as if he had not slept, and seemed to have been drinking, - drink- ing as a man sometimes does in the vain effort to drown his thoughts. Something like defiance had flashed into his face at the first reading of the note, hut it, died away again into a gloomy shadow, which grew infinitely sad as his heavy eyes wan- dered over his pretty room, so full of the happy souvenirs of his young life. From the walls pictured faces looked down upon him, - that of his aunt, with her grave, sweet smile, faced the strange and severe visage of his forgotten another, copied by his own hand from the great, staring portrait of twenty years before, which hung down stairs; and side by side, in the sunlight, his two cousins - the brave boy sleeping at Old Point Comfort, and the fair-faced girl he had passed on the stair - gazed at him with loving eyes. He looked long at the last; it also was the work of his hand, and one upon which he had spent all his skill. He remembered well the burst of applause which had greeted its first exhibition, long before, to the circle at the country home; and while he studied its girlish features - the pretty, uxifilled shadow of the beautiful woman-face of to-day - the crushed paper dropped from his hand, and two big tears, which would no longer he repressed, rolled down his cheeks. Then he aroused himself with a start: "Heigho! What should such fellows as I do? I wonder if Prince Hamlet would have gambled and stolen?" - the word caine hard -" perhaps, if lie had been Charley Wales." And if Horatio had been Dick Huntley! He went to work th~h sharply. He would not have Stephen in to ask questions or worry his old head; so he ~lmgged out a large trunk from the closet and threw it open, disclosing a choice assortment of fishing-togs which had done service the summer previous at Minot's Ledge. Then he gathered some armfuls of effects from the vast repository of his ward- robe, and, tossing them on the floor, stood thereafter in the midst of them, an amusing picture of helplessness, despite his sad face. Afterwards he did better. What did it matter, indeed? A few things carelessly and hurriedly put in; some little treasures, dSY. OUT OF THE WAY. less carelessly selected, from the store of souvenirs on his table; a book or two, some photographs, and a packet of letters, - and the task was done. He closed and locked the trunk, and tossed the remaining things igno- miniously back into the closet just as Stephen summoned him to luncheon. As he entered the dining-room, struggling hard to look un- concerned, his cousin met him with a troubled face, and, drawing' near, laid her hand softly on his shoulder. ~" Charley, what is the matter? I know something has hap- pened between yoi~ and your father." "We have not quarrelled, Em, if that 's what you mean," he said with a smile. She looked fixedly at him, without seem~ ing to notice the words, and his gaze avoided hers uneasily. "You are going away," she said. Charley looked alarmed. "No! - that is - what made you think that ~ "I hear you packing in your room." He was at a loss, and stood silent some moments, digging his boot in the thick car- pet with eyes downcast. Then he looked up sadly, hut spoke with quiet resolution: "You are right, Em, something has hap- pened, but 1 can't tell you what; at least not just now. Don't ask me, please." She grew paler, and her hand trembled slightly, but sl]e kept it on his shoulder. "Then you are going away?" "Yes, 1 am - not far - that is, not for long, I hope. Shall you care much?" The words were uttered thoughtlessly, and he looked in her eyes as he spoke. They fell a moment, but met his own again full and warm in the next. "You know I shall care, Charley. What should I do without you? And then to have you go away dn bad terms with uncle!" "No worse than usual," lie broke in, bit- terly. The brief flash of feeling had died as it came. '.' I wish we could all he happier here," she said with a sigh. "Don't you think you could be if you tried 2- with yodr father, I mean." He turned away to the table at the words. "1 should not make the effort, even if he gave mc the chance, which is n't likely; it is n't worth talking about. Let 's eat our lunch and be jolly." It was not jolly, however, despite his well-sustained efforts to make it so. His cousin w~is thoughtful and troubled through- out, and at the conclusion stopped him quickly, when he made a strategical effort to leave the room. "When do you go?" she asked. "To-morrow, or next day. Why, how worried you look because I can't tell you all about it! Don't you see, it may be one of those terrible business affairs, - crisis at the Bank of Son'mething, - delinquent cash- icr, and I a special emissary to protect th gigantic interests of Wales, Burton, & Co bound in the nature of business to conduct my operations with the tremendous mystcr~ appropriate to the case. You poor pusm don't bother your brain about it! I wil see you again, - must go down town now Au rcvoir!" And he got away, leaving he no whit relieved. She went to her own room with an anx ious and sinking heart, and sat awhile is troubled thought; then she yielded to th( temptation of her fears, and stole up t Charley's room only to find the door locked and the key gone, - a state of things with out precedent, and which sent her back tc her chamber more alarmed than before. Al last she rang for Stephe~m. The good old man had been her mother's servant, and had watched and loved the cousins from their earliest years. He looked distressed as he came in. "Did you want me, Miss Emmie?" "Yes, I wished to ask you - Stephen, I 'm afraid something very serious has oc- curred between Mr. Charles and hi~ father." Stephen shuffled uneasily before the in- quiring gaze of his young mistress. He possessed an endless sympathy for her, but he was discretion itself, and he had con- ceived, moreover, a wholesome respect for the senior Wales, which, in these later years, had in no small measure subdued the once lively tendencies of his tongue. "I hope not, Miss Emmie," he said, - "I hope not. You know they have some little difThrence atween 'em, but that will all come right in time. Mr: Charles is very yo]ng, you see, Miss Enimie. Why, it seems on'y yestcr- day-~~ "Yes, I know, Stephen, but I think there is something - something dreadful now. Charley is going away." "Bless you, Miss Emmie, you don't mean it!" "Yes; he has been packing all the morn- mug. "I am astonishedd to hear you. Packing? Why, Mr. Charles never packed his own trunk in his lifi~!" And Stephen~s incre- dulity got the better of his anxiety for the moment. "But he did to-day, and he told me he was going away. Don't you know anything about it, Stephen? Don't you know what was in the note his father left for him this morning'?" He looked at her reproachfully. "Bless you, Miss Emmie, how should I? I will tell you," he added, after a sober pause, "all I saw, though I ought n't, because it was not for me to see. After I gave Mr. Charles the note this morning, I thought he might want some breakfast, so I went up again, and knocked at his door. I knocked 23 e three times, Miss Emmie, and got no an- swer; then, thinks 1, perhaps he is ill or t needs something, so I made bold to open ~' the door. There I saw him sitting , very sol- , cmn-like, on a chair, Miss Emmie," con- I tinned the old man, and his voice grew - tremulous in the recital, "with the paper in r his hand; but he was n't a reading' of it, he was looking up at the picture of poor Mr. - Frederick on the wall, absent-like, and the tears was running' down his cheeks. I shut the door, then, very soft, and came away~ I would n't 'a' told this to any one but you, I Miss Eminic." He drew his sleeve across his eyes as he concluded, but Emma did not see it. It was growing dark in the room, but had the old man's eyes been less dim he might have seen by the firelight her own tears falling thick and fast. There was silence after this, until he said witlvwn effort," Thank you; that is all, Stephen." As the door closed on the servant her head sank wearily forward into her hands, and the great dread at her heart welled up in unrestrained and almost convulsive weeping. The scene so simply pictured by Stephen confirmed her fears; what it was she knew not, but that something had occurred to rob her not very happy home of its single bright presence was no longer to be doubted. She made an effort and went down when the dinner-bell rang. Charley had not come home, and Mr. Wales sat in his place more silent and stern than she had ever seen him. She burned to ask him for some explanation, but his face for- bade her, and she excused herself, in sheer inability to bear up longer in his presence, and hurried from the untasted meal to her own room. Here she kept watch with her tears, struggling with the terror and faint- ness of her heart, and longing, 0 so bitterly! for that mother's help and the dead brother's hand in this hour of peril. Far into the night she sat thus, and then lay sleepless, still straining her ears painfully for the famnilkir step which did not come. She went down to breakfast with almost a fever in her brain. Mr. Wales lool~ed disturbed, - angry, she thought, - but imothing could prevent her speaking now, and she asked, desperately, "0 uncle! do tell me what is the trouble with Charley. Why is he go.. ing away? Where is he going?" The banker looked at her not unkindly, almost pitifully. "I will tell you to-night, Emma. You must not be distressed; we will do all for the best." She had to be content with this, for she felt the uttem~ hopelessness of demanding more. The banker going out -to his carriage carried with him the picture of the pale, strained face, so like the Ellen Wales of ISY. page: 24-25[View Page 24-25] 24 CHOISY. long ago, and said to himself as l~.e rolled extraction, and it was said that he was an away, "Thank God, she died before this Englishman; but I, who enjoyed a nodding came!" acquaintance with him in those days, do not 0 the man of gold with the unseeing remember that any one ever vouched for the heart! If she had lived, this never would fact. He had come into the street, as so have come. many come, from unknown parts, and figured The day went on; Charley did not come for some years as a small and careffil operator to the house, but late in the morning a with considerable shrewdness and a supposi- baggage-express called for his trunk, and titious capital. People began to notice him the man had the key of his room. Emma after a time, and quote his reserved opinions, was wild with terror; lie was going without and th~ thousand-tongued rumor of the walk seeing her, going she knew not where. ultimately associated him with certain great She met the man in the hall, trembling with clique-leaders; when the Steruson "corner" fear and excitement, in Cape Mail occurred, when, indeed, as is "Did Mr. Wales - the young Mr. Wales written in the archives of William Street, send you for his trunk?" she demanded. they sold the stock over the counter for "Yes, ma'am." cash like so many Poor Man's Plasters at "And gave you this key?" the fixed price otthrce hundred and fifty "He left the key at our office, ma'am." dollars a 5hare, time whole street waiting in "When?" line for it at that or any cost, it got noised "Yesterday." about that Dick fluntley was "long" of it "Yesterday! then he Where do you to the very handsome figure of a thousand take the trunk?" shares, and be was a made man from that Either the m~n had been warned or day in the estimation of all the wise men chance favored the mystery. from Trinity to Tontine. Whatever his "I take to the office, ma'am; the different success may have been, however, he did not lots is made up there, you see, for the boats fall into the common but grievous error of and trains.~~ flashing' it in the eyes of a less fortunate "And you cannot tell - you don't know world; he remained the quiet, rather attrac- where lie - where it is going?" tive man you were always glad to encounter, "It would be hard to do that; only a hut from whom you parted with a vague guess, there's so many trains, you know, consciousness of having stumbled on a ma~am.~~ sealed book; and he was the same well-met She had strength for no more questions, man to all, without making any man his and abandoned the inquiry, going back to friend. Even when he began to show at her room in dumb despair. By her fireside she the club, he brought his atmosphere with was sitting, worn and wretched, as the sun him, bearing himself courteously to all, but went down; by his fireside also, in the still keeping something apart; and if he was Continental Hotel at Philadelphia, sat Mr. not especially liked, he was cordially re- Richard Huntley, smoking tranquilly and spected, and rather famed withal, as a good framing bright visions of his future among specimen of " the rising man." the glowing coals. Held carelessly in his In due course he established himself in hand was a telegram received and read Broad Street, and sent his modest card some moments before - around. The new concern of Huntley & "C. W. sailed for Europe to-day in Scotia. Co. surprised no one, but responded rather "SAM~' to general expectation, and met with know- ing suggestions of "silent partners," "very strong," and with universal approval and CHAPTER IV. fair augury. He got a good line of business too, for it was known that he held his own TILE SUCCESSFUL MAN. ) well in the Open Board, and it was believed Mn. HUNTLEY returned to New York also that he had dropped personal specula- from the antique shades of the City of tion, though there were no visible guaranties Brotherly Love in a thoughtful but alto- for that opinion; and the fond public, or gather satisfied state of mind; he had said that portion of it which constitutes* the aloud, on reading the dispatch from Wor- contributive body to Wall Street, is prone tQ thington, "C~z va bien!" Which is terse, accept many comforting but delusive state- abbreviated, and idiomatic French, covering ments of that nature. It was not long before in this instance a world of meaning, ade- Huntley managed to figure in more colossal quately to set forth which requires some transactions, and claim the recognition of space in explanation. the crowd as an agent of the cliques; and Mr. Huntley was one of those well-known he performed a real masterpiece of strategy men of whom we know nothing, who flourish in the Board one day, "hulling" a weak so extensively on our generous American stock successfully against a strong combina- soil. Such are not uncommonly of foreign tion, that was the talk of the street for weeks. THE SUCCESSFUL MAN. 25 In a word, he was a success. In the fe years he had lived in the financial mart I studied silently the field, and, entering afterwards as an active man, he pushed h way rapi(lly to the front, with a subtle ma: tery of all the details of business, and clear insight into its mysteries which noti ing escaped. It needed only that he shoul secure a footing within the select circle the great houses, and obtain the protection and endorsement of some one among them once established in that coign of vantage~ his course was clear and the end assured It will be imagined that he soon founi means to accomplish that object, and th modes will bear description. The young house of Iluntley & Co. coul not claim to be a heavy lender of money but it was known to carry hamidsome hal 'ances at times, and was quite high on the list, of the borrowers. One afternoon they had ar application for fifty thousand dollars from r small neighbor. Huntley was in the office at the time, and, though fully aware of hh inability to accommodate them at the moment, he did not omit to examine the collateral. Something about them fastened his attention; he was a very clever judge of securities, and he made careful notes before handing them back to the bearer. "Sorry I can't serve you," he said, "but we have drawn lower than I supposed; try Brooks, or, still better, perhaps, Wales, Bur- ton." The clerk hurried away. Huntley sent a boy to watch him, made some pencil notes from memory, and awaited the return of his spy, who came back directly. " Well ?" he asked. "Made his loan at Wales, Burton, sir. The broker called in at the great house at an early hour the following morning and requested a private audience of Mr. Wales, who received him politely; he was not unknown to the banker, but he was on the latter's list of" new men," - a class he dealt with cautiously. "I will not apologize for taking your time, Mr. Wales," he said, "the matter is one of confidence, and I come in the pro- tection of mutual interests. I recommended a party to your house for money, last night, - Stevens and Leonard. Do you happen to know it' you loaned them anything?" "We did." "Fifty thousand, was it not, on a thou- sand Erie?" "I think so. I will inquire-" "Will you also allow me to see the col- laterals?" "Certainly." The securities were brought, and, drawing a memorandum from his pocket, Huntley compared some numbers and further ex- amined the certificates; ten of Erie Railway 4 w common stock of one hundred shares each. ie It was a rapid, though thorough, inspection, it at the conclusion of which he exclaimed, is "I was afi'aid of it! they are altered certifi- s- cates, Mr. Wales!" a "Is it possible?" "I am sorry to say it is undoubted. I d regret to have been the cause, perhaps, of f your taking them in; but I was on the n point of advancing the loan myself, when my cashier informed me we could not do it. I had already taken the numbers in pencil I. at the moment. By the merest accident, I having some Erie transfers to make this a morning, I noticed the rather uncommon entry of ten shares in one-share lots upon I the hook. The name struck me at once. I asked to see thej stumps' and compared these - numbers, which I fortunately had about me. They are the same certificates, sir, altered to a hundred shares each!" Of course, Wales, Burton, & Co. lost no time in securing themselves, which they were barely in time to do, by attaching the bank account of the eccentric gentlemen, Messrs. Stevens and Leonard; and of course, Mr. Huntley secured the most valu- able patrons he could have had, perhaps, in the street, and with them the position to which he aspired. He was, henceforth, a frequent and cordially received visitor at their office; and the moral effect - the moral effects of Wall Street are peculiar - of his coup was to give him the confidence of men, and procure for him an increase of business and opportunities. Charley Wales thus came to see more of the man with whom he had previously en- joyed a speaking acquaintance at the club, and who had always possessed a certain attraction for him, - as he did, indeed, for every one. Charley sought and cultivated a more intimate intercourse, which we were all surprised to see freely accorded; and it was said at the Mayflower that Dick Huntley had at last found his "man 'Friday." It was less difficult to explain the intimacy on the youimg man's side, for there could hardly have been a character more attractive to him than that of this passed man of the world, who carried under his calm exterior the rich and varied experiemmee of his class, and who, when he chose to put away the sober day- dress of his life, as he sometimes did for Charley, showed beneath the real warmth and passion of his nature. To Charley he opened the closed pages of a singularly eventful career; not all of them, indeed, nor any that were too darkly shaded, but very many of that tenor which fascinates an impressible nature like that of his young friend. Nothing could have equalled the charm which the latter found in the fabric of reminiscences dealing with other lands ) page: 26-27[View Page 26-27] 26 CHOISY. THE SUCCESSFUL MAN. 27 and the great and small people thereof, and checkered with the adventures of a clever but rather reckless young man to whom Continental life was a solved problem at an age when most men are entering upon its investigation. From these detached bits of his history Chancy gathered in time what formed a half-connected train of events. Iluntley was a younger son of a good family - as Chancy suspected, a titled one - in England, ~nd had gone out to India with his regiment at an early age, to hold his own as best he might in that hotbed of nature and social life. The traditions of a tempestuous youth were not ignored: in the colonial world, Charley judged, but on this period of his life Iluntley touched very lightly. He came back after some years to England, - a circumstance which seemed to have received no attention at the War Of- fice, - and subsequently went on the Con- tinent as an atlache', where he floated frbm embassy to embassy for more than ten years; and it was this interval which furnished the sparkling souvenirs which were Charley's delight. Of the circumstances which led to his emigration to America, Huntley never spoke, and Charley did not seek to know; the barrier of reserve peculiar to the man was never entirely removed, even for him. The intimacy was naturally the subject of considerable, and not always very charitable, remark among the rather outspoken mem- bers of the Mayflower club for a time; but I am certain that when Iluntley began to come more among us with Charley, and, relaxing from his former reticence, showed us at times something of the unsuspected man within, there was not one of the observant company who failed to feel the rare charm of his presence, or wondered longer at Char- ley's preference. Old Byrnes would have his growl. It had been his privilege to know Aaron Burr, and to him he was fain to lik~n Dick Huntley in manner and ap- pearance; hut he, too, would look up from the columns of his paper and listen as attentively as the rest of us when the broker had the floor. Huntley was an occasional guest at the Wales mansion. Charley had met with an unusually gracious. response when he first proposed his friend's company at his father's table, and his boyish ambition to exhibit the pro(ligy to his cousin led to many subsequent visits. There were very many pleasant evenings indeed in the grand parlors, where the handsome and fascinating broker came soon enough to be the centre of attraction for all eyes and ears. He went very little into society, and seldom except with Charley, but he met every- where with the same smiling reception; questions of antecedents were forgotten in the great fact that he was a brilliant and rising man; and the patronage of the Wales family was itself a guaranty which silenced any captious inquiries. At the social events at the Wales niansion he was soon an unfailing light; he grew, in fact, to be their crowning feature in the feminine esteem; and if any delicate argument some- times arose in some fair bosom as to the propriety of attending the "Wales party" or the " XVales musical" because Mr. Charles Wales hadTheen neglectfiml in his calls or Miss lowland and her friend and chaperone, Mrs. White Jennings, similarly remiss in their conventional duties, it was more than answered in the reflection that "Mr. Huntley was sure to be there!" And so, in truth, he was, and his faithful presence at the banker's house ultimately gave rise to certain pleasant conjectures in which Mr. Charles ceased to figure as the explaining cause; very many good people foresaw at once a happy alliance for the broker, which was quite in pursuance of their previous prognostications respecting Mr. Huntley's future, and on the 'Change of gossip the matter speedily became an accepted fact. That the possibility had dawned on his own mind at an early day is also true; he never lost sight of the utmost reach of his opportunities, or failed to weigh them promptly and thoroughly; and the advantages offered to him at Charley's home were carefully considered by him from the first. He did not immediately determine upon action, for there existed some formidable objections to marriage in his case; but the project grew upon him insensibly, even while he reasoned with him- self on its impracticability, until he had half mechanically entered upon its execution. It is possible that he would still and indefinitely have pursued that course in the half-consent- ing and half-resisting spirit in which men's dispositions beguile their judgments, but that a sudden rude shock aroused him to a perception of an unsuspected obstacle, put an altogether new face on the situation, and left him the choice of withdrawal or of entering formally into what promised to be a difficult campaign. The obstacle was, in truth, a tremendous one. To say that his reception at the banker's had been warm and encouraging scarcely expresses the unreserved friendliness which Mr. Wales manifested for the successful man of the street, and the equally unquestioning re~ gard shown by Miss lowland for her cousin's friend; there had never been any abatement of either, and he was able to measure with satisfaction the evident pleas- ure ienived from his company by all alike, and especially, perhaps, by the young woman, to whom, as to Chancy, the man was a revelation; it was only when he ven- tured, with delicate empressernent, a nearer approach to her, that he met with a ver perceptible element of repulsion. Too war to commit an indiscretion, he did not imme diately repeat the experiment; but a sul sequent moment of encouragement havin~ offered itself; he made a second advance and was received with a cold surprise whic] completely baffled him, while it stung hin into consciousness. He awoke sharply ti the knowledge of an unseen lion in th path; but on9e awakened, it needed no lonl time for the clear eye to penetrate thii shadow to the fact, and to reduce that a well to its exact proportions. Emma lowland loved her cousin, - th~ laughing, careless boy, whose fondness fo: her, if it had possibly a deeper root, ha( never taken, he was sure, the form anc semblance of love. The discovery Was noi a flattering one to Huntley, who held m small opinion of his own merits and capa abilities with the sex; but he did not allow the feeling to blind him to the strength am] endurance of the woman's affection, which, as he very correctly estimated, was th growth of years of intimate association, aiid a sentiment closely latwined with her wl~ok life. The revelation brought on a crisis in Huntley's life. His first confused resolve was to leave the field, to leave Charley to the ultimate and inevitable enjoyment of the rare love and the rare woman who waited only to be asked, and to whom, as he could so clearly foresee, the unthinking boy of to-day would turn some other day in a 5u(lden awakening of his own man's heart. 'ihis first true impulse was only natural on Huntley's part, for he had liked Char- ley, liked him for himself, and made him as much his friend as it was possible for the man to make any one; but in the tumult of thought and feeling which followed it, the boy was but a straw tossed in the passionate flood of the elder's soul. XVhy give it up? Why give her up? Ay! iman! Hantley stopped short in a mad prome- nade of his own chamber, and faced his re- flection in the mirror. It was not an un- common thing for him to do; and as for that he might search far and long to find the equal of the splendid face with its deep black eyes and wonderful power of expres- smon which looked out at him at that mo- ment, - looked out with a strange light upon ~ it, and a curve iii the lips which was half smile, half sarcasm. Many a time had he thus faced the man in the glass, and held excited debate with the emotionless shadow. ~ It nerved an~ cooled him to do so; and in more than o~me dark passage of his life it had been a singularly strengthening thought to him that, come what might, the creature y before him would be the same magnificent y work of nature still. "Is it you, Dick Huntley?" asked the shade, with the curve deepening about the g mouth, - "really you, and after all these , years and all your lessons? Just now, too, Ii when you have your future in your hands, a and a weakness would be fatal. J'shaw! o what is it? A pretty girl's heart, a brief e tale of legendary 'bliss.' You ought to ~ know what that is worth, and what it e sometimes costs I " s The face was a sneering devil's now. He did not like it, and resumed his walk with- m out calling up his visionary guest again. r The struggle was a fierce~ one, but it was I brief, as with him any struggle must be. I He ended it by tossing his cigar in the grate and tossing himself upon a lounge with a ninoino' lauo-h. "Egad I there 'II be merri- - mne~t % heYl to-night! And now, travail- ions!" The good woman who had the honor to be Mr. Huntley's landlady, and who was at that moment an aifrighted listener at his keyhole, did not possess, fortunately, a knowledge of the Continental languages; had she done so, she would have been inex- pressibly shocked by the nature as well as the expression of these last words, and have seen in the smiling gentleman who came out some moments later, and passed her with a bow in the hall, nothing less than Mephistopheles "warm from his bed"; and she would not have been far wrong, figuratively speaking. Huntley's intercourse with the family at the house on the avenue went on as before; he had experienced one nervous tremor in approaching Miss Howlaid again, but her manner indicated no recollection of the circumstance we have noted, and the broker was careful to avoid the dangerous ground whereon he had slipped. As for Emma, she led herself easily to believe that she had erred in being startled at all, and even chided herself for the momentary emotion she had felt. There had been a vague shadow which rose when Huntley came again, but this faded before his guarded manner, and under the convi6tion that she had misjudged him, she labored to efface the effect, if there might be any, by in- creased kindness towards him. Huntley read the simple girl-heart as he would have rea~l an opened book, and shaped his course thereby. He shut up his secret in his soul, and gave no sign; but he went out to'his work with watchful eyes, and with every faculty of his being centered on the attaiji- ment of his hopes. The situation was difficult. There could be no progress for him so long as Chancy remained on the scene, and everything hung on the removal or the destruction of the obstacle. No page: 28-29[View Page 28-29] 5, A CHOISY. 28 BENT TO TIlE TASK. wonder that Mr. Huntley wrinkled his fine brows of nights over the problem, or that in his vexed heart the friendship for his young friend curdled quickly into bitter hate. Who stood in this man's way was his ene- my, and towards none had he ever known a deeper resentment than against the warm- hearted boy who had been the chosen inti- mate of yesterday. Intimate he still re- mained, and in the manner of the elder no shade of change was allowed to appear; but he schemed and waited, trusting in his old, confident way to chance. We have seen how chance, true to the interests of this man-waif, who was its devo- tee, came in an hour and solved the enigma for him. iluntley had not been able to find an answer to the question which was ever in his thoughts after the night at Worthington's, as to what would be the re- sult of the affair. His hopes covered a variety of sequences, all having a general conclusion, and pointing to a more or less complete estrangement between father and son, and partial or permanent banishment of the latter from the office in Wall Street, and from New York. He hoped it, without daring to expect it, and pictured to him- self a possible exile to some Western city as the likeliest result. More than this he had scarcely anticipated, and it may be imagined with what exultation he read the telegram, and broke the silence of his room with the ringing words, "Cit va bien I" It had indeed "gone well," better by some thousand miles of sea than he had ventured in his wildest thought to hope. It was all he asked. The boy was far re- moved now; his be the task to keep him away. He called in at the banker's on his arri- val, and was received somewhat nervously by the latter. "I have been over to Phila- delphia, Mr. Wales," he said, in ordinary business tone, "and I find, as I expected, that there is no life in that quicksilver af- fair; nothing doing or likely to be done in it, and I think Simpson must ~mave been misinformed." "Ah I-yes, probably," responded the banker, rather absently. He was busy with some papers, and did not look up at the speaker. Huntley experienced a little uncomforta- ble thrill. "All well, I trust, Mr. Wales, at your house, - Miss lowland and Charley, - I missed him outside." He watched the banker like a hawk, andsaw him recover himself sharply at the name, and pause before speaking. "You will be surprised to learn that my son has gone away." "Gone away I I beg your pardon -" Huntley was the picture of amazement and concern, as the banker turned in his chair, and added, "He sailed for England yesterday. The event is one which in- volves some painful explanations, and I beg you will allow me to make them at some future time." Huntley bowed in silence. "As you circulate somewhat among his acquaintance," continued Mr. Wales, in some embarrassment, and fumbling with a check-cutter, "I had thought of asking you, Mr. iluntley, as my son's friend, to confer a favor on us. His abrupt departure~)will occasion some remark, perhaps; will t not be as well to attribute it to ill-health? In fact, it is but a tardy pursuance of the course advised by Dr. Martin after Char- icy's illness in the spring, and which his own disinclination alone prevented his fol- lowing at the time." "I shall be glad to do as you desire, Mr. Wales. I need not say that I am shocked by the event; but I trust we shall have him back again, bright and hearty, before many months." He watched closely for the ef. feet of these words, and experienced a secret delight in noting that the banker affected not to hear them, and turned again to his desk. "May I inquire his address, Mr. Wales?" he asked, rising. "Letters in Tompkins's care at Paris will reach him for the present." Huntley rgturaed his thanks, and went to his own office in a happy state of mind concealed under a troubled exterior. One important point which had caused him some lingering anxiety was settled, - his own connection with the affair at the gaming- house was unknown to Mr. Wales; and an important pr'obability was also certified, - there was no prospect of an early return of the exile. He made his appearance at the May- flower in the evening with a serious face, and to the questions with which he was be- sieged - for Charley's sudden voyage was already generally known - he replied, gravely and sadly, "Doctor's orders. I had not suspected it myself, but it seems he was ordered abroad in the spring, and would not go. I am awfully sorry, but I suppose it was the best thing to do." A general oxpr~ssion of regret and good wishes followed the intelligence, while Hunt- icy withdrew to a corner and read the brief and rather incoherent note of farewell which Chancy had left for him with Simms. That ever-smiling functionary, who had, however, toned down his face into some- thino' akin to sadness suited to the occasion, stood discreetly aloof while the broker pe- rused~the missive, after which he apologized for the liberty, but begged to state that Mr. Wales had left a fund in his hands to liqui- date his obligations to different gentlemen 2 at the club. Would Mr. Huntley kindly it all, you know, and if you neglect me in name the amount due him? this I shall conclude that my fidus Acitates Huntley said "Never mind" rather impa- is a spurious article. Don't think, my dear tiently, and called for paper? and ink. In fellow, from all this lightly written gossip, the hour that followed he wrote busily, and that I have lost sight for a moment of the finished two letters. The first was a long inevitable bitterness of the affair for you. I one to Charley, opening with the expression only wish to have you make the best of it, of a great deal of regret and some self-ac- and help you to do SO if I can. I enclose cusation; "though if you had told me," it ydu an introductory line to an old Paris said, "that you had that infernal check friend of mine. You will find him clever about you, you should n9ver have gone to and good to know, and he has the Grande Worthington's with me or with my consent. Ville by heart; in fact, when I think twice It was ou1y after reading your lines here at of it, I would say don't fail to look him up. the club to-night that I was able to seize lie will be an invaluable acquaintance, and the clew to the mystery of your sudden de- one after your heart." parture. My God! what a mistake and Iluntley's second missive was also Paris- what consequences!" But following this bound, and bore the address of Monsieur l~e brought out the brighter side with rare Edonard Somers, Poste de la Madeline. It cheerfulness. "I will be watchful for you was somewhat carefully and laboriously here, and if anything can be done at any written, and concluded in these words: time to arrange matters, you may be sure I "Above all, he must not comae home. Keep will do it if it is in my power. I can't bear him there at all hazards, and by any means to think of your being sent away like that you like. It is worth more money to me for a slip any man might make in such a than you would believe, and will be worth moment; but it is not for me to judge, of to you; ~& va sans dire. Note course. At any rate, my dear boy, a little my suggestions, but take your own course; time smoothes over these things wonderfully. tier is the word! tie him up, and draw on You will think I speak by the card, and me, if you require any funds, through Tomp- perhaps I do; and I tell you emphatically kins, though, as I have said, he must have I shall have no patience with you if you a liberal credit, and can be made to pay the continue to harp on the fancied 'disgrace' bills easily enough. Finally, write me of your little mistake. If we were all to regularly, and keep me informed of his be hung for an equal guiltiness, Charley, movements." there would be no one left for the rope- It was also to M. Edouard Somers that puller. Keep good heart, and enjoy life as Charley's letter of introduction was ad- it comes to you over there. We shall have dressed. it all right again for you here before you are half through with Europe. By Jove! if it were not for the manner of your going, CHAPTER V. I should say you were danced lucky in get- ting away for a foreign holiday just now, BENT TO THE TASK. when the office had grown so tame for you!" HUNTLEY allowed some days to pass before And thereafter succeeded some useful and he called at the house on the avenue. pleasant hints respecting the "doincr" of When, at length, he did so, he was met at London and Paris, into which the writer the door by Stephen, who presented the infused so much of his old charm of style, excuses of his young mistress; she was ill, that Charley, devouring the letter a fort- and ki~pt her room. Would he see Mr. night later, in the warm light of an Eug- Wales? hish coffee-room, finished it with a sigh, and "No, not to-night." thought what a clever, good fellow Dick He pencilled four words of sympathy on Huntley was. The letter further said, "I his card and went away; she~received and shall see your cousin often, as you request, - noted it with indifference, but recovered as often, at least, as seems agree able to her. herself; momentarily, afterwards, and called She will miss you terribly, but woman-like, the servant back to say that when Mr. you know, devises some consolation with Huntley came again she would see him. the assistance of her friend, Miss Clare. Very wretched and miserable had these Your exodus is attributed to ill-health; you days been to liar, - sunless, hopeless days, know there was something said of your go- that make one grow old and press out the ing ont in the spring, and there is no whis- freshness of young hearts with their weight. per of anything else. I will take care to There had come to her on the day following check that, if the necessity arises, and I Charley's departure, by some unknown mes~ will shut up Robbie if he is disposed to talk. singer, a brief, spotted scrawl in her cousin's in all possible things where I can he of ser- hand. It had been his latest act before vice, don't fail to command me, and above going on the steamer to write it; he had all write me often. I shall wish to know dreaded to do it, and neglectedit persistently 29 page: 30-31[View Page 30-31] CHOISY. until that last moment, when he had reached a wild and almost chaotic state of mind, and was half unconscious of what he wrote. It was a confused, almost unmeaning, jumble of words, and might be cruel levity or the bitter outpourings of a despairing heart. "I suppose I am neither worse nor better than most men," he wrote; "I only know I am not very happy, and do not expect to be again. I know not where I shall go, or what I shall do; what will it matter? I shall adopt the true maxim of the outlaw, and waste no love on a loveless world." Twenty other equally reckless words, redeemed by a little burst of affection for herself at the end, and that was all; it confirmed her fears, and she had gone in an agony of terror and bewilderment to her uncle, and demanded to know the whole truth. With all the gentleness of which he was capable, Mr. Wales received her. lie forbore to reveal Chancy's disgrace to her, setting forth a rather plausibkf 'story about the necessity of change for the young man, dwelling lightly on his later and mistaken course, and more forcibly on the benefit of removal from damaging associations. Ii The sweet, tearful face touched a hidden cord, perhaps; for he kissed her almost tenderly when she left him, and said in con- clusion, "It is all for the best, my dear, and you must not grieve for him. The change was an absolute necessity, and no doubt he will find great enjoyment in new scenes, as well as the benefits I hope for, and come hack - come back some day, I trust, sobered ~nd improved." And he did trust so. If there had his wandering eye caught the steamer list been any momentary compunction following the resolve which he had so suddenly taken on the morning of Mr. Knarles's visit, when in the paper, it was rapidly appeased by his arguments, - arguments so reasonable in his own esteem soon canie to regard the scheme as a particularly happy conception~. He saw h his son on board the vessel, and bade him farewell solemnly, with much serious advice. If He made liberal provision for him abroad, and left the limit of his absence to be fixed by himself beyond a term which he con- Ii sidered it advisable to exact. He believed lie had acted with good judgment and with no little charity, and enjoyed intense seif-satis- 4 fiction in consequence. Had he been con- scientious or even capable in an analysis of II the feeling, he would have found it to be really more a sense of relief to himself than a sentiment of especial regard for his ~on. It might still be urged that the course was a wise one, - possibly, as a tardy rem- ed How~and for the ne elected ill. ~mmna accepted the fiat of her uncle in dumb consciousness of the futility of appeal. She fled from his presence, and, alone with her misery, sought to find consolation in hope; but it was a weary and pitiful effort. These later years had been a sad sequel to her happy childhood at the river-side home. The double loss of mother and brother had overwhelmed her with its crushing weight; and from this she had rallied, painfully 'clinging with desperation to the sole remnant of~ the dear old life now left to her, - the affection of her cousin. And this, in its kind, was unfailing. It was nut a sentiment of words, but an invisible element of their every-day life, and, though unex- pressed, no less a strong, enduring bond. They had grown up together in an unbroken home intimacy; there was not an event of her life with which he was not associated, and it had never entered her thoughts that their future lives could be separated. The child's affection had ripened with her years into something stronger and deeper, but the feeling had slept in the happy fullness of the present. If there had been moments when some secret voice spoke to the patient heart, moments which bred a nameless craving that stirred the hidden depths of her being, she had hushed the one and given the other no heed, living content in her daily food. So had she passed the age when most women in our tropic society are married and given in marriage without a wish or a thought of aught beyond their portions, and in that she was happy. Charley was never changed or careless, or less than he had ever been to her. Probably in all their lives he had never in word ordered so bruised her heart as he had done by those unhappy farewell gnes, and the cruel stroke awoke her fully to the true nature of her feelings. There was no resentment or any lesser emot ion in her soul, however; all, everything, was swal- lowed up in the single crushing thought of her loss. She had never dreamed of that possibility. Moments of trouble and little fleeting pangs of heart she had sometimes had, though to he jealous, as we use the word, was not in her nature; but these had faded as they came. She summoned her forces in vain to meet the blow; it was blank, bitter despair, with- out a ray qf light, and it crushed and con- quered her. She felt that she did nut know all, that there was still a mystery hidden beneath Charley's hurried lines and her uncle's guarded words, but she cared to know no more. What did it matter what he had done? What could lie do, her darling! that the world would not smile upon, and any hut that cold, hard father down stairs forgive with gladness? For an instant the spirit of her mother glowed in the wretched girl as the thought swept through her mind; then she drooped again, BENT TO THE TASK. 31 and the shadow came back. "Gone! gone! in the spring, and of course we 'ii take you. her loved one, her life!" I should like to see anything prevent that L" She looked quite savage as she said it, A ringing voice in the hail and a patter and pulled her feet away rather hurriedly; of excited feet on the stairs aroused her there was getting to be a decided odor of later on the evening of Huntley's call. She burnt leather in the room. "Bless me! I looked up with a Ihint effort to smile as the have burned ray feet off making that speech; door flew open and a young girl bounced spoiled the slippers, I' m afraid. Now, what into the room, - a tall, dark girl, with great do you think I did?" she continued in the flashing eyes, and checks crimson under the same rapid tone, turning excitedly towards united influence of cold air and generous Emma, and ignoring the catastrophe of the blood. She afforded a striking contrast to slippers. the wan, pale-faced woman by the fire, as "I 'm sure I don't know, you child. Don't she tossed what would have been called by put your feet so near the fire," responded courtesy a hat at a distant chair, throwing Emma, smiling, despite herself, at the im- a tiny sealskin jacket after it, and sprang pulsive girl. to embrace her friend. That ceremony was "1 '11 tell you what I did. When I came performed and thrice repeated in silence, in, I just marched straight into your uncle's Emma's head sunk upon the shoulder of study, where he was reading a paper or her friend, and a shiver of pent-up feeling something, as solemn as an owl, and says I, convulsed her for an instant. 'Excuse me, Mr. Wales, but I forgot to "You poor darling I " broke out the new- ask you yesterday for Chancy's address comer in half~tender, half-scolding tones; abroad."' "you promised me, only last night, that Emma looked up suddenly, and the nar- you would be good and cheer up, and this rator paused with much gravity to note the is the way you do it I" effect of her words. "0 Clare! I do try, but -" "Yes, I did; and he looked at me in the "0 yes, I know. I knew how it would funniest way; but I smiled my sweetest, and be. I 'm not much disappointed, only I he smiled in spite of himself, and 0 my wish you would cry; those dry, woebegone darling!" concluded the ecstatic Clare, eyes will keep me awake all night! Of tumbling down on her knees again, and course I knew, dear," continued the young half smothering Emma, who was listenin~ woman, who had thoucrht it proper again to in breathless suspense, "he told me!" repeat the process ~? embracing at this There followed an interval of silence, juncture, after which she pulled up a low during which Miss Jennings bestowed a chair, and, sitting down therein, pushed out great number of kisses on the cheeks of her two dainty, long-heeled slipp~irs into absurd friend, interspersing them with low and proximity to the glowing grate, "and I ran incoherent sounds resembling the cooing of away as soon as ever I could. That stupid- doves. Wiudham came in just after dinner, and I Emma at length found an opportunity to had to freeze him off again before I could get speak: "And the address, dear?" away; and just as I was running out for my "Oh!- care 'Hopkins' or 'Popkins,' or things along came somebody else, and I had something; what does it matter? I 'ye asked to hide behind a door in the back parlor him once, and will ask him a dozen times until Lou got him into a corner, when I now, if necessary. Is n't it glorious, though? slipped out. Don't know who it was, and And to think you did n't dare I - you poor, don't care. How awfully cold it was in the foolish dear! We will write him a long street! Boo!" And the feet went up still letter to-morrow. I shall come over early, nearer the fire with a convulsive jerk. and we will scold him well, the wretch! for Emma caught sight then of the slipper~. going away like that. Then we will make ~ "0 Clare! why did you come lout in your it up nicely at the end. Fancy Charley in slippers? You will get a cold, and all Paris; I wonder what he does with him- your goodness for me." selfl" "Bother the slippers I - pretty, though, The momentous nature of this reflection * are n L they? I am ,just trying to think caused her to pause the fraction of a second how to scold you, but I can't conjure up all in serious thought; but she broke out im- the severe things I want to say. I won't mediately after it ~vith a fresh inspiration. have you going on like this, though, because "I '11 tell you what he shall do for us; Charley has gone away for a holiday in he shall just make clever little sketches of Europe. If it was n't that you feel so badly things and send them by every steamer. about it, I should be glad of it for his sake. Won't it be nice? And then-why! we It 's a sight) better for him than that horrid should find out all the newest things in old office. I wish I - I wish we were dress that way. Mr. Huntley says 'Punch's' both with him. I am teasing mamma ever pictures are the English fashion-plates, and minute to go, and she says maybe we shall nobody ever drew for 'Punch' as Charley page: 32-33[View Page 32-33] 32 CHOISY. BENT TO THE TASK. 33 Wales draws. Just fancy his fashion-pic- tures taken on the spot, you know, on the Boulevard What-you-call-it!" Emma laughed again at the irrepressible girl, and in some measure even shared her* elation; indeed, the knowledge of the ad- dress land sent a thrill to her heart. She had not yet been able to summon the cour- age to ask for, and Mr. Wales had neglected to offer, it; and she found a new strength growing in her heart as she listened to her enthusiastic friend. It was late in the evening, long after the girls' exuberant fancy had spent its ecstasy, as they sat with locked arms before the flickering fire, when Clare sprang up with an exclamation, and precipi a e sought the hat and jacket. "Gracious, goodness me! how I am staying! I have n't been a Job's comforter, at any rate, have I? Now you will go to bed and sleep, can't you, darling? If you don't, I shall not, you know." She was struggling wildly with the tiny seal-skin, but paused and took breath to add, "I will stay, dear, if you want me. You could send Stephen -" "No, it is n't necessary, you dear, good- hearted child; but you must put on these rubbers, and Stephen will see you across." "My poor~ pretty slippers I they are just ruined. There I you 'II never see your rub- bers again, I guess. Good night, you naughty, darling girl!" There was a rapturous exchange of em- braces, and Miss Clare turned to go. At the table she stopped to pick up Huntley's card, lying thereon. "0, he has been here, and you did n't see him! I wonder if-" What the young woman wondered is lost to history, as she failed to complete the sen- tence, and, bouncing off, rattled down stairs to where Stephen stood ready to escort her to her home across the way. He got a cheery "good night" for his pains; and as he came in again and closed up for the night he said to himself, "It 's a blessed thing for Miss Emmie to have a friend like Miss Clare to ehirk her up a bit these days." They were in truth old friends, these two girls so unlike and so equally lovely in their characters. The Jenningses were a family of the great upper world, and pos- sessed a splendid country property upon the river, which had immediately adjoined that of Mrs. Howland. Early acquaintance had led to friendship and much intim~tcy between the families during the long sum- mer holidays, and especially between Clare and Emma, who were nearly of the same age. The events of later years had served to make their relations even more intimate. Clare had wept her heart out at Fred How- land's death; she could never choose clearly between him and Charley, and had made desperate love to both ever since the era of short dresses; but when "Aunt Ellen," as she had always called Mrs. lowland, was taken, her grief was something like Emma's own, and had revealed to the latter an un- suspected depth of feeling. Mrs. Jennings made a protege' of the motherless girl from that time. She wa~ very kind and sympathetic, and, indeed, loved Emma as a daughter; but she was, as I have said, a woman of the grand world, and believed implicitly in worldly curatives for worldly ills. She was a brilliant, clever woman, and a power in the circle in which she moved, but, what was admirable and perhaps rare, a power for good. The mass of women are moulded by society, while a few mould society to their will. Mrs. Jen- nings had found it possible to be a star in the social world and to fulfil her duties as wife and mother; to "queen it," in simple words, and remain a good woman; and few do as much. She carried Emma away to the sea-shore that sad summer, and was very tender and careful with the bruised heart, while she drcw the line sharply where a natural sor- row becomes a consuming melancholy, and fought the weakness of Emma's too plastic nature bending to earth under its weight of tr~mble. In time, by argument and en- treaty, she won her victory, and ushercd Emma into her own golden realm, and the appreciative girl found there much consola- tion and some happiness. Emma rallied bravely on the new hope awakened by Chire's giddy but thoroughly good and loving fancies, and, after the child had gone, busied herself in her room with more spirit than she had known for days, piled coals on her fire, and, drawing her writing-table near it, sat down and wrote far into the night, wrote a letter of warm, unquestioning affection to her truant boy. After that she slept a deep, restful sleep; but she was down betimes in the morning, look- ing quite like herself, and gave the letter to Stephen to mail with a smile that gladdened the old man's heart. "Mail it at once, please, and find out when it will go," she said; and the servant, having caught the superscription, shuffled off nimbly enough to do her bidding. He did it faithfully too, and it was with silent amusement that Emma received the impetuous Clare at a later hour, and proceeded with her to the joint construction of that wonderful letter of reprimand, instructions, and commissions, smoothed down "at the end" with a great deal of love and good wishes; her own was, meantime, being hurried aboard the steamer, and would be miles on its way before the sun went down. But the occupation was a pleasant one, and made the day a happy contrast for Emma to those of the preced- ing week. Clare was ecstatic; her idea poured out in a flood upon her paper, whic] was written and crossed, and rewrite: diagonally, while Emma barely finished he sheet in single lines between her fits o laughter at the irresistible and not un frequently preposterous inspirations of he: friend. Then it was insisted that Emmn~ should rea(I her missive aloud, after which and not without some difficulty, Clare rent her own, - a happy circumstance, since ~i led to a salutary system of corrections auc the supplying ot~ innumerable omissions, ir the absence of which the epistle would hav puzzled a more adroit hand at manuscript than Charley XVales. The affair was finally) achieved with great e'claf, and Clare was iii a fever of childish delight when the neal packet was duly scaled and addressed in Emma's clear hand ready for the post She made a little face at the thought of the "awfully" long time it would require to bring response, wondered that Emma should remember the address, which she had quite forgot ten, and went home congratulating herself with un~elflsh happiness on having brought back the smiles to the poor, dear thing's pale face. And she had done well, the big-hearted girl, better even than she dreamed. When Mr. Huntley called some evenings later, he found Miss Howland "at home," and was met by her with a face and manner that filled hint with uneasy surprise. He found no external evidence of the shock and grief he believed she had sustained; she spoke with regret of her cousin's absence, but did not dwell on it, and the fine edifice of delicate sympathy he had reared for the occasion fell ~o the ground and left the clever wording at an actual loss for words. He made a brief call, and emerged into the street oppresse(I with a sense of discomfiture. I am sorry to add that he came afterwards to the club and astonished Simums by making a rude demand for "the money Wales owed him," and surprised us all by a display of temper over our really unexceptionable whis- key and the club attendance. We won- dered at the unusu~d exhibition on the part of the impassive man, and Tommy West gave utterance to the opinion that he was the "wrong way all up his back," as the door closed on him. He took his way later to the abode and place of business of Mr. Worthington, where, in fact, he had been a rather frequent visitor since the Occasion which introduced him to the reader. That he was not in an agreeable state of mind as he moved up the street might have been inferred from the rapid and nervous manner of his walk and the savage whirl of his cane; a stray dog sneaking inoffensively along the house-wall came in for a blow from that weapon, and 5 an equally stray policeman Ofi the corner, Ia who favored the gentleman with a curious a glance, little dreamed of the latter's very r strong inclination to serve him in the same f way. He did not enter the parlors at - Worthington's, or go to the dining-hall; ~but r left a message for the master with an at- a tenant, and proceeded up stairs to a private sitting-room with the readiness of one famil- I mr with the way. here he ordered a hot punch, lighted a cigar, and, throwing himself I into an easy-chair before the fire, brooded gloomily. it was some time before Worthington entered the room, which he did at last with a feeble attempt at his usual gracious smile; evidently lac was not enchanted witla the visit. "Ah! you, is it, Dick, making yourself comfortable as usual? Quite right, old fel- low; always do it when you can, you know," he said, carelessly, coming to the fire and planting himself before it with a glance down at Huntley. Thac broker neither moved nor responded, but brooded still with his head on his breast and his eyes on the coals. Worthington watched him an instant longer, and then, shrugging his shoulders, gathered a coat-tail over each arm5 spread himself kurionsly before the fire, and awaited eVents. Hundey spoke finally in a desperate, tleci~ive way: "I must have more money, Sam." The gambler frowned heavily,~but did not turn. He took a cigar out of lais mouth delicately, and, biting the end off with his sharp, white teeth, blew it into space; this pantomime concluded, he smoked silently. Huntley broke out again: "That infernal slaort venture in Old Southern is getting me in a ('orner. Somebody must have crammed Jenkins, or else he lied deliberately about the stock, for it has crawled up steadily ever since I sold it, and from what I hear to-day it is liI~ely to be bulled five or even ten per cent higher. I can't cover; it would ruin me unless I could go long of the stock to balance, and I have n't the money to (10 it." There was no response yet from tlae man before the fire. Huntley looke(I up and continued "It is a pretty sure thing, this rise; the Druid clique are in it, I know, and if 1 had the means I would take one or two thousand shares to-morrow. A check for thirty or forty thousand would do it, as money loans free on the stock, - another good sign. Why not make a joint operation?" "I cama't (10 it, Huntley," answcm'ed the other, at last, with marked impatience; "I am in down there now a deuced sight deeper than I wish I was, and I have to thank you for the most of it. I have n't a spare dollar outside of my need now, and what I kt you page: 34-35[View Page 34-35] 34 CHOISY. BENT TO THE TASK. have last week has really inconvenienced me." Iluntley looked up angrily. "By -! * Worthington, it 's too bad to try to put that off on me. I '11 take your gains any full night down stairs and chance it to get out * of my scrape on them! "My 'gains (Iowa stairs*' are none of your affiuii s, I)tck," responded Worthington, dtyly. Huntley looked at him in mingled surprise and rage; but the fine face of the gambler was unruffled. "Now see here!" cried the broker, pas- sionately, "I won't stand that! I put an easy ten thousand in your hands a week ago -" " And have taken it nearly all out again since. I will give you the rest to be quits, if you will stow that business forever; it was dirty, and I don't like it!" Huntley waS silenced for some moments by these words, but recovered his sangfroid rapidly. "This won't do, Sam," he resumed quietly; "we can't afford to quarrel, and we ought to know how to give and take by this time, fdlow-countryinen in a strange land as we are, - n'est ce There was an imperceptible twitch in Worthington's face at the last words, and he * did not meet the eye of the other, who looked at him with soniething of an ironical smile. " You will never lose anything by mc, Sam; don't let that worry you. And as for your having any conscience about that matter of young ~Vales, it 's simply absurd. Why! it was the biggest piece of double luck imaginable; you got your money, and 1 got the young brute out of amy way!" "Is it a fact, then, that you are going to try the game in that quarter?" Huntley's heart revolted despite himself at the quick question; but lie showed no sign, and met Worthington's eye steadily as he answered, "And why not?" "XVhy not, to be sure; only, I should think-" " Well, what should you think ?" The words were almost fiercely put, and the gambler laughed with well-assumed gaycty. "By Jove! I don't know what to think sometmmcs~ Dick; it 's a ruin world to live in! But I must go down. I am really not in funds, but I can let you have some securities." "What are they?" "The old lot, five-twenties." Huntley made a grimace. "0, the regis- I tered ones?" "Yes, the same," laughed Worthington. "Look out where you burrow on them. I would n't recommend old Wales; he can't be very fond of my name on paper! I '11 send them down in the morning, - ta, ta!" And he went out. Jiuntley remained some time in his luxu- rious solitude, silent and tl~ioughtfuI. "I wonder what mad~ the man show ugly," he said to himself. "He ought to know better, and, by-, he shall be aught, if he tries it a~nia!" He aroused himself at this juncture, looked at his watch, and, whistling at its disclosure, betoek himself homeward. The bonds came down promptly in the morning, and the amount raised on them enabled iluntley not only to weather the shoals, but to follow as well his scheme ol hedgingo' whereby he came our of tl~e affair with a handsome balance. It was with n6 little satisfaction that lie returijed the securities to their owner a week later, with his compliments and regrets. " What a pity you would not come in on the Old Southern!" he wrote; "a clear use of five per cent in two days." On reading which Mr. Worthington shrugged his shoulders, as was his wont, and remarked that "the fellow always fell on his feet." The broker was therefore in a genial hu- mor when, some evenings after his visit at the Wales mansion, he called across the way on his charming acquaintance, Miss Clare Jennings. That young lady was in quite a flutter over her visitor, for the handsome Englishman had an ardent ad- mirer in Miss Clare, and she had on divers occasions deployed all her forces against him with an exasperating uncertainty of success. She received him, accordingly, with much grace, but seoldeti him coquet- tishly for his neglect in calling. Iluntley thought what a splendid creature she was, looking at her as she sat before him toying with a shadowy bit of handkeu chief, and casting arch glances at him. How much easier to be had than that other one! A card t& play, perhaps, if the other failed. "I owe you infinite apology, Miss Jen- nings; it is we who suffer, however, com- pelled as we are to deny ourselves the pleasure of your society. You know how it is-" "0 yes, I know; please don't vex my ears with the thrice-told tale. 'Business,' of course, always 'business'!" Quite right; stupid, is n't it, that no one invents a new plea? I have tried. It has cost me nights of sleepless study, it has indeed, Miss Jennings, in the vain hope of winning the gratitude of my f~'llow-sinners." "And of course you did not succeed. I shall suspect you, however, hereafter. It is horrid, though, that you men ~annot con- tent yourselves with all day in Wall Street, but must have a 'Board, or whatever you call it, at the hotels in the evening. I would turn you all out in the street, if I were the Fifth Avenue Hotel !" Huntley laughed gayly at the idea. "So you would, and be a benefactress to us all You see, if some go, all must follow; ani so we of the mass are dragged in by th( incorrigibles." "Yes, I see; you all distrust each other and fear to lose an advantage by being ab sent. You poor souls!" The reasoning of Miss Clare was irresisti ble. Huntley laughed and surrendered. "1 cry you mercy, Miss Jennings, as one of the convicted. Behold me at your feet, And the gay world? Following its course, I presume, as merrily as marriage-bells. I have bv'en such a recluse for a month past, that I feel like a monument of antiquity." "0, the same old tliinol" said the young woman, with a pensive sigh. "I ani quite worn out with it, I assure you, and every fresh card of invitation gives me a shudder. it is n't satisfying, Mr. Hunt'ey." She had seen two winters in society, poor thing! Mr. Huntley looked comically grave. "No more it is, Miss Jennings," - he was not quite sure of her meaning, but he was immensely sympathetic,-" no more it is; the more we see of it, the less satis- faction it affords us. It is almost sad some- tinies. is it not? 'If this be all, and naught beyond!' Ah, well! we must go on with the world, of course; but as for me, I have no heart to go about since our Charley ran away so unceremoniously." Was a't it a shame? I was so surprised and grieved! And to think lie was ill all that time and no one knew it. Of course, he would n't speak of it." "I had no suspicion of it; indeed, I can scarcely believe it now; but doctors know best, and must be obeyed. He must be sadly2 missed over the way." "You can't think how much. That poor, dear Em! She was inconsolable, and just as miserable as she could be." "I can well imagine it." He spoke with sweet sadness, and Miss Clare darted a soft glance at him. "Ah, Mr. Huntley, it was beautiful, that attachment!" The gentleman moved nervously, but oaked volumes of sympathy. "The poor thing was so wretched," con- tinned Clare, "that I was heartbroken about her." "But I found her quite cheerful, and ~. evidently much consoled, when I called on 4~ Wednesday," said Hantley, with an expec- tant heart. "So much so, that I confess I was surprised." Clare looked at him triumphantly. "That was ate, Mr. Huntley. I did that." "1 can understand what measureless com- ~ fort she would gather from your sweet sym- - pathy, Miss Jennings." ~ "Ah, yes; but you don't know how I revived her spirits, and by such a simple thing. I can't conceive what made Char. I ley act so strangely about o'oing; why, do you know, he never saw cEmn before lie went, or even let her know where he , was going ! She wrinkled her pretty brow a motnent over the problem, and iluntley said, "No - doubt the poor boy was awfully cut up. I inferred as much from his farewell note to me. I was unluckily out of town when lie * left." "How astonished you must have been!" " I was, indeed. - more than astonished. iBut you have not told me by what magical process you consoled Miss Howland." * "0, just the simplest thing! She did n't even know Charley's address, and had not the courage to ask Mr. Wales for it, and she was breaking her heart about it. So I just marched into his sanctum, and de- manded it on the spot." And got it, of course," cried her listener, with well-assumed admiration. He was gnawing his lip the while, and cursing this new chance. "Who could refuse you, if you(cam9 thus?" course I got it; and we wrote such a nice long letter to the dear fellow Em became positively happy over it, and has been so ever since; though I suppose it will hr an age before an answer can come." "It is vexatious, is n't it? It was vexatious, very vexatious, to him; and after the t&e-~e-t&e had dragged through another half-hour, in which he lost much ground in the good graces of Miss Chare by his excessive dulness, he took his depart- ure in great annoyance, and was even less amiable at the club afterwards than he had been on a previous evening. But the man had ere this fully measured and accepted his task. He made a secret no longer, to the nightly guest in the mirror, of the pas- sion that was growing in his heart, roused by the opposition of circumstance and nourished now by ever-present dreams. He gave himself over to it, heart and soul, and shaped his course to the fierce resolution of winning by fair means or foul. Plots and counterplots circled in his brain, keeping hini for days in a mad whirl of passionate thoughts, and almost unfitting hini for his business. To these there succeeded the clear outlines of well-defined schemes rioid lines of conduct to be followed, and ~'he moves of the game to be stu(lied and sure. The creature who had been a wild and reckless adventurer for the better half of his life, governed by the caprice of the hour, tossed by his passions, and led by chance, became, with this last touch of na- ture, the master of himself, the instrument of a sentiment stronger than himself. Would he win the game, this clever, undaunted player, schooled of the world, - this bold, page: 36-37[View Page 36-37] CHOISY. ASHORE ON ZEA~A. strong, far-sighted, silent genius of self, without conscience, without principle, and without fear? A hundred to one against the field I Weeks and months went by, and men saw a marked change in the broker. In the street they called it imprQvemeflt and an improvement was certainly visible in his affairs there, as his bankers could tes- tify. At the club it was said, inelegantly, that the man was "soured"; but as he came more and more rarely and stayed briefly, it was a short-lived topic. Proba- bly the elegant Worthington was more per- plexed by the change than any other ob- server; it began by interesting, and ended by alarming him. "1 can't think what is on with the man," said that worthy to himself, ~ifter a settle- ment of accounts in which H~ntley cleared off his entire obligation to the gambler; "evidently training for something, and wants to shake his old friends." And the gentleman, whose soliloquies were largely tinctured with sporting terms, looked trou- bled. He went so far as to send certain speculative orders to be executed by hunt- ley & Co.; and though the broker smiled wickedly at the messenger, he did not re- fuse to accept his new customer. "Nervous, is Sammy 1" said he to him- self. "Glad he took 'em," thought Worthing- ton. Huntley called regularly, hut not with marked frequency, at the house on the ave- nue, lie displayed rather less of his for- mer volatile brilliance in conversation, and Miss Ciare, who happened in occasionally during his calls, thought he was becoming decidedly stupid and blas6; but Emma found his quiet and wonderfully sympathetic manner very agreeable. He moved cau- tiously and by inches, but he worked well, and made progress; for, from being kind to him for her cousin's sake, who had asked it in his last lines to her, Emma came in time to take a growing pleasure in the broker's society for itself; and in tie studied atti- tudehe assumed toward her there was a rare attraction she could not but leel, that no woman could fail to feel, who sees before her a man of superior years, of a rich and checkered experience, and an extensive knowledge of the world that speaks in trifles but is constantly discerned, - a man we call "accomplished" and believe to he wise; whom we admire and wonder at, and who flatters us insensibly but deeply by a subtle, studied deference. Desdemona would always love her heroic wonder, Mi- randa her beautiful stranger from the un- known world; and though the heart of Em- ma Howland was guarded with a love too strong to be overcome, she was not proof against the strong though unsuspected in- fluence of this skilled reader of hearts. in her he had no common character to deal with. lie had learned that quickly, and, fortified in the knowledge, his advance s were made with all the skill and caution of a master tactician. Meantime letters had come in tedious course from Chancy. He had received that written by Emma and the famous joint production we have described, which were forwarded to him in London from Paris. He wrote briefly but cheerfully. He was well, and gathering rare enjoyment in his new atmosphere. When he should be set- tled at Paris, the orders of the ladies would be attended to, but he had found London so attractive that he could set no time for his departure. He wrote a half-tender apology to Emma for the manner of his leaving: lie was so miserable that he was scarcely conscious at that time what he did; "would she forgive him, and believe him always her loving and affectionate Char- ley?" And Emma kissed the sheet, and slept with it under her pillov. She wrote him again, tenderly and tearfully, and waited long for a reply. CHAPTER VI. ASHORE ON ~EA~A. THE June roses were blooming in the parterres of the imperial Terrace when Charley Wales arrived at last at Paris. lie had lingered long in London, making some pleasant acquaintance, and held by the magic attraction of the grim monster moth- er of cities, which, for his untravelled fancy, possessed a fascinating and romantic charm. His intermediate bit of sea life prepared him admirably for the enjoyment of new scenes, - those twelve wild and exciting days on the winter Atlantic, with just enough congenial society l~elow dccl s to dis- sipate the gloomy thoughts that might have come in with the star'iess nights and the grand old waste that warred with the winds incessantly before his eyes. It was a pe- riod of regeneration for the young man, smoothing down the angry and troubled feelings which had marked the first hours of his expatriation, and leaving him with a sober consciousness of. his position; some- what saddened at times by the error that had marred his life, but more and more re- solved to turn the lesson to good account, to reap some pleasure from his present, and qualify himself for a better future. There was a sort of mental arrest in. this abrupt change from his free and careless existence ashore, with the warm relief of a luxurious home and countless friends, to the solemn 4 4 4 I, ) loneliness of the ocean and the singularly Gray. Nor was it less stirring to puzzle inspiring atmosphere which envelopes all over their own written text in the treasure- who follow their precarious course thereon. house of the Museum; crabbed, angular For the first time a realizing sense of his lines which tell us something of how they manhood thrilled him, and his past life labored to give their deathless inspirations seemed to roll away like a pleasant but idle to the world. The kings were the better dream. Most young men of easy lives cx- writers, poor souls! Perhaps there be stools perience some such awakening moment, I for book-keepers where they are gone I fancy, when the old paths lose all at once The young enthusiast knew no rest un- their charm, and are abandoned with re- til he had fairly exhausted the mine and lief, if not in disgust. His earlier days in become something of an antiquarian him- England - beginning with one of familiar self. Abbey and Tower and Minster were snow-storm, through which he dashed down severalty and repeatedly gone over, and it from Liverpool to London at forty miles an was not until he had accomplished the hour, stopping for cakes and ale at a no less whole circle, from the very crypt where sio~nificant place than Tom Brown's Rugby, Kit Wren sleeps in the vault of his making and running into the vast overlapping wil- to the outermost wall of Hampton, that derness of the great city just as the mu- Charley thought of rising his letters and lions of lights were beginning to twinkle in coming back to the men and things of his the brown December mist - were one con- century. it was a sad descent from the tinned dream made up of a thousand book- classic Briton to the cockney; but the lat~- memories, and fascinating beyond expres- ter as a genus deserved a study, so our sion. He exulted in the recognition through hero began a new round in the old paths, all the evening gloom of Fleet Street, and the and feasted Bacchus over the reveren'l dust. worn arch of Temple Bar, under which he He achieved his potato heroically at Evans's, drove to his hotel in the city; and he boasts, and allowed himself to be tossed in the hot to this day, of having strolled the length tempest of the Aihambra afterwards. lie of Cheapdde, gazed down from London ate a fish dinner at Billingsgate, and fought Bridge upon the inky Thames below, and desperately for cheese wit/i his pie at Simp- up at ghostly St. Paul's from the church- son's. He went down and dined at the yard, before he slept that wonderful first Garter too, at Iticlimond, with much enjoy- night in London. And this half-boyish en- meat, and at great expense; and had point- thusiasm, which covered no small measure ed out to him young Fitznoodle, a live lord of solid appreciation, made the long after- of tender years, who was being nourished task of "doing the city one of constant by green turtle and champagne, under the delight. The American feels in the Eng- amiable protection of Miss Debonnaire of lish metropolis a kind of consanguinity Mrs. John Wood's ballet. He did the Der- with men and things superior to all preju- by, too, and Cremorne after it. He even dice. lie feels at home, and, indeed, he played pound-pool in Regent Street, and is at home with his forgotten ancestors. loo!~ed in at "Barnes's" in the Haymarket, There is not a structure from the rookeries and wondered somewhat, after it all, that of Seven Dials to the broad front of Som- ages had done so little to eradicate the vein erset House in which we do not feel some of intense, coarse brutishness which has peculiar interest; not a thoroughfare or a come down in the British character from byway, from Oxford Street to the Tower, the man in the goatskin. whose name fails to strike some answering He remained long enough in England to chord of memory. We are conscious of a fitnesss the gathering of the fisshionables to sentiment of proprietorship which enables their "season" parade in the Ladies' Mile, us to walk loftily in the. antique streets, and and to be jostled by them in the Sunday disposes us to resent the rather cold glances "Zoo"; long enough to catch the lovely of our old.country cousins who mark usfor picture from Richmond Tei~race in its "foreio'ners." . summer dress, and to enjoy the still lovelier Ch~rley read off the pages of the great panorama of the Vale of Kent from the historic book with eager and appreciative boot of the last of English stage-coaches. eyes, beginning with the antique black-letter The jaunt to Tuabnidge closed the book for of the remote past, and plodding through the him, and then he turned his tardy feet whole pretty thoroughly, down to the mod- towards France. em character of his time. it seemed to Said a pleasant English friend to him as him like a pause of time, that breathless they shook hands in parting at Ludgate Hill, moment when he stood in the dim shadows "Au revoir; but I speak it in the fear that of Westminster, with the sealed dust of you will soon forget our smoky old London kings below his feet, and the dazzling con- in the Beautiful City I" stellation of names of the Immortal Corner "Never!" cried Charley. before his eyes, - Chaucer and Spenser, Nor did he; nor could any one lose Milton and Dryden, Shakespeare, Addison, entirely the impression which that grim, 36 37 it' CHOISY. page: 38-39[View Page 38-39] 38 dilOlsy. ASHORE ON A~A. 39 dingy, unchanging, and untidy mother of so many millions makes upon the stranger's heart. But in the warm, golden glow of' Paris the picture grows dim in a little thne. Chancy was fortunate to have lingered and enjoyed the parent city before he turned to its glittering neighbor across the strait. You will db ~vell, reader mine, to follow his eXamnl)le. And so in the early days of June Chancy found himself in Paris. It was the Paris of the Second Empire, of Baron Haussmann and Louis Napoleon; the peerless, laughing, sinning, glorious Pails of the nineteenth century, in its sixth decadee. Even then the Saii(IS were running fast in her hour of triumph, ann through all the wild revel and tumult of lien giddy life there fell at intervals a shadow of the future and a cry from some solitary, watchful soul. But she heard or heeded not; it was a feast where the lights shone so l)nightly, and hearts heat so ~ias- smonately, that the words upon the wall were idle and unnoticed things. Who shall write the story of those (lays? who paint the scene where wealth was melted into impossi- bk sImlemlor, and luxury carried to nameless vice; where the man of the Faubourg vied with the prodigality of the Emperor; where woman, like the genius of fhte, ruled and ruine(l, and where she might stand to-day in the tatters of her scarlet robe and cry with l)elilah, " Behold my work Ilium/hit! and we weary of the unchanged story of her succeeding tistenhood ; let the man who kne~v Paris in her golden days fold the rare memory in his heart, and sing of it like Homcr when he is blind with age. There i~ an inevitable first4heling of isolation in a new land where one hears no longer his own tongue, and finds himself surrounnlcil by the unwanted physiognoumics of another rae ; it makes some acquaintance a covete(l boon, and it led Charley without delay to l)m'eselit his credentials to Monsieur Somers at the latter's apartments in the Rue Pasquier. Mr. Somers received him with something like a huzza. lie was a large, almost too large, but very handsome man ; an undoubted Engli4mman, with the skin and color of a woman, straight, full nose, an(l laughing light blue eyes, with heavy whiskers of the very lightest brown, and a sweeping moustache that effectually hid his mouth. A man of undefinable age, he might be thirty-five and possibly ten years older; puzzling, but attractive at first glance. Treasuring the most cordial feeling for Iluntley, Chanley accepted the blond giant at sight with a certain enthusiasm. Had he known Iluntley better, he might have formed another estimate of Iluntley's " 01(1 friend." The gentleman at that extraordinary hour of one o'clock was just taking his coffee in ii 11 I his handsomely furnished parlor, and met our hero with a laughing apology for his nlressing-gown and slippers, lie looked like a colossal man-Venus in his scanty robes. "My dear Mr. Wales! I am delighted. Eajia! Why, I am wasted whh hope de- fi rved! Voyoas; it must be a year since Huntley wrote inc of your coming!" Scarcely," said Charley, laughing at the irresistible bonhomie of the other, " nbt more than five months, I should think. I sailed in December." "AIm, yes, so you did. I remember now planning something for you for the .Ioer de Pea. But you rewannl suspense. I am more than (leliglitetl ! Your first visit to Paris, is it not? and when did you arrive ? " "It is my first. I caine over yesterdayy" " Is it l)ossible? how kimid ot you to look me up so promptly ! Will you l)tir(lou me if I finish my coffee ? Try omme of those cigars ; we call them fair here, but I always talk small about my cigars to you Anicrican gentlemen, you are such judges. I ama rather late this morning, though I am not an early bird at any time. Our big race, the Grand Thix, you know, is run to-morrow, an(l it has made so much late woik at the club that one never gets to his bed. Only just arrived, eb ! but you (lOii't mean to tell me you haYe been all this time in Eng- land 0 yes, and found it very delightful." Somers raised his hands in comic won(ler. Did you really 'I As a born Englislunan I am free to say I (10 not, and never did. I seldom go over. How did you find the Channel ?" "It did not strike me as being so very bad, hut I noticed that nearly every one was ill." "Of course they were, and so you would have been if you were anything but an American. It 's unaccountable how little you make of ocean voyages. Me, - why I die a hundred (leaths between Calais and Dover! I begin to fail ill at Aniiens fioma slicer anticipation. I have n't asked you yet how you left Dick, the dear old felto~v lie is always telling us he is comniimg out, but he never comes." I did not see him, unfortunately, when I sailed," sai(l Chiarley, with a shade of embarrassment, while his host watched him over the edge of his cofihe-cup, and 1)10- pounded unto lmimself~ the mental inquiry, What is the young fish niade of?" "lIe was out of town; but a few days before lie was in his usual good health, and he inca- tions no chaiige in his letters." "lie is getting on in the world, too, so far as I can learn. I always thought he would; but then yours is such a country to get on in. I was near adding an important I a a A, a 4 SI Sf a SI a SI a member to its population in my own person Mr. Somers paused to toss his ashes once. I was, indeed; but as I could not, Idain tily over his shoulder, while Charley, sent Dick as the next best thing, and joined rather nonplussed at this exhibition of char- the order which neither weaves nor spins." acter, did not know what to say, and so "I knew you were old friends," said said nothing. Somers resumed: "Dick Charley; "at least, I inferred as much from writes me that you have come over for an his letters -" indefinite holiday, and are likely to spend Simply that, and nothing more," broke some time at Paris." in Somers, laughing. "Of course, lie does n't "At Paris and on the Continent gener- go into those days now he is a rising man ally." in - what do you call it ? - your Lombard ~' Of course; the Continent is only a sub- Street; but we have had some ups and urb to Paris. Now I am going to make a downs together, Dick and I, not worth the little speech, Mr. Wales. It has not struck telling, 3.011 kmiow, but we all make stock of you, perhaps, that my parliamentary abili- our biographies; it 's a human weakness. ties are uncommon, -a family peculiarity, So he never told you anything of our 01(1 by the way; I. have a big brother who talks connection? Teal maieux!" added the speak- to the Commons. Take another cigar, and en to himself, with his nose buried in his cup. bear with me in my weakness. We ~nust "I understood simply that you were, asi have a general question settled. What I have said, an old-time friend," replied wish to ascertain is how you intend or de- Charley, who, in fact, could not at that sire to 'take your Paris,' as your country- moment remember that Huntley had ever men are fond of saying. They take noth- mentioned Somers to him, and was struck ing ' plain,' do they, at home?" for The first time by the fact; "and lie begged "0 yes, frequently," replied Chancy, me particularly to see you. I was only too l~ughing. "But I don't quite gather your glad to avail myself of the privilege of meaning as yet-" knowing you, and I ought to apologize for "Naturally not; listen. Your youn~ not.having sent you a line explaining my countrymen who come out here - and ~ delay in London. I thought of it, but I have met a great many of them, I may add, confess I am not cit fail in these things; and found them deuced fine fellows, as a you must pardon my shortcomings -" I rule - have a fashion of 'doing' the city "Not to be spoken of, Mn. Wales," said I peculiar to themselves, and whieh has got Summer~, ringing in the gartYmn and sending to be an established routine, into which away the coflhe service; "I am happy to they all seem to fall, as simple as it is ab- have had you comae as you did, and only surd. I could put it all down in so many sorry to have received you in this stupid short paragraphs on a card, and it would fashion. We will mend all that, however,' you as an infallible guide to Paris for and you may discover that I am not so late, mnenscans, which is religiously heeded after all, as we reckon time in Paris. And by them, with scarcely an exception. Mr. now I am going to keep you company in a Thompson, for example, arrives from New cigar, and cultivate your acquaintance," York, and, obedient to recommendations, 011(1 suiting his action to the words, the goes to M3uniee's, Chatham, Louvre, or elegint giant blew a premonitory cloud, any of a dozen hotels, where he has been while lie took up his position like another assured that he will 'find other Americans,' figure of Rhodes, planting himself, from and where he will pay pnces that a French- winter habit, before the closed fireplace, man hears of ii mute wonder. I 'II wager "Let mime say first, Mr. Somimers, that I you have done the same." should be sorry to become a nuisance or in "I am at the Chatham, certainly," said any way -" Chanley, smiling. "And let me begin, my dear fellow, by "Just so; and you find those 'other saying that you are not in the least likely Americans,' who entertain you at dinner to do so, and that I esteem the privilege of with spirited accounts, in a high key, of vis- beng of service to you a very happy one. its to Cluny or the Gobehins, interlard their The fact is, I am one of those siip~)ositi- conversation with excruciating French, and tiously fortunate people called 'men of leis- surround you with a sort of pseudo home ure,' - a character not only enjoyable but atmosphere, which wiU soon become simply respectable in Paris, Mr. Wales, odious or unbearable. Excuse my freedom; I am a disreputable as it may be in other lands, pretty old hand on the Continent, and tol- Iluntley might have explained the fact, amid erably familiar with the different varieties of saved you any scruples about commanding the genus Tourist. There is only one speci- my services; and he might have added men more trying to one 's nerves than your that it would be a peculiar gratification to raw American, and that is our own ineffa- me to put you night in Paris life. I am a ble cockney. You will accept the anende?" pretty thorough Parisian; par consequent, I "lt was not necessary. I can ~ee the jus- am an egotist, but I am also an artist." tice of all you say." page: 40-41[View Page 40-41] 40 CHOISY. ASHORE ON 3~U~A. ii dj~I "Well, to return to 'Mr. Thompson.' He stops, like you, at the Chatham, and regulates his movements by the Guide. He breakfasts, like a barbarian, when Paris is taking its coffee; and when Paris is breakfasting Ic has found some American so&ety and proceeded to indulge in the exotic practice of whiskey cocktails at mid- day. To arrive at this he posts recrularly to the Grand Hotel each day, where Tie will not fail to find a morning coterie of his compatriots, with continual additions; this leads to new acquaintances, and the cele- bration of the same, after your genial cus- tom, by the consumption of fiery compounds unknown to Europeans. It has often seemed to me that Mr. Thompson's recollections of Paris will relate mainly to those wlhom he met there; for he keeps this thing up fre- quently all day, rotating from the Grand Hotel to Thorpe's in an endless succession of new acquaintances and cocktails. To dine, he goes with a party of confr~res to the most celebrated establishment on his list as yet unvisited. Of these places he makes it a point to try a new one every day, which prevents his becoming known and properly served; so he ends by being dissatisfied with all of them. Then he goes to Mabille, Musard, Closerie, or one of a hundred places, and gets home at any hour, with a plundered purse, and a green sickness from a hideous mixture of spirits and wine. A month of this wears him out. He believes he has 'done Paris,' thinks it rather slow, and leaves it with a disagree- able consciousness that it has been rather expensive and not very satisfactory. ":Now, I am not disposed to quarrel with your national habits, Mr * Wales, and what .1 have said about the whiskey-drinking is simply to illustrate. The mistake these gentlemen make is the natural one of cling- ing to home ideas and endeavoring to im- port them to a foreign soil, and, by turning some corner of Paris into New York, to live in a sort of transplanted atmosphere of their own. What should you think of a Frenchman who would go to your city, hunt out a little circle of his countrymen, ~an(I after livincr three months on red wine 'and the traditional croi2te au fcu, return to Paris and claim to have solved the problem of lifu in the American metropolis, write feujilelons for Figaro, even, on the peculiar- ities he had observed ckez Brother Jona- than? The fact is, you Americans have nearly ruined Paris or yourselves, and in some respects for every one else. Your money demoralizes the whole contributive world of the capital, and has actually revo- lutionized the character of its two most im- portant features for the visitor, namely, ho- tels and cafe'.~. Poor Will Thackeray him- self, walking his old beat in the street with ii U ii the rhymeless name, would weep to find that the famous 'Bouillabaisse,' which the cook of those days made well, had given place 'to American Fish-Balls' and 'Buck- wheat Cakes,' which, though not a judge, I will venture to bet he makes execrably. It is positively melancholy, Mr. Wales; the very cuisine, the blossom of French civiliza- tion, has been prostituted to your irregular tastes; and if I want a choice p/at, such as we could get in fifty places in old times, I am at a loss now where to go for it." He paused with a sigh of regret, and blew a meditative column of smoke at the opposite wall. "Pardon my scold," he said, resuming. "It 's about tIme only hobby I mount, this growing anarchy in the kitchen which is spoiling all our dinners. All I have said, as you may imagine, is simply in preface to the question, whether, being of the school Thompson, you expected to fellow the Thompronian method. 1 may as well tell you, frankly, that his ways are not mine, nor do I think you would find any profit or sat- isfaction in them." Charley was rather puzzled. "To tell you the truth, Mr. Somers, I had not calcu- lated on putting myself under -that is, making myself a burden on your hands -" "Thcre it is again I YGu (haps from the other side do everything by 'calcula- tion.' It is n't French; none of those so- ber abstractions are French. Let us com- promise, Mr. Wales. Give me a month to develop my scheme, and then, if it isn't agreeable, we will dissolve." Charley did not clearly understand what he was subscribing to, but the genial Bo- hemian was quite irresistible. "I put myself entirely in your bands, Mr. Somers; but I must also confess that I should enjoy meeting my fellow-Americans, even," he added, laughing, "'Mr. Thomp- son,' for want of a better." "Of course, of course; and I did n't mean to convey the idea that 'TLompson' is a bad fellow to meet, not at all; only we will not agree to join him in his peculiar crusade against Paris n masse. Three o'clock! By Jove I I am late I By the way, how is your French?" "Not very good, I fear," replied Charley. "Bookish, eb '/" echoed Somers, who had dived into his dressing-room, and was rapidly completing a street toilet. "We 'II soon arrange that." lie came out directly, with hat and cane, and fitted on the first before the glass; after which he turned to Charley with the pecu- liarly winning smile which had quite cap- tured our hero. "I understand, then, tint you commit yourself to my experienced and fatherly charge'?" he said, gayly. 4 4 4 S A 41 "Since you will take the trouble, Mr. al cqf6 pour quatre in the morning; is it Somers," answered Charl~y, rising, and tak- not so, Madame?" ing up his hat. "But I beg you will not Madame courtesies and darted a reproving let me interfere with - with your busi- glance smothered in a smile at the speaker, ness -" - a French substitute for a blush. "The Somers cut him short with a ringing gentlemen will have the best attendance laugh. He was lighting a fresh cigar, and in the world." sicrued to Chancy to do the same. "Of course we shall; Madame's charm- ~' Another word not in our vocabulary. ing face is an unimpeachable guaranty. ~Te have affaires, Mr. Wales, but never any Was it not Madame's superb little dog we 'business.' We have one to dispose of saw below? To be sure, and such a beauty! now, preliminary to our happy incorpora- One hundred and fifty by the month. I tion as a society of two for mutual enter- think Madame said, c'esl ~. That 's the tainment and protection, which, if you are whole expense," he continued to Charley, agreeable, we will dispatch at once." "with a trifle Ibr~service; coffee extra, aiid "1 am with you," cried Chancy, already that is all you require where you sleep." enthusiastic in his admiration for the gay Charley "saw it" rather dimly, but was Englishman. amused; and as he made no objections, the "A/Ions! and I suggest we drop the bargain was closed. rPhr~y stoppr~d a mo- ceremonies. People call me 'Ned'; and ment at Somers's quarters, where lie gave you -?" or~1ers to his gar~on to pack and transfer his "People call me 'Charley,'" answered effects, and afterwards at the Clmathiam, our hero, following the other down the where Charley made his arrangements for stairway. Somers stopped half-way to the change; and then Somers selected one make another suggestion. "And suppose of a long line of ,namer cabs with the eye of we use the French now as much as we can." experience, woke the ever-sleeping Jehu Then they passed out, and went around by thereof, amid bade Chavley get in, while he the Madeleine into the Boulevard Male- gave the coachee some instructions. sherbes. Somers paused before a row of "There!" said Somers, taking his place splendid new houses, and, after consulting by Charley, as they drove away over the numbers, entered one of them, and under asphalt of the Boulevards towards the east, the guidance of' the concierge proceeded to "1 know what your tourist instinct craves, a suite of large and rather luxuriously fur- and I am going to be your ~'(dCt de place for wished rooms in the entresol. So~m~ers in- this afternoon, and give you an instantane- spected them with a critical eye, and at the ous view, as the photographers call it, of conclusion of the ceremony turned to the (livers exteriors. You can go over the wondering Charley. work at your leisure afterwards, in which "What do you think of tIme apartments? entertaining proceeding I won't agree to Not bad, are they ?" join you. Parisians never ~o to see their "They are princely," responded our hero, own 'lions,' you know. It 's just the same ma who was "all at sea"; "who lives in London; Fleet Street never goes to St. them?" Paul's, and your true West-Ender will "We do, or may if we choose. We are swear he never saw the Tower. It 's safe lm'ky to get them. I heard of them the to say that the majority of these fellows who other day, and said to myself, 'Now where is lounge on the Boulevard three hundred that long-coming young man?' And I was (lays in the year have never set foot in the awfully afraid they would be snapped up' Salon Carr~. That 's the Grand Hotel, before you got along. There is nothing to you know it, of course; and the Opera, an 1)0 had where I am, and, moreover, the house ('flormous, ornamented guitar-box, which has ceased to be l)leasant, having received a pleases nobody, and has ruined the Rue de recent addition' on my floor in the person of Ia Paix. . Caf6 Americain, you observe, - a German h)rofessor who has nightly trans- 'Peter's' we call it, - sacred to the Amen- ports of imnprovbation on the piano, fit to can eagle. You will find unequalled mag- shatter your brain. If they suit you, we '11 niflcence there, 'mixed drinks,' and every- take tlieui." thing but good cooking. Peter is a Swiss; "Of course; but I don't quite under- I knew him years ago when he broiled his stand-" own filers in a little place down by the "You will, though; the location is the river. Afterwards lie established himself best in Paris, the figures are reasonable, and in the Passage des Princes, - we pass it di- I am quite sure," continued the speaker, reetly, - and the opera balls made him. turning with a smile to the rosy, white- Latterly your countrymen made a specialty capped ('on(ierge and speaking in French, of him; he put 'Bourbon Whiskey' and "that Madanme is as kind as she is beauti- 'Sherry Cobblers~ in gilt on his windows, ful, and will do everything to make us good and reaped a fortune that has enabled him and happy young men, even to an occasion- to set up here on a scale of splendor un- 6 40 CHOISY. page: 42-43[View Page 42-43] 42 ClOIY. SHOE O EEA.43 4 II ii 4 if if PH b equalled in Paris or, probably, in the work The unfinished corner ailjoining ~vil1 b our new Vaudeville; the old one, wher .F'echter maddened the women of Paris i Arinand,' is down by the Bourse. Fa inous street that, - Cliauss~e d'Antin, - but wonderfully changed since I knew it Up the hill is Clichy, with Batignolles am the un(liscovered countries beyond. Cal Helder, over there, used to be the best plac4 in Paris fbr a breakfii~t; but the influx o demi-inonde ruins them all. Once the inas at the pot knows his sn/mi is going into female maw, lie forswears all effort auc sends up anything; the el)iturean sense ha been denied to woman, and he knows it You shall see the Helder an(1 Peter's at tw( in the morning. Here are the others, - thin Riche; Maison Dor~e, where the old Dub of hamilton broke his neck on the stairs the Anglais, Grand Balcon, and a host o smaller ones, good, bad, and indifThrent ~Ihe Riebe is the best, perhaps; but th fine eaters do not come to the Boulevards handsome shops, are they not? J~ess splen did but more uniform than yours in ' Broad way,' - eli ? I have been thus informed, The Passages are pretty; I'etcr's is in there, the old place. Down to the Bourse by that street; a fine shell that nobody ever sees. These are the arches St. Denis and St. Martin ; look like resuscitated giants of antiquity who have lost their way and stari(l wondering at this rainbow crowd, don't they ? Getting out of the world now; you would never come up here, you know, except to the Swiss transit, or afte~dark to the theatres. 'That 's the Cirque ~poleon, Where you will see ten thousand bourgeois go into convulsions nightly over an Amen- can clown, and sweeten the earth with cut sugar for the trained poodles. Here is tIme July co1umnn, - the forefinger of Revolution, discreetly remote from the Tuileries. Belle- ville and Villette lie about here, com- fortably hedged in by these fine masses of new buildings. Look like palaces, do they not? They are only barracks. Turn down here, and you need a guide-book, - hotel de VilIe, the Sainte Chapelle, Tour St. Jacques, etc, etc. Heboise lived in one of those rookeries, and here we are at ~otre Dame. Fine, is it not? I like it best of all, I think. That 's th~ Morgue over there, with the never-ceasing tlirong'coming an(l ~oinn'~ th it is tl popular ~ ~, cy say me dezvous for the lovers of the Ciud - fancy! Singular beings these French they go into an ecstasy of fear over a bug on the carpet, but they come here fbi' amnuseimient, and gaze coniposedly at the body of a man that has been five days in the Seine. It is rather horrible. I went in diere otice with a mcdi- cal friend, - one of' the mistakes of my life. There was a strangled baby on one slab, I. and the spectacle was a nightly feature of e immy dineaums I br a immonthi. Pommt Neuf - look e out for' a 'white horse, a soldier, amid a pm'iest,' n and test tIme virtue of a sayimig as (mill as time stories of tile bm'idgc, which declares that - oum can never cross without meeting all thmmee. Several of' each, sume enotmgli I I 1 never saw it fail. The ' Man of' Destiny was a sixtim-stomy lodger over yonder as Lieutenant Bonaparte, - thrfit high, pointed f' wimehow ; flue view line Imad of' his future a residence acm'oss time liver, - tIme Tuiheries. Yonder is time old Coneiei'gci'ie; you immust I go there and see tIme ' liegistems of' Doom,' if we can wom'k it. We are in venerable, hmistomie Paris mw. I know of nothmimig anome h)iettmres(hue and chmam'actenistie timan these crooked, dark stm'eets, within their quaint houses and shops. It is the amicient do- mimain of student amal gm'isette, nail what tIre f fellows of the schools nine still fbmid of' calling the ' braima of Pai'is,' though Molii~r'e has no successor at tIme wor'n table hi time CaIb Pm'o- cope, arid Vietor~Irigo has ('chilYe(l Racine at time Od6on. The gm'isette too is an obso- lete shadow, and the tmadimiormml student has beemi quietly sumothei'ed with time other dis- turbing elemnemats. ' Babette' wcai's a boa- mist irow; and Paul is muome likely to be a philegmumatie Teuton, wimo is piofitimig by the Sorboane wimile lie miurses his ineenmiar con- tempt for time Fienchi. Erimim little byways and enruiers, are they not ? their amitiquity is inilestructible. Here we are! Descen- dons!" Chancy woke from a daze at the word, and followed thie speaker from the cab to the walk, where Sormiers, afrer tossing tIme fam'e to tIme cocker, diew Iris attention to one of a venerable row of bumildimics before them. Though massed mi a solid bboek, each of time old tenememits possessed a cer- tain antique imadividuahity which immade it a study of itself; a long hue of shops ran tlmm'ough the lower floom's, amad sacm'ilca'ious modern additions of ~)aini and stucco mad given them all a touch of gm'otcsque rcjrmve- imation about time base; but they towered above with an indij~nant assem'tion of age, publishing their ancient claimums upon the tops, where the wilderness of (histOm'ted chmim- imeys, cocked roofs, and dornier-wimadows fbm'mned that curious picture of an aerial world, saci-ed to mommmamice ami(l flowem--pots amaui sunset flum'tations within attic beauties, wimicim is a never-to-be-forgotten feature of vieux Paris. "You observe that venerable pile? This is time Rime de Buci, which we entered from the Rinme de Seine, and that is Numero 05, 'as I always shall remember.' I hiad thie felicity of niakimag amy Parisian de'bet there and imereabouts in time sci~ntifle nail honorable capacity of a student of medicine. I weep to think how long ago that was I Up C A yonder are the Od~on awl Foyot's; on oui right the School of Medicine, and omi out left, down among those ine~tnieable streets Magny's and the Procope. Below us is tlu Sorbunne, with the Palais I~ oyal across tla stream, au(1 these constitu ed the extrem( limits of civilization for us in those days. the poiiits of tIme Paris coumipass whereby we navigated our several canoes. AIm me! was never a very brilliant student but I turned out a very fair Frenchuian. There is mi't a stone iii tIme street I don't know; I helped to (lis1daee soiiie of them in '48, the most ardnou~ bit of exercise I ever indulged in iii my life, and distinguished myself by leading a spirited aa(l successful charge against the estah!klnnent of a crusty old wine-merchant in the Rue Jacob, to whom evety sotil of u~ was hopelessly in debt. Let 's go iii. I want you to know one of my old coot,'eres who lives here, singularly enough, iii the same antiquated house where I begtmu mx' career in Latium, oiily lie has the seeon(l flat fitted to the vei'ge of' splen- (lot', while I was an attic philosopher and had my one room principally furnished with pipes and brokeu-biwked chairs. I was the student en re//Ic practi4ng the j)i'ofotiud contempt for the economies peculiar to the order ; but Va~otir is an interne now and a praetising pi'ofe~sor, and about the cleverest Frenchman I know. Boo jour, Kannette. Look at tIme old girl ! To all appearances she his worn that same spotless cap and apron fbi' thirty years ; she look~d*just as old, or yoLurig, in them, the first tinme I ever saw her, as she (hoes this moment. She was a tripping gt'isette nuder Louis Seize, I suspect, and could tell tins of' the dark days and the red cipa. I remomuber well her speechless consternation once when I made my ap- peam'aumei~ in the bi'eakfiust-m'oom in a crimson cas(lttette I h 1(1 picked up on the Riviera. And Monsiettr Ya~our, Nannette '/" " Mon"icnr is gone to dine." ~~iia~ he? How lon~ since 2" " One httle moment seulement he is gone." " Good ! I know well where to find him, and we will join his mess. You will not comae often to tIme Quai'tier, you know, to dine~" continued Somem's, bowing to the (Oumciet'ge and locking mrms with Cham'ley a~ they h)asse(l out and took their way towar(ls the Luxembourg; " but it does uiot IblIow that the cuisine at Foyot's is to be despised. Sonietime~, coumiming over here after an interval, I almost fancy it is better than the best in ihe Palais Royal." "1 shall prove an indifl'erent jtmdge, I gucs~," said Chamley, to whom the day had been one of plea~anmt but suppressed excite- macnt, an/I who felt now a peculiar exhilara- tion as they walked up the pmctures(htie Rue de Tournomi; "I am afraid I don't pos- sess what you term the 'epicurean germ,' but I know I aiim disgracefully hungry. What 's that down tlmem'e? " "Sainte Sulpice; it was the temple of the old aristocracy befom'e the M ideleine was thought of. Ahead is the Luxeuibourg; it is heavy arid sombre, but I like it. Time Empem'or has broken the hearts of' the old Fauboung by cutting up its magnificent ganilens into buildin~-lots. lIe is an ira- placable enemy to large areas and nari'ow, sinuotis approaches as witness time new Boulevai'ds, and he will end by iimaking mob-multitudes an(l barricades at solute im- possibilities in Paris. here we are They had reached time angle of' time street, the en~l of it, imm(lee(l, when e the i'athei' gm'ium melie of the wonderful Medici blood stops the way, and Somers entered the opeim door of' time com'ner house, which some timime- stained letters omi time extemiom' wall p~'~- claimed to time world was time Restaui'~mnt dn Luxembourg, better knowim as " Fovots." Somers led the way with the m'ea~limmess of an habitue' to a salon on the secouid fboom', and fbund Vasour at his usual table busy over his introductory radishes ammd crevettes belminmi time universal Fiqaro. Sonmers beat down time barrier of the lattem- ratlmer uneei'e- muon-inusly, and introduced Chmarlev to Imis friend ; after which he pullemh up two additional seats and rang Instily for the gorfon. Vasour laugimed heartily at time Titanic impetuosity of' tIme Englishumnamin, while he gracefully acknowledged Umiarley's bow. He had a fine, dam'k face, v~ ii h link' to match ; but the toil of stu(ly had wormm deep lines in time one, ammd pm'emnatum'ely sil- vei'ed the other. There was a rare chain in his features, however, when high teml up in eommvem'satiomm; amid from the rapid cac&~erie which ensued between him ammd Somimems dinmm'ing a long realist, Chancy gathered his fim'st delighted impi'essiomms of time in mm'velboums grace of the Fm'enich lamiginmagi' iii that light but brilliant play of' thon~ht pecutiam' to those whose native tonn'ue it is - iuiumitahle and untm'anslatable. He could pat'ti('ipnte im~it little in time play of woi'ds, but lie was mmot allowed to feel a moment's awkwardness or consti'aint. Vasour had waited to know timit line uudem'stood the lamiguage, and from that immomnemit colored his manner arid imis ivords with a (lehicate, studied deference to Chailcy which fairly captivated our hem'o ammil led hmimn to time unspokemi 'onelmision, at the thmim'd bottle of Leoville, that a cultivated Parisian was the highest type of grace lie had yet seen. The dinnem-, too, was a tri- timuph ; Somers was time constructive mzenius, assisted by Vasour, who fi-ankly acknowl- edged, however, that tIme Englislmmmi in was his superior in the esthe'dque of time table. But though Charley's enjoyment of time dinner and company could imot possibly have 42 CIIOISY. page: 44-45[View Page 44-45] LAUGHING LUTETIA. CHOISY-. 'II I U been greater, he was too new to the sweet sin of table-worship to form an intelligent estimate of the rare excellence of the repast. lie knew only that the food was ambrosial, and the wine a warm, rich blood, and under the influence of both he grew rather ecstatic. A dim conviction forced itself into his fancy that he had lived a barbarian up to that hour, and that he had entered another atmosphere, where life was divested of dross and scientifically reduced to the pure gold of pleasure. He sealed the impression with his last glass of purple Bordeaux, and went down with his companions to the coffee-room, where Madame Foyot herself, the ample, smiling dame, whose kindly face is photo. graphed in the memories of more men than 1 would venture to number, sat in her chair of state and ruled, a benignant genius of mocha anil the weed. The pretty, busy salon, with its throng of evening guests, the Orient odor of coffee, and clouds of smoke1 the groups of absorbed chess-players, and noisy tables of e'cartd and pi(luCt, the ever-merry tumult of conversation, and the conspicuous wit of more than one repeated jest, the fun and good-nature and thoroughly mutual enjoy- ment that revilede, all served to strengthen our hero's enthusiastic repossession in favor of Parisian lifh. The spell of this life was in full possession of his senses; London, if he paused t? recall it, would have seemed a far, nusty vision of the past; and when he rode home with Somers, after biddingYasour good night at his door, it was in a delicious, dreamy state of mind which rendered him rather absent and incoherent in his replies to the questions of his worthy companion. "I asked Vasour to make a third in our landau to-morrow at the races," said Somers; "but he pleaded an engagement. Clever, as n't lie ?" "Wonderfully," returned Charley; "every one is clever at Paris, n'est cc pas?" "Generally, at and after dinner. Beware though of an empty or a badly fed French- man I" The establishment in the Malesherbes was indeed, "princely," and the rooms seemed the embodiment of comfort isn(l luxury un(ler the soft light of the big candelabra. Somers flung himself in herculean abandon on a lounge, and surveyed the scene with deep satisfaction. "Snug, is it not? We were deuced lucky to get them; and now couckons! We have a long day before us to morrow." Charley was only too glad to avail himself of the privilege; he was worn out in mind and boily, though he had not realized it until with a return to quiet the excitement of the (lay was succeeded by the naturdi reaction. He was in a deep, dreamless sleep before Somers had finished his habit- ual half~pipe of tobacco, as that gentleman, glancing in at Charley's door before going to his own room, perceived. Mr. Somers arranged his night toilet in a meditative mood. "Nice boy he seems to be. I wonder whatever can be Huntley's scheme? 'Tie him up 1' llumph! et com- ment? Can't say I like the commission, or, indeed, perceive exactly how the thing is to be done. Just like that inscrutable Dick. Not to hear a word of him in five years, and then be called on tQ play third hand without even knowing what 's trumps. Mais enfin! the campaign opens cheerfully. What an ineffable comfort to have got these quarters, - the ambition of years. Sleep sweetly, Edward, on the field of victory! But how? 'Tie him up' like Schneider to a Post! Good, that was. Elm bien! sufficient unto th'~ day -" And Monsieur Edward relapsed into ob- livion with this rather hackneyed dismissal of worldly cares in scriptural phrase. CHAPTER VII. LAUGHING LUTETIA. THE bright skies smiled their sweetest the next morning, when the gay world, lin- gering in the Beautiful City to celebrate its concluding summer festivities, opened its drowsy eyes and remembered what day it was. The French "Darby" - since every born Englishman so calls it, it seems absurd to write the word Derby - was a refined copy of the English event. Every one went out to assist at it, for it was run on a Sunday, when all men above the actual sans cut otte are at leisure in Paris, and every one was ecstatic and excited, and thoroughly im- bued with the fantastic enthusiasm with which the Parisian enters into matters of a sportive kind; but the demarcation of class was no less sharply drawn on that day, and of that terrific rowdyism amid unrebuked license of the mob which make the day at Epsom a scene of hideous communism there was no sign at Longehamps. The immacu- late fossil of the Jockey Club and the gilded irresistible of the Maison Dor6e need fear no stain to their matchless exteriors from showers of plebeian eggs or siroccos of lime and flour. There would be no rampant disorder on the road, or brutal and inde- cent exhibitions in the ficid, no private prize-fighting or mountebank prodigies of disgust, no dreadful, invisible phalanx of pickpockets, and little if any of that shame- less drunkenness which makes half a million contemporaneous headaches in London once a year. People would have a "good time," for, starting out with that object, the Pa- risian knew no such word as fail; and there would be wine and intrigue and wickedness I 4 4 4 '4 $ 'a 5 'S 4 4 and some exaggerated gayety. Anonyma would sit in high places, and Breda elbow her way to the very side of St. Germain, and the "man as he should be" would smile alike on each; for it was France and Paris, capital du monde, where custom no longer submitted to criticism, and real life scorned the government of rules. It was Sunday, to be sure, though the stone-cutters of An- toine would swarm like bees upon the un- finished Opera house, and Ilanssmann's army of brawny iconoelasts pause no in stant in the cutting of ruthless pathways through whole squares of storied old tene- ments. Working-day Paris reeked little of seventh days. Monday, more than any other, was that of rest; but there would still be a general closing of shops on this, both on the Boulevards and in the by- streets; and the Rive Gauche as well as the northern faubourgs would send its thou- sands to the Lono- Field We might see them at this early0morning hour in their gay fbte-day robes debouching from a hun- dred streets upon the pretty quals, and merging there into a vast throng from which the several streams will flow down to the trim little Seine steamers for Point du Jour and over the bridges to the Palais Royal, whence start the omnibuses for Passy and Auteuil. An army will reach the Bois by those routes; another will enter it ~ pied, trudging patiently, even gayly, the whole long way by the Champs Elys6es and the Avenue of the Empress, pausing at every second step to turn and view the marvellous panorama of the road, and ar- riving hot and wearied, but indefatigable, on the t~round. A cold "bock" of Fon- taine's Vienna beer, a cigarette of apparelal (in which both possibly participate), and Jean and Marie are themselves again. On the great highways rolls the central column of the holiday throng, beau-monde, dem- monde, monde-e'tranger, in an endless va- riety of vehicles, from the cavernous and cumbrous landau of Monsieur le Due, down 4 to the simple panier which honest Citizen Duval, purveyor of saucissons to the popu- lation of Popincourt, has engaged at a bar- I gain for the day, and which, with its load of Monsieur and Madame, five children and cocker, - eight, all told; - is dragged along by a single little indomitable horse in the wondrous procession. - What a spectacle it was I A glittering stream of humanity, winding like an enor- mous serpent along the most beautiful of thoroughfares, which the stranger, standing c at the Obelisk, might follow with his won- f during eye in an unbroken line to the Arch ~ of the Star, two miles away. c A flutter and a trumpet-blast, and the I living river divides along its whole length I to give passage to a squadron of magnificent ~ 44 45 horsemen, whose helmets of gold and long streaming plumes of silk flash and flaunt in the air as the riders thunder past. They are the mysterious Cent Gardes, and closely fol- lowing roils the imperial equipage, in which sits "our neighbor of the Tuileries" with his wife and child. You know him at once, the gray, stern, watchful face, somewhat softened now as he strives to have it, as he returns the salutes of the people. And you may know her too, the sweet-faced, smiling woman at his side, who bends so gracefully and wins your heart, and even makes you forget that she sits an empress in a stolen chair. The mass closes in n~ain behind them like parted waters; and stemming her way in the wake of the imperial coridge' a blond goddess of the Folies, seated in her coach of triumph, scarcely less splen- did than the Emperor's own, pursues her lightsome route, - a significant picture, at which we smile as we replace our hats. The noon of this day found Chancy and his new friend and guide enjoying a de- lightful breakfast under the shade of inge- niously twined trees at Passy. Somers had preferred this quiet and gradual manner of approach, representing its advantages with the wisdom of experience "We should ham stifled with heat and dust on the road; all the balayeurs in Baby- lon could not reduce the amount of either on the Avenue to-day, though they had the entire Seine in their hose; and as for the crowd, we shall see the cream of it on the field. We can drive out quietly to Pussy, and breakfast luxuriously in a miniature wood, - there's a fair cafd there, where some square yards of nature do duty for a dining-room, - and enter the Bois after- wards at our leisure. I think you will be amused." So they had gone out before the gather- ng of the multitude, and were pleasantly stalled at their rustic table when the tide was beginning to swell in the Champs. And Charley was amused, though to his charmed tenses a lesser cause than the excited and imaginativee Frenchmen about them, who bund all the enchantment of Armida's gar- len in the little enclosure of saplings, and lid homage to their several Amaryllises in in exuberant, pastoral style, ludicrous be- pond description, would have yielded rare delight. "Funny, is n't it?" said Somers, linger. ng over his glass of Graves; "look at those )eople, how they enjoy it I You have no conception of the intense pleasure that loods the soul of a middle-class Parisian rhen he finds himself in what he calls 'the country ' The pat-fl lila champagne is his highest idea of earthly bliss. Auteuil is an iden, Fontainebleau heaven itself, in his hiosophy. They excel this at Sceaux, ill page: 46-47[View Page 46-47] LAUGhING LUTETIA. I: Ii ii .11 however, where you sit down to dinner fif- teen in a tree-top. We will do the 'envi- rons' sonic day; they are full of attractions." The great stalls were thronged, and the occupants of the imperial pagoda in their places, when our friends arrived at the course, where, procuring betting-ring cards, they left their landau and strolled through the maze of rich equipages. Somers gos- siped in his usual style, as they wound their way leisurely onward. his frequent salutes betokened a numerous acquaintance, and niore than once Chancy felt himself to be the object of close scrutiny by the gay company of some splendid coach. "You see that old shadow over there being taken tender care of?" rattled Som- ers; "that 's Auber, and that other fossil with a perpendicular backbone is Bruns- wick, the man of diamonds. Why, we 're surrounded by the Orphean celebrities! That 's Herv~ yonder; and that little Jew dandy, sitting with the corpulent man, is Jean Offenbach. His companion is Vile- messant, redacteur of the Figaro. There is a merry party of your countrymen. The aroma of independence marks them even in t'iis mixed crowd; only it 's a pity that di y should begin so early and so recklessly on the champagne. You have n't seen the Emperor yet? We will saunter down. Ah 1 1 must stop here an instant." He dropped Chancy's arm as he spoke, and advanced, bowing, to the side of a car- riage which with its occupants was well- nigh hidden from view by the circle of gen- tlemen that surrounded it. Charley, fol- lowing with his eyes the movements of his friend, noted the fact with some curiosity. He did not immediately look again, but when he did so he met the laughing eyes of a lady who had raised herself slightly in her place, evidently to see him; and, over- come by a sudden and unaccountable con- fusion, he moved away abruptly, not hear- ing the little call which Somers gave at the same instant. It was an absurd thing to do, but in five minutes he had hopelessly lost himself in the crowd. He could find nei- ther Somers nor their conveyance, and after fruitless efforts he gave himself up to the situation, sat down philosophically and saw the great French race run by English jock- ics, and after it, not being fanmiliar with the main route, walked briskly back to the barrikre at Passy, and took a cab to the Malesherbes. As for Somers, he excused himself to his fair acquaintance at once, on observing that Charge~ had disappeared, and made an un- availing attempt to find him in the throng. Ho returned alone to the lady's carriage with a rueful face. ' Le pauvre Hercule!" cried she whose eyes had routed our Charley. She sat in state, with an elderly lady of smiling mien at her side, and a court of aristocratic gal- lants about her, who were visibly envious of the familiarity accorded to the colossal Englishman. "One would think," she said, "that Omphale had been scolding! Mais, dites doac - who is your Apollo?" Somers smiled saucily, and shook his head at the questioner. "Pardon, Madame Ia Baronne; it is an infant from the land of the IVlohicans, sent to my especial care; he must he spared." "La belle affaire!" laughed the beauty, with a nioue at the Bohemian which sent a thrill through the hearts of the admiring observers assembled. "I honor your scru- ples, my good man, and in recognition of them," she added, leaning forward and speaking to him alone, "I order you to bring him to de~'ftueer to-morrow, peine d'amende! Bon jour, Monsieur le Compte! bon jour, Monsieur Gedran When I~go to the wicked places, I meet all my friends. Remember I "- she called to Somers, who was giving place to the new-comers, and was bowing a retreat, - "remember my or- ders," and tl~e injunction was accompa- nied by a pretty menace with a fan. Som- ers, too far removed to reply, bowed again, and betook himself, somewhat thoughtfully, to the betting-ring. "What a 'go' that would be, to be sure!" he said to himself, half audibly, as he approached a group of excited sportsmen. A moment later he was inimersed in the affairs of the field, and did not recall the existence of his "charge" until tented in lAs conveyance on the way home. He found our hero comfortably dis- posed on several chairs, tr~ ing to worry through the epigrams of the (1auloi.~ and a French plagiarism on a cigar. "Ah! home all right? how the deuce did you manage to lose yourself so sud- denly? or were you carried off bodily?" "I 'ii be hanged if 1 know!" returned Chancy, assuming the upright. "Neither could 1 make out who won in the race." "0 - the Frenchmen! The English horses were nowhere, and lost everything, precisely as I anticipated. There will he rare offerings to the gods to-night over the success of the French stables. Are you ready for dinner?" "Very much ready, I might sny~ - I am starved!" "Good! we '11 go to Voisin's; it 's con- venient, and we may see and hear some- thing of the sore-heads from over the Chan- nel, as they go there en masse; but we are Frenchmen, bien entendu. I beg of' you not to betray us by any inadvertent English." "I fancy my French will do that quite as effectually "Never, to English ears; and, indeed, your French is capital. Allons!', 46 CHOISY. 47 Charley was burning to inquire of his corn- ing lights gathered here and there into bril- panion about the owner of the laughing gray liant constellations at the eqftk-concerts; eyes, whose glances lingered pertinaciously the fountains and music, and the gay, rest- in his memory; but he did not summon less multitude of people giving life and mo- courage to do so until late at dinner, after tion to it all, - formed a picture unique in the eveited kmit~ of English gentry about the world, dazzling and almost unearthly. them had lost their interest, or* finished A woman's voice, clear and full, and soar- their dinners and gone away grumbling. lag above the sea-like murmur of the crowd- Then, under cover of his wineglass, he ed gardens, in the brindisi from Trariata, asked, indifferently enough, "Who was the reached the ears of our friends as they f~tcd lady for whom you deserted me so drove lazily along the road. incontinently out at the race?" "Mademoiselle Thomas ! " ejaculated "To be sure!" cried Somers. "I had Somers. "She sings like an angd, and yet forgotten. She? my dear fellow, it is the she is in the very last stage of consumption. only woman on earth!" One would never suspect the sad fact from Charley looked up rather quizzically, but a voice like that. Look at the crowd about the expression of Somers's face checked his Gui~nol and the children on those merry- rising' smile. ~o-rounds! If they were any hut French "I caught but a glimpse of her; she children, they'd have been abed these two ieerned a very handsome woman." hours. People scold at the Empire; by "Beautit~il as she is good, and good as Jove! I should like to be shown a picture she is beautiful," continued Somers, soberly. of popular enjoyment equal to this in any "I will tell you more of her some time; other corner of the world!" meanwhile you are honored by an opportu- Laurent's pretty restaurant gleamed with nity of knowing her." light and echoed with life as they passed, Charley looked rather frightened, and and a throng of carriages surroundedd the was, indeed, thoroughly puzzled; it was Cirque de l'Imperatrice. not easy correctly to estimate the character "They will have a rare audience there of one of whom the volatile Bohemian spoke to-night," said Somers; "money could not in such tones and terms. buy a single stall. A great fete at Mabille "I shall be very happy, I'm sure -" always draws a corresponding crowd at the "We are to breakfast with her to-mor- Cirque, and a thoroughly aristocratic one, row," continued Somers, not noticing his too. Not daring to go to the former, its words. "I had nearly forgotten it, what patrons do the next best thing, and come with doubles or quits at Longehamps, and here, - next door, you might say. it 's the the acid chatter of these fellows, - how simplest thing in the world, you see, to they hate to lose!" make the circus the excuse and M~ahille the No more was said respecting the un- object." named lady, and they sallied out soon after, "Mabille is tabooed, then, among the and took their way up the Rue St. Honor. respectables" "We must peep at Saturnalia to-night, "Among the French, decidedly. For our hut it is early yet," said Somers, looking people, en tourist, it may be looked at once at his watch. "Too hot for the theatres, by a lady with perfect propriety, time and is n't it? Schneider sings in "Diva" at occasion being considered. Anything like the Boufl'es, and Blanche d'Autigny at the a succession of visits is a dangerous or at Follies; but we should only envy the cool least unwise experiment, though certain of nakedness of the ballet. Suppose we air your countrywomen have taken the ri~k. It our cigars in a cab?" is 'jolly,' you know, but it is a mistake, "As you wilL" after all. Foreign ladies are at a sad dis- They found a basket-wagon in the Place, advantage in Paris, at the best; they will ig- and the cocker having called on his saints nore native ideas, but you can't change the to witness that his horse h~d not moved an traditional customs of a thousand years; inch all day, they got in afid pursued their and it is just the same in the Italian cities. way up the Champs in the delicious even- Your English or American woman will ing air. Those to whom the enchanted rebel against the social rule which forbids night-scene of the Elysian Fields in sum- her to go alone to her shoemaker's, two mer is a treasured memory, will not wonder blocks from her hotel in the Rue de Ia Paix. that Chancy's first feeling was a sort of Eh bien! she may do it successfully once in childish thrill at being ushered into im- ten; but if she has been twice to Mabille, agined fairy-land. The long vista of ~t o- she is dead sure of an 'experience' on the ly trees, each a Ilerue's oak with a ~ia' - route." cap, elfin circle about its feet; the pretty They had arrived at the Arch by this patches of shrubbery and flowery mounds, time, but, tempted by the coolness. and with a thousand shaded paths winding in beauty of the night, pursued their course and out among them; the millions of flash- onward by the avenue, which was full of page: 48-49[View Page 48-49] CHOISY. LAUGHING LUTETIA. I) II :1 Ii II~ II flickering tights that made it look like a long train of fireflies, leading from the mighty monument to the entrance of the I3oas. A, myriad of air-seekers, in fact, were swarming out again over the same path of the day-throng, filling the avenue, and wellnigh filling the wood, where all the branching roads were flooded with their cabs. "Look at them I" cried Somers, as they passed the Barribre, with that genius of fig- ures in his place who must that day have taken the numbers of ten thousand voitures, and emerged into the forest shade. "The material for crowds in Paris is incredible; tell off a dozen great armies for a dozen several points, and a mass remains equal to the composition of as many more. There is a reserve population which is as inex- haustible as an ant-hill. A strangt~r would say to-night, looking at the Champs and the central Boulevards, that all Paris was divided between them; but here is a league of forest alive with people, and he will find like multitudes at Monceaux, at the Luxem- bourn', and on the 'cross-town Boulevards; at afi the theatres, at Bullier, Chateau Rouge, Mabille, Reine Blanche, - every- where. Let him try, for an experiment, to find a corner in Paris to-night where there is not a crowd. I don't believe it can be done!" They made the tour of the lake, and, halting at Fontaine's, lingered long over a refreshing mug of biere de Vienne, gath- ering endless amusement from the study of the merry table-groups about them. it was nearly midnight when they came down the avenue again' into the city, meeting, even at that hour, hundreds of noisy cab- loads pursuing the outward course. Charley could not repress his astonishment "Heavens! do these people never sleep?" "You will repeat the question with more propriety two or three hours hence," said Somers. "Why, life is just beginning now for half of Paris! You shall see. - A Ma- blue, cocker! eveille-toi I" Cocker was fast asleep, of course. Slum- ber is cocker's normal condition in the city of the sleepless, of which he is a mystic and unique production. He responded to Som- ers's sharp orders only by a guttural boa! m'sieu', opening one eye by sleepy instinct when the turning at the avenue Montaigne was reached, and landing them at the illu- mined portal two minutes later, with his organs of vision sealed alike to them, to the many-colored glare, and the stately gens- darmes who ornamented the entrance like monuments of decorative art. "Tell me, cocker," said Somers, laughing, as he gave the man his fare and drink- money, "you have slept the whole way from Fontaine's, eh?" "Monsieur has parfaitement raison," responded the heso of the glazed hat with sober dignity, as he wheeled away to give place to the ever-arriving throng. Mabille was a madness that night as the two entered; even somers gave a little whis- tie as they drew up outside the great cir-cle promenade, and Charley was speechless at the spectacle. Rubens' wildest dream of a bacchanal would be a congregation of color- less shadows beside the scene that met their eyes, and the master-bands which Tiled the walls of the Sistine and the Ducal Palace with writhing masses of humanity might still have shrunk from the task of portraying this. The simple dance-garden - pitiable, gilded mart of flesh that it was - sometimes acquired a kind of dignitysimply by the colos- sal proportions that it took on. It had been thus magnified to-night, and he must have been a rare ascetic who, staii(ling in the full glare of the ensemble, could still dis- member and reduce it to the paltry and hid- eous details of which it was mainly composed. There were legions of women and a great host of men; women of every country, of every hue, of a dozen tongues, and a bewildering variety of dress. The Egyptian girl with her bronze skin and strange, fan- tastic costume; the Italian and the Greek, scarcely less dark, and sharing equally the haunting charm of the black, unfathomable eye of the East; the pure blond Plain- mande, all pale gold and rose,'with a cloud of yellow hair, like Ruhens's Venuses, or better fulfilling, perhaps, the i(lea of the beautiful Scandinavian Fates; and her sister blonde of England, less fair and infinitely coarser, with the man's hand, the man's voice, and little of the woman but her smooth beauty; the North German, with wide Ibre- heads, sleepy blue cycs, plaited hair, and the sadly incongruOus kausfrau look; the tall, thin Russe, flashing with diamonds, thrilling you with strange, imperious eyes, and filling you with wonder at the marvel- lous linguistic skill of the far Northerner; the silent Espagnole, the transplanted Arncr- icaine, and the Parisienne herself, least in beauty but queen unquestioned; the fever- ish, quenchless embodiment of the whole, sacrificing life to passion, and embracing sin with exultant frenzy. And to mate these some hundreds of Frenchmen, sallow, worn, and fleshless men, with circled e~ es warmed into a blaze by absintke, whose very smiles were brutal sneers, and on whom 'wreck' was written iti ineffaceable lines. A spri~k- hug of foreign male faces filled up the pic- ture; here and there an awkward group of cockneydom striving to master the situation, but suffering from evident embarrassment and rather frightened, and other, more numerous groups of Americans in no degree perturbed. 4 I 48 49 A single face looming above the ocean of unison with the concluding strain of the heads fastened the attention of our Charley; music, announce the finish. The nag it was a round, small-featured, freckled face, breaks up into tossing fragments, or inomen- fringed with belligerent sandy whiskers, and tary smaller circles, each with some panting surmounted by a sweltering Breadalbane heroine of the dance for its centre; the bonnet. There was a pinched look about storm of voices becomes a harsh rattle, with the nose, and a pursed expression about here and there loud, unintelligible cries, and the mouth, while the sharp, gray eyes sur- one living wave rolls back into the cafe' for veyed the scene with a certain contemptuous the parting glass, while another moves toward look: it was the tourist Scotchman, the the gates. There is a sudden commotion philosopher, traveller of the world par excel- which arrests both, and Charley and Somers, lence; and Charley could not but mark the who are in the latter, face about in their emotionless countenance as that, perhaps, places. A splendid girl, whose criiuson of the only strong-anchored soul in all those cheeks and dark hair proclaim her Galhie hundreds. blood, has snatched a violin from the orches- There did not lack action for all .these tra and, mounted on a beer-table, draws a actors. The great orchestra in the central long note; the cheer that follows holds the pagoda swelled the opening notes of the outgoing crowd. It is some minutes before "last quadrille," and a wave of outward the husky "bravos" cease, - a period motion cleared the circle of dancing-ground which the fair performer vainly endeavors to at the same instant. Terpsichore - it shorten by shaking the unhappy instrument indeed, the sweet Muse acknowledged the at her audience, and stamping her little legitimacy of the cotillon & Ut Prefecture feet. Then she begins cleverly enough, and - has long since ceased to reign at Mabille. plays half a dozen bars of the "Gendarme For the historic can-can one must go to Duet" from Genevibve de Brabant; the Buhlier, where it flourishes with startling multitude catch the air and burst into an vigor. In the Avenue Montaigne he will accompanying chorus, which is a very find on or(linary evenings only a neglected tempest of sound. There is a move onward circle of hired professionals, who tread the again towards the gate, accelerated by some famous measure with the ease of gymnasts unseen manipulation of the gas-pipes, which and the indifference of old stagers. Bat this shrouds half the garden in instantaneous night the rules are all broken, the bounds darkness. Simultaneously a quick stroke all ignored; as the music quickens and from behind brings Charley's hat down the restless throng presses closer about the upon hi~ nose with a crash, and he hears a dancers, with its thousand-tongued clamor shout of triumph, a very silvery shout, in of laughter and applause, more than one his rear. Struggling on t of his hat, he tries queen of the promenade gathers her train to look about, but Somers, who is laughing with a toss over her arm and springs into like a Titan and holding his own castor in the ring with a huzza; she might be an his hand, gathers the young man's arm in empress in her robe of shimmering silk, his own and hurries him along. with the cluster-brilliants gleaming on her "No safety now, hut in flight, Charley I throat and in her hair; but she is only a Egad! I never saw Mabille so furious. Bacehante, after all, and a very furious and It 's 'kingdom for a horse,' with us." reckless one too, at whom one looks in They made their way almost by force fascination and in terror. Her favored fol- through the dense crowd, Somers's laughing lower springs after her; it is young V'aurien, free disarming all resentment at their vig- perhaps, scattering his father's millions, or orous progress. Half-way out Charley saw Baron Boucceur, with twoscore years on his Scotch tourist wedged in among a dozen his infatuated head. The after-agonies will uproarious revellers, his face inflamed, and be horrible to either human shadow probably, every hair of his beard bristling with wrath, but they dash as madly into the demoniacal but utterly helpless to extricate himself jig as their mad mistress, regardless of the except as the passage of the crowd would sacrifice of limb or dignity. The roar of ultimately permit him. Chancy was still the instruments i5 drowned in the roar of laughing at the memory of the contempla- tongues; the very trees above and the weird, tive Highlander as they jumped into a cab unnatural flowering shrubs of iron and gas and sped away from the entrance between and colored glasses seem to catch the frenzy double lines of similar vehicles, which seemed and bend and sway like the quivering mass to be interminable. about them. The loiterers in the by-paths "Talk of squeezes!" said Somers, who and the cafe' desert their seclusion to join the had readjusted his hat and was biting a revel, and the dense circle heaves and cigar, "saw you ever one like that? And trembles with the intense excitement of the your hat? A case for Mar~chal in the moment, which finds a fitting culmination morning, I fancy. If it 's any consolation of glare and explosion in the six or eight for you, I can tell you that the mischief huge pieces of firework, which, set off in was done by a lace parasol in as pretty a 7 I I CHOISY. page: 50-51[View Page 50-51] i"TCTQ 50 ,.dIi~J hand as can be found in Paris. It 's all thrown in, you know, at Mabille. There 's not a whole hat on the ground by this time. Stop at the corner, cocker, while I get a light." "But who smashed my hat?" asked Charley, as Somers put fire to his cigar. Charley was thinking of the pretty hand. "Ah!" replied Somers, deliberately, and between long puffs of his weed, -his thoughts were busy too at the moment, - "you would hardly care to know, at least not now. When you do, you may. But what did you think of the affair? How did it strike you in its grand entireness?" Chanley never thought of resenting the rather dictatorial manner of his friend, which was worn with so much grace that it was scarcely felt. He forgot the parasol for the moment, and went back to the pre- vious scenes. "I could hardly express my opinion," he replied. "I never saw anything like it before, or formed any conception of it." "You should see a bal d'opera," said Somers, who always had the superlative in reserve; "you will see one, probably." "Most likely; in the winter, I suppose." "Yes, after New Year. - Voi~&! the Boulevard; now you might ask, 'When does Paris sleep?' It 's past one o'clock, and look at the walks I" They had entered the Italians by the Rue Luxembourg, and the effect was indeed startling, as the brilliant line of cafe's with their millions of lights,, and the undimin- ished tide of humanity rolling and swelling about them, came into sudden view. They got out at the Grand Hotel, dismissed their panier, and sauntered with the current to the next corner, where, at Somers's sugges- tion, they went across to the Udder for a rognon broclie'. "One must feed the fires, you know; and, in fact, supper at two o'clock is the most natural thing possible at Paris, untimely as it might seem anywhere else. Besides, the last scene of this 'strange, eventful' com- edy is enacted in these and other popular coffee-rooms, and remains to be seen." Charley was nothing loath, to tell the truth, and the broiled kidneys, washed down with warm Bordeaux, were delicious. The retreating army of Mabille arrived, too, in rapid detachments, and the pretty rooms assumed the liveliest possible appearance; everybody was hungry, and a score of nim- ble waiters ran -breathless races to and fro. How they did eat and drink and laugh! How the lights dazzled, and the corks echoed in cheery chorus to merry voices, until the hours stole away, until the air was heavy with Laferme and Moca, and the long day of carousal was growing cold and lifeless among the yesterdays! When our friends emerged upon the SMILES 2 Boulevard, daylight was tingling the sky; and as they walked rather lazily toward the Malesherbes, they met more than oiie troop of blouse workmen coming up from the river to their early labor, - heavy-browed men, who eyed them askance and muttered in undertones. Charley might have seen in them the night-sleepers he had looked for, though they slept badly in St. Antoine, and had wild dreams, even in those un- clouded days. "Now," cried Somers, as they entered their cosey parlor at last, "ra te couclier! It is four o'clock; you can have nine hours, and you will need them all." CHAPTER YIII. SMILES AND EYES. IT was not without a certain degree of pleasant excitement that Chancy, roused by somers at noon from a wild vision of hobgob- ha Cent Gardes and dancing girls, proceed- ed to make his toilet, under the eye of his Mentor, for the event of the day, the d4/eu- ner with the lady of the gray eyes. The charm had worked swiftly and surely on our boy-hero; he had strayd in the en- chanted ground, where the spell of the glow- ing present shaded the past and masked the years to come; he wandered in the rose- twined paths in ecstasy, unconscious that they too, like the old Cretan serpentine, led to no end and afforded no retreat. Few men could breathe freely the Paris atmosphere of those days without imbibing something of the subtle poison, and sharing in some measure the intoxication of the time; and Charley was not one to resist or analyze the magic influence. Why should he, indeed? Why question the nature of the charm which made time so swift and sweet, and life so lovely, when one is young and the blood is warm, with all those sober years yet to come, in which, if nued be, one may make amends for the follies of his youth, and be blessed after the manner of the world? The vexed problem of an ex- hausted civilization or the inexorable logic of antecedents were not likely to disturb his enjoyment of visible effects. Paris might be, as it was, the fevered brain where the disease of the nation was centredcon- suming its victim with hidden fires; to Charley - to any of us, wondering strangers within its gates - it was only gay, brilliant Paris. We might, indeed, recoil at times from the too scorching heat; we might own to a silent relief in the thought that it was not our abiding-place nor yet our country, and we should not have eared to call the men and women we saw there brothers and sisters before the world; still we were not called on to dream sad dreams of "Greece, Rime, Carthage," in its sunny streets, or con the melancholy lesson of national decay. And we did not, - did we, sir? Not we; though you, as representing the peculiarly rigid community of Churchtown, might have done so with some propriety. But then - you know how it was! I remember standing once before that strangely suggestive painting of Couture's in the gallery of Luxembourg, Les Rb- mains de la De'cadencc. It shows a wild revel of degenerate Romans, who have cho- sen the very tribune of the Forum fbr the scene of their debauch, and the groups of wine and drug maddened men and women are drawn with startling power. Those who have seen it will not readily forget it, - the two or three splendid but ruined faces among the women in the foreground, and the delirious agony of' one who stands in middle - distance, tearing her hair, with shrieks; the man who ~clings reeling to a column, holding out his overflowing cup to the stern bust of Cicero, with an idiot's mockery; the crouching slave who pnurs the crimson Falernian, and casts stealthy glances at the brutes who are yet his mas- ters; and the two sad, thoughtful citizens in humble dress who pause to note the scene. An intelligent Frenchman was my com- panion, and observed my interest. "More majoruin!" he said, laughing; "but they do it better at ." Chancy was guilty of some trifling vani- ties - rather exceptional for him they were - in the process of dressincr before alluded to. In fact, the laughing glance that had met his own on the race-ground lingered persistently in his memory, - it was only a part of the Paris spell, perhaps,-- and he had a youthful desire to look his best before the unknown. Somers, who was stretched ponderously on a lounge, watched the young man with a curious smile. "By Jove!" he cried, at length, laughing I his musical, contagious laugh, "you sur- pass the traditions, Charley. We are fa- 1 niliar with the lamb which goes meekly to Ic sacrifice, but for that which studies the I minutise of pleasing ornament for the cere- mony we are scarcely prepared." 1 The merry Colossus, however, was well pleased with his charge. If a third party I had been on the scene, and a commentary possible, his thought would have been ex- I pressed in the words, "Handsome~dog, is n't I he?" As it was, his unspoken reflection took another form, and an inspiration pro- cisely identical with that which had given t him a little shock the day previous at Long- champs led to the i'eiteration of the thought, e "That wou'd be a 'go'!" If I have failed critically to describe my ~ . LND EYES. 51 hero in any foregoing page, the failure is due to my confidence that my amiable read- er would never suspect me of introducing in that capacity any other than a "hand- some dog," as described by Monsieur Som- ers. I leave that dangerous innovation to writers of a bolder school than mine, espe- cially as I am dealing with certain ingredi- eats of fact; and I can satisfactorily assure the reader that Charley richly deserved the encomium bestowed by his friend. Not so bad a one, indeed, after all; for among the millions of dogs, as well as men, we all know how few are "handsome "I The "Man in the Club Window," who, with true English acumen, puts the whole world in the cruci- ble of Pall Mall, would have said of young Wales, "There 's a fine specimen of your American; pity he will not wear his beard!" And the Ladies of the Lake, t'se winsome nainds ol~ the Bois, and no bad judges, would have cried with one voice, "My God! what eyes! what petite pretty feet! c'est un Rassiqniac!" As he stood at last completely arrayed, and lighted cigar number one for the day, he might have been photographed as a man of rather more than medium height, slight without being slim, with the straight, down- ward lines in trunk and limb of the immor- tal Archer in the Belvedere Court. Short, curling, dark brown hair fell over a low, wide forehead, below which the big brown eyes slept, like unmanned fires, undi~r the womanish lashes. A luxuriant mustache hid the rather full mouth,- the only posi- tively faulty feature he had. The nose was straight and well defined, -the rarest beau- ty, I fancy, in the human physiognomy. One found a littl~suspected squareness in the chin and jaw, but the neck below was full and round like a woman's, and displayed as it was by the low, broad collar of' the day, dipping in front to the bone, gave him something of a softer feminine look. His dress required no criticism; Somers admit- ted as much in his heart, and was silent. "What then is the hour prescribed for these afternoon ' breakfasts'?" asked Char- Ley, spinning a ring of smoke before him as he spoke. "We are expected at two o'clock. You nust forswear your transatlantic measure- nents of time, Charley, with us. I don't mow what they are; something like our l~nglish divisions, probably, which I have forgotten . In Paris life never begins he- 'ore the meridian hour, and takes its repose srhen it likes. You laugh at the epidemic prevalencee of clocks; but it is just because heir office is ignored that they are tolerated a such profusion. There are only two vents in the daily revolution of a Parisian rhich make it necessary to consult a time- dece,-~-his dinner and the rendezvous." page: 52-53[View Page 52-53] 52 CHOISY. SMILES AND EYES. The speaker brought himself to a sitting posture as he spoke, and consulted his own watch. "Is this a dinner then, or a 'rendezvous,' my noble Frenchman?" asked Chancy, with a puff and a smile. "Ma foi, Charles 1" cried Somers, ris- ing, "I venture no guess. I can read nei- ther stars nor women, wh& are equally be- yond our mortal ken. We are favored souls; that 's all I know, and, like discreet persons as we are, let us accept the good fortune without questioning the eyeless deity, - a clear case of 'no talking' to the genius of the wheel, ehi A/ions! I want to hear how our new coup~ strikes you. 1 have n't seen it, but I left it to Vernay, and he does nothing badly." The vehicle was at its post, a natty affair in aristocratic green, with a smart, handsome cob and a well-fed Jehu, all smiles, drab cloth, and gilt buttons. Som- ers was pleased: "Neat, is n't it? Cinder- ella's pumpkin reduced to the modest re- quirements of two quiet young men. Cocker 15 a jewel. M'sieur Stokes, is it not?" "Non, Monsieur, je me nomme Gabriel." "Bab! it 'a out of. all propriety; we want the affair of the horse, horsy. Ob- serve, my good man, that you are hereafter 'Stokes,' and nothing but 'Stokes,' and that we take the curb for nobody." It is to be doubted if the personage in drab entirely relished the summary meta- morphosis of his cognomen; but he closed the door with a gay smile, and, in obedi- ence to Somers's instructions, whirled them across to the precincts of Monceaux, draw- ing up at the closed porte-coch&e of a large residence in the Avenue de la Reine Hor- tense. Somers dismissed the coup~ and led the way through a flowery court to a door where they were ceremoniously received by a servant in livery, and conducted to a luxu- rious reception-room opening upon an en- closed garden, and breezy with perfume. Charley was in considerable bewilderment, from which he was aroused on the instant by Somers, and presented with some for- mality to a lady of rather more than middle age, but of aristocratic demeanor, who had entered immediately after themselves. She acknowledged Charley's low bow with much grace, and launched at once into that easy flow of words which is the unfailing re- source of the Frenchwoman at all times and in all circumstances. She was de- lighted to know Monsieur ~Vales, both as a friend of Monsieur Somers and as a repre- sentative of the great country beyond the sea. She cherished a profound interest in l'Ame'rique. She had an ancient relative, en effrt, since dead, who had performed prodigies of valor under- the General La- fayette against the negroes en Bre'szl, was it not? And she had devoured with ecstasy in earlier days those charming legends cf Coupaire and ce charmant Mon6ieur Gu/V- va~re. Would the gentlemen sit; and how, monsieur, had he found it, the Paris? Ma- dame Ia Baronne had run away far one lit- tle moment; she goes to come immediately. And on the word the lady entered, com- ing in with a little stumble and a real of laughter as a microscopic terrier, victim of unlucky chance, darted with a ~ elp from his hiding-place in the rug of foaming llama, where her foot had caught him. Chancy came to his feet half dazed, preserving just sufficient self-possession to repeat his deep obeisance as Somers's voice fell on his ear. "Madame la Baronne, permettez; Mon- sieur Charles Wales; voici vos ordres ol3e'is!" "C'est bien fait, - merci." In this instant of by-play Chancy stood voiceless, an amusing mixture of grace and qaucherie, with his gaze fixed on the hostess. The recollection of the grand eyes at Long- champs, lingering as it was, had scarcely prepared him for the magnificent woman who now smiled before him. Her dress was an exquisite morning neqlige' of some misty material which melted into a foam of lace about her neck and shoulders, and fell in soft, airy folds along her fbrm, like a tissue of snow, shortened in front, so that the tiny slippers with their square buckles of gold peeped out as she walked. Masses of dark hair were gathered carelessly in a great knot at the back of her head, from which a shower of curls fell far below her shoulders, kept in place apparently by a mimic dagger with a diamond hilt. It was the only ornament she wore; there was not so much as a ring upon the hand she ex- tended with a winning smile to Charley, as she glided across to him, a perfect girl-god- dess in her fresh and rosy loveliness. He took it awkwardly, and was making a des- perate struggle ~o frame an appropriate sen- tence in French~ when she spoke to him, with a divining look, in English pure as his own. "I am most happy to meet you, Mr. Wales, and you are very good to come. That naughty Hercules !It was just an ac- cident that I learned he had a friend come from the end of the world to see our beau- tiful Paris, and obtained the privilege of contributing my mite to make it pleasant for you. He knows that his friends are mine. You are quite in disgrace, indeed you are, Monsieur Somers," she continued, and added mischievously, in a lower tone, ". and I turn you bodily over to the tender mercies of Mamma Grandoie." "But, Madame, I do assure you "Silence "she cried, with a pretty, tragi- cal stamp, "assure me nothing. Go and do your penance I" I I She broke into a little silvery laugh at the fine Bohemian moved away disconsolate towards the .A~gis. "Le pauvre hon homme But you are not long in Paris, Mr. XVales? "I arrived but four days since." "And you like it?" with a pretty eleva- tion of her eyebrows. Charley was recovering, and he replied that he had found it the "most delightful spot on earth." She looked innocently interested. "It seems very popular with your countrymen, of whom we see so many and meet so few. Is it not absurd that you are really the first American I have ever met in my house? I have many English friends, however. Tell me, is it true that you say in America, 'We shall go to Paris when we die'?" "If we are good, it is the hope of our lives, madame; I am only just learning how happy a one it is; but- do people die here?" "Ma/heureusement! I believe so; and you are here snce four days only" (the home. idiom, which never entirely quits the French tongue made her English very piq- uant). "I must suspect you have been fbr- tunate in discovering attractions.~~ "Ma(lame suspects with ~ said Charley, bowing; the little glimmer of merriment in her eyes made him bolder, and he a(lded, " I am only puzzled to understand in what unhappy atmosphere I have hereto- fore existe(l." She looked comically sympathetic, but smiled ineredul~usly. Was it so bad? but then, Mr. Wales, at your years much can be done to repair the losses of a previously dull life. Paris will do you good." Heaven knows what foolish thing Charley had on his tongue to say, but at that mo- ment a grave functionary opened and shut himself twice at the door and then an- nounced the d~7euner. Charley gave his arm to the Baronne, and they proceeded to the breakfast-room, followed by the others. The meal, perfect in its details and delight- ful beyond words in its easy familiarity, was a revelation to Charley; one does not always discover in our home-land that she, the ~vomar, who gives a ~grace and smooth- ness to the rough surface of our lives, may even extend her influence to the ceremony of eating, and rob that exercise of what t~he fastidious are sometimes fain to term its "vulgarity." But the Baronne in her place as hostess was at once the beaming woman and the watchful dispenser of her bounty; a spniteall wit and smiles, and yet a con- vive with whom the art of eating was to eat, and eat freely. Charley first wondered and then admired as, perhaps, he had never be- fore admired a woman. "1 will not have you slight my wine, Mr. Wales, it is too good to be neglected," said the Baronne severely, as Chancy, like the barbarian he was, ignored the brimming glass by his plate. "Your pardon, madame, and your health, if you will permit me. it is the elixir of the gods," he added, recoverinoP his wits under the inspiration of the drau~t. "Bon! what is the Olympian judgment, Monsieur Hercules?" cried the lady, laughing. "Apollo has said it, madame," replied Somers; 1 moi, I have had the blessed privi- lege of former acquaintance with it, and I drink in tears." " ('ommeut ce/a? tears!" "Ay I that I must needs ever drink any other. My dear Madame Grandoic," he continued, turning to his vis-is-vis with a comic solemnity which sent the Baronne into a spasm of suppressed merriment, "let me not be outdone by my chivalrous friend. Madame, your good and continued health. May you long rejoice in the possession of those graces which win all hearts and brighten the existence of all about you!" Madame acknowledged very graciously what, being delivered in English, she had very imperfectly understood. "Poor mama~a Grandoie," said the Ba- ronne, in an undertone to Charley, "she al- ways accepts his nonsense so soberly. But you have nothing to eat! a bit of this pdte', will you not? Robert, server ceci is monsieur." But do you not speak French, Mr. Wales?" "Sans fa~on, madame, as I was unhap- py enough to treat your wine," replied Char- icy, in that tongue. "Mais / - why, that is excellent; and all this time you have made me talk in my poor English I" "Your English is perfect, madame, as I am sure is everything you do!" "Ah, but you should always use the French, Monsieur Wales," she returned with an arch smile. - "Whypray?" "Because it is the language of compli- ment, par exce//ence. Monsieur Somers," she continued, severely, "why did you not tell me that Mr. Wales spoke French - mechant I" "Dignefemme! I forgot that trifle. But I told you he was a prodigy, and, fbr aught I know, he speaks all the known tongues. In his country they do everything on that mag- nificent scale. I have heard the infants -" "Strangle the serpents in their cradles; n'est ce pas, mon Hercu/e? But the Ameri- can women are very lovely, are they not, Monsieur Wales?" For his life Charley could not repress a flush, which the Baronne noted with an arch smile. Somers also saw it, and came to the rescue. [ 4 e page: 54-55[View Page 54-55] 54 CHOISY. SMILES AND EYES. 55 "Ali! madame, permit me to shelter the modesty of my friend. With the sole ex- ceptions of yourself and Madame Grandoie, the American women are the loveliest in the world. It is the verdict of the na- tions." "Then we poor daughters of France can hold but a low rank among the attractions of Paris in your esteem, Mr. Wales," said the hostess, rather demurely. "Ma(lame," returned Charley, who had regained his self-possession with the unob- serve(l aid of a glass of wine, "Monsieur Somers deals with a popular but flattering fiction. 1, who am an American, have only learned at Paris what beauty in a womaxi may be!" &mers experienced a wild desire to whistle, hut took his wine instead, afl(l glanceil furtively at the depleted bottle' at Chancy's side. The latter, as it may be inferred, was unaware what he was drinking. Somers could have given him name and date for a rare vintage of the Gironde, of which every drop was costly as a jewel; lie only knew it was some blood- warming, spirit-stirring draught which filled his veins with an unwanted fire and in- spired a ready gayety which preserved him from any further lapses into confusion. ~I lie Baronmie experienced the force of this change, when, after a merry interlude in which her woman's wit flashed ceaseless repartee to Somers's ever~ amusing l~avardage, ~vhile it held Charley in wondering admiration, and even elicited some mild scintillations from Madame Grandoic, she returned strategeti- cally to the charge, and asked him suddenly, with laughing eyes, "And is there no .~none mourning her runaway Paris on some hill in the sunset land?" for Charley, with unblushing impudence and a bow worthy of D'Orsay himself, replied, "Ma- dame, we feel that Paris could have had no hove before Helen." And the lively Ba- ronne was herself nonplussed for the mo- ment by the quick retort and the big lion's- eyes looking full in her own. When the gentlemen came away some time later, Somers seized an instant to speak to the Baronne. "Et l'enfhnt'i" lie asked. "II est gentle, l'enfarmt, mon Hereule." She had this day a thousand little press- ing cares of preparation for departure from t~wn, but she seemed to forget them at that moment. She stood thoughtfully by the open window of the drawing-room after her guests had gone, forgetting even to tantalize the mite of a terrier who hovered about her feet, more alarmed than gratified by her umisual forbearance. Madame Grandoic looked in nn(l exclaimed, " Que fais-toi? The landau is waiting, ma cke'rie, and you are not even dressed." "lam coming," she answered, turning with an absent air. Passing the piano, she paused, and presently pulled out one of the sheets of music; from a box of crayons on a sido table she selected one with which she dashed off, skilfully and rapidly, a cartoon of a male head, short close-curling hair, broad forehead, great shaded eyes, droop- ing mustache, with straggling ends, and the full, square chin, -- Charley Wales for a (lucat, as the whole Mayflower Club could have sworn. The portrait finbhed, she studied it attentively; one could have seen the woman's divining, penetrating instinct all aflame in the eyes which strove to read the hidden meaning of that pictured face. It read too Well, - the frank, smiling eyes, the manly lines of brow and jaw, with a strange softness irradiating all. Men wore such faces, she had seen them; but their hearts -? No, they are only masks, one anti all of them! The bewildered Grandoic reappeared at the door. "Mais, voyons! petite, it is Ilenriette and Frederick and time pedicure, and all the world qui l'attends lou/ours!" "Bon! I fly, ma vicille." It was not often that this last expression of endearment fell on the good woman's ears; when it did she was wont to retreat in confusion and seek refuge in her own apartment, where she would bestow a fur- tive glance upon herself in the mirror and shed a few easy tears. She did as much on this occasion, while the Baronne, pausing to take a farewell look at her croquis, put it carefully among the sheets of music, and went off to Henriette, and pedicure, and" all the world." Meantime our Charley, left to himself on the crowded walk of the Champs Elys~es by Somers, who had to run away to settling day at the club, was wenklyfollowing the sug- gestion of that worthy to "take a stroll, and see the promenade in its expiring glory; for you know," he had added, "the court goes to St. Cloud on Wednesday, and Paris will be deserted simultaneously by the entire monde." But though the afternoon ti(le was at its full, Chiarley wandered absently along, see- ing only the one face with its ever-laughing, ever-unfathomable eyes, the long soft tresses, and tIme white shoulders under the spray of lace. He trod on a dozen dressess and made as many unintelbgible apologies, after which he became suddenly ~nware that lie was contributing an immense amount of amusement to a host of promnenaders, and roused himself sufficiently to jump into a cab and effect his escape - to the Male- sherbes. Here he flung himself royally on a sofa, and experienced something like sur- prise in the reflection that this was absolute- ly the first moment of restful solitude he had had since his arrival at Paris, - the fix respite in the whirl of that magic life in which lie had made so sudden an entrauc A season of thoughtfulness came with and, going to the secretary, he hunted out unfinished letter from among a mass of p pers tossed carelessly therein. He set 01 conscientiously to read it, having forgottc its contents, but he found the task una countable tiresome, and after a moment Iiesitatioii lie added a few hurried lines the sheet, closed and sealed it, ~tnd wx scrawling the superscription with a guilt conscience-stricken look, when the do~ flew open with a crash, and Somers cam in. lIe had just time to toss the letter in drawer, and I may as well sketch its subs quent history. The amiable Somers foun it there some months later, and read the a~ dress with elevated eyebrows and shrugged shoulders, after which he enclosed it dutiful to Mr. Richard Huntley at New York, "V be handed by him to the interesting 'ad dressed,' whom, no doubt, lie had the hap pines to possess on his list of acquaint ances." Whereat Mr. Iluntley d-d Mi Somers's "ilnpu(lence," but was nevertheless glad to possess the enclosure. "Ah!" cried the new-coiner, "here yoi are. The vulgar world of the Champ had no charms for you after the feast che~ the goddess supreme, - eli? You have no' told me what you think of her, by the way.' "1 should think there could be only orn opinion," said Charley, rather coolly; some how Somers's light speech grated on hh nerves at the moment. "No more there can, my dear boy," con~ tinted Somers, detecting instantly lik friend's irritation, and speaking in a warm but sober tone, "especially when she beamt and radiates as she did to-day. It may sound foolish, but you were favored, Char- hey. I have seen her an icicle to the best of them. She 's an enigma, is Nina Choisy, but as good as gold." "Nina Choisy?" "Yes, when we dare be so familiar, far away, you know. She is 'ha Baronne Choisy' to the grand world. Did I not tell you her name "No, and I wondered ~-" "And wondered at mSr privileged famil- iarity, too, probably. Well, she and my youngest sister were twins in affection at Madame Gaspard's pension here in Paris. I made the most of their friendship, and she is wonderfully good to me. I have been mon Ilercule some years now, and there is n't a man in Paris who would n't give his head for my place in her favor. I don't mind telling~ you that I have been hopelessly in love with her since the first hour I saw her," continued Somers, lighting a cherished pipe; "bad case of the unrequited, mais, 'st que voulez-vous?" Aud the giant's shru'~ to was a magnified but ridiculously faithful e. copy of the grimace with which every it, born Frenchman accompanies that favoi'ite m phrase. "Ned Somers shall die, and worms a- shall eat him, but not for love. Would you at believe it, she flung that identical senti- a ment at me, like another Rosalind, one day e. when the fever was on me and I attempted 's the theatrical? I had sat lap all night, ~o smoked a pound of capparal and drank a is gallon of caf~ noir to aid the effect. She is ~, good to me, though, and it wakes the chival- )r nc spark. 1 had an ai~cestor who was an e entire crusade in miniature; his picture a hangs in the old hall at home, and they say i- I am like him. Fancy me in penny-mail d and a buskin I Yet am I not warlike? But I- I would make a Paynim holocaust any day d of substituted Frenchmen for Nina Choisy, y and I think she knows it." o Charley was pleased and puzzled by this 1- queer mixture of nonsense and feeling. He was beginning to like his great man-mastiff very much, without in any degree pene- trating his character. Somers, stretched on a s lounge, puffed silently after his speech; and Chancy summoned courage to ask what i was in effect a foolish question, since its s answer was and had been palpable to him. Perhaps he struggled still, or hoped blindly against the truth. "And yet, of course, she is married, is she not?" Somers drew in his breath at the words, and blew a great white cloud slowly into space before he replied, "Yes, married as they marry in France; married to a shadow * whom no one has ever seen, and to some thousands of acres which furnished the hush-money required in such contracts. I I am no student of social ethics, Charley, and * I am an infant in the moral philosophies; * but if there is a character on earth I pity, and for whom I have unquestioning charity, it is for the Frencliwoman who is wedded to a rag of law and a chateau, and buried ~alive just as she becomes a woman!" Somers checked himself abruptly and sucked his pipe. "We must n't get on that ground here, though, it 's a mortal of- fence in Paris and to Paris," he resumed with new gayety. "Bury the moralities, mon enfant, or pack your trunks; it is the philosophy of the time and place!" Where- upon the speaker rose and laid aside the exhausted meerschaum, looked at his watch and yawned like a griffin. "Six o'clock! We will dine late, i(you are not otherwise disposed; dress first, a9d drop in comfort- ably at the opera after our cigars Patti's last night, and a great squeeze. You will see everybody, and get a word with our host- ess of the afternoon in her box, though I promise you not without a struggle. She shares with Diva the homage of the house." page: 56-57[View Page 56-57] 56 CHOISY. SMILES AKD EYES. 57 Charley heard the proposition with a thrill of delight which he neither paused to analyze nor struggled to repress. He ran away to his room, and was dressed a full half-hour before his companion, who smiled beneath a mask of suap-fuam, when, sus- pending his ablutions for an instant, he turned to view the young man radiant in evening dress. "Egad! you '11 excuse me, but you are rather magnificent," spluttered Somers. To himself, later, screened in a towel that would have served for a bedspread, he mu tered, "Deuced little of the Puritan in- stinct in him!" Once that afternoon the thought had made him uneasy, but he rea- soned well and watched closely, did Mon- sieur Somers, and his conclusion, as above expressed, was substantially correct. He had little to fear from an obstruction of that character in the development of his plans, - plans that fate was hurrying to sudden consummation. Already he thought he saw the end, and smiled at himself in the glass, and shrugged the elephantine shoulders as he gave his long, soft whiskers a last stroke. "3Iais! ce n'est pas moil it was always Dick Huntley's luck. For- tune has ever dealt him trumps, only he would play out of rule." "What did you say? "asked Charley, in all innocence, appearing at the door as if summoned. "Me? Did I speak? It must have been to myself, unconsciously. 'There are some men so loose of soul,' you know, and I was thinking about Hamilton, ass that he is, backing his scrubs against the French field. it must have cost him a nice penny. Are you ready? Bon! speaking of Hamilton, suppose we dine at the Maison Dor$e; it will be convenient." The Italien was thronged as Charley and Somers entered somewhat late in the even- ing. Our hero had puffed away two cigars very impatiently after their dinner, while the placid Bohemian calmly finished a single one. The latter was not blind to the ner- vous restlessness of the young man; but he had a lively idea of the crush and heat that awaited them at the opera, and was himself in no haste to face the ordeal. When he did set out, however, it was with his usual vigorous tactics of advance, and in those packed lobbies and passages Char- Icy rather exulted in his irresistible leader- ship. Isabella, at the feet of her recreant lover, was filling the air with the glorious melody of Robert, toi que j'aime, as they pressed through the crowd and caught the glittering spectacle of the house, - wave above wave of rapt faces turned to the stage, with only the soft ripple of myriad fans breaking the charm of absolute immo- bility. in the tumult of the enr'acte they fought their way valiantly to the box of the Baronne. It, too, was thronged with ex- travagantly dressed men, whose presence was singularly distasteftil to Charley. while their number was rather discouraging; but Somers effected access, and Charley fol- lowed resolutely on his heels, quite igno- rant of the puzzled and curious regards which met him on all sides. "Ah I bon soir, Monsieur Somers, and Mr. Wales, too, - how delightful I" She turned half round, and put out her hand to the dazzled Charley, who took it in its snowy glove almost timidly, and stumbled sadly in his words. Struggle as he would, the old readiness failed him before this wo- man, and, indeed, the rencontre with the rosy deity of the afternoon could scarcely have schooled him for the splendid creature now before him, in the richest of evening dress, with bare, white arms and shoulders, and diamonds flashing from breast and brow, - flashing blindness and delirium to his eye and brain. "Mais, Monsieur Ic Compte, a thousand pardons! un si vieux ami -" It was the Baronne' s voice in the sweetest, most be- seeching tones; and M. le Compte, who was the happy occupant of the chair behind her, surrendered the same in angry bewilder- ment to the smiling Chancy, who lost no time in taking possession thereof, secretly enchanted to find himself already an "old friend." M. le Compte withdrew in high dudgeon, followed soon by the others, all equally im- pressed with the conviction that their pres- ence was no longer necessary to the situa- tion. "Who is the phenomenon, Count?" asked one. "Mule diables! how should I know !" responded that gentleman - a marvellous conserve of sixty sumiucrs - with much phlegm "0, I beg pardon!" laughed the other; " the grace and readiness with which you gave him your chair led inc to suppose -" "Bah! c'est trap fort! Sans doute it is some distinguished relative from the Bas- Rhone districts." "Very likely - to he sure." A single shadow clung to the name of Nina Choisy; and, after the manner of their race, these gentlemen consoled their wounded hearts by dwelling on and mag- nif~ing it. Our two friends, remaining masters of the field, settled themselves in the coveted places with perfect contempt of the laws of succession; Somers paying assiduous court to the smiling Grandoic, whose miraculous preservation as displayed in opera costume was the won~ler of his soul ; Charley lean- ing over the Baronne and drinking the deep intoxication of her backward glances, wis ing the mimic love-story on the stage mig never end. In the pretty, girlish enthu~ asmn of the Baronne, it is probable there w much of the actress. Somers, who h~ seen her yawn through the same scene mo than onc~, thought so, but coupled tI thought with approval. But upon our we shipping Charley there came no shadow suspicion; he was insensible even to tI most natural consideration that the beaui before him was and could be no other thi ~ the schooled woman of the world, to who that glare of light and luxury, that wonde ul music even, and the listening thousand werethings worn and old and lifeless. fl never thought of that; but he exulted the dewy freshness of the beauty befor I him, and the artless insouciance - perfe~ tion of art- in manner and word of it possessor. It was this childlike innocence ~ which charmed him, and the charm hid th exception. Poor boy! he worshipped pur: d and simplicity in a French opera-box n(l the Bayonne knew it all, and reveille the knowledge It was something cci fresh from his breez ir, standing an unsullied knight-errant a er chair; but there was yet a germ in he oman's heart that swelled into delicious in the presence of this surprise. it had seemed but a moment to Char rising and falling of the curtain y, that sweet dreamy interval of stolen lances and smiles and whispered words though it had been a whole, long, fatiguin~ scene for the matchless Adelina, no doubt He hid sighed unconsciously when the veil f~dl, awl fancied with a lover's vanity that tIme Baronne had joined him in that sentimental expression. Certainly she I ~ remained pensive and silent while Charley ~ arranged her mantle, which lie did with trembling hands. Something of the same feeling seemed to pervade the four as they lingered a fhw moments in the box, while e multitude poured out in a slow, im- peded stream, arid Somers broke a profound silence when he spoke. "Woe is me, Alhama! It is desolating to think thit this fkiry scene, which in ten minutes will be 'chaos and old night,' is but the epitome of the Paris of to-morrow. The world has packed its trunks ~and flies with the dawn, like the elfin phalanx. Do you go also to-morrow, Madame la Baronne?" "I believe so," she replied, listlessly. She stole a glance at Charley as she spoke, and was fairly startled by his changed face. N'est ce pas, maman? "Mais aid," responded that amiable fe- male with responive melancholy. She measured the march of time too closely not 8 h- to feel sorrow at the end of another season, l~t but her respect for the conventionalities 51- was superior to every other consideration. as "After to-morrow, you know," she said, id "Paris will be quite insupportable." re Charley seemed paralyzed; twenty un- ac speakable things surged to his lips, twenty r- impracticable schemes flitted through his of brain. Going away? to-morrow? where? ic He would follow her! Then the flame by flared out and left a cold gloom. Somers in had set the example, and, giving his arm to in the Baronne, Chancy followed the others r- into the corridor. Neither spoke; the s, Baronne was waiting, and Charley could [e not trust his tongue. At last, as the lights * n grew di miner, he managed to ask timidly, e "Is it truc that you go away to-morrow?" "He/as! cci," she answered, briefly. She ~s hung rather heavily on his arm, and looked e downward persistently, and there was an e interval of silence. i- "Shall you care - very much? you, who I have known me but a day!" I The words were almost in the tone of v badinage, and Charley, who turned to look y quickly as he~ heard them, met a half-sad, r half-laughing face. But in her eyes was a t deep, serious light, - alert, questioning, in- r tense. Even in the shade he caught it, and it sobered him, checking some heated inspiration of the moment. When he an- - swered, it was soberly, but with undisguised feeling. "I shall care; I should like to know you better." "lion!" came the response on the in- stant; "then I will not go!" I They had reached the portal, and in an- other minute (Jhanley had handed her into the coupe and stood uncovered at the door. She gave him her hand, just an instant, as * he stood there, anti spoke quick and low, "lion soir, mon ami; i~ bieat6t!" Soon! it might as well have been a cen- tury of waiting for our Charley, who, planted Jike a statue, gazed after the disappearing vehicle with his hat in his hand and his heart in his throat. She had called him "her friend," her ami; even to Charley's unschooled ears that word was full of mean- ing. Mephistopheles on the trottoir laughed noiselessly, but immoderately. "Come, Charley, you go to ear/miner yourself, standing there in the 'pose num- ber two.' Aurora will be here with daylight again, and Chitus need not mourn. So come down to vulgar things; I am lQnging for innumerable bocks at Neeser's. A/Ions, en/ants! Look at that sergeant! He'd like me to continue that strain ten words more, and then pounce on me for a moun- tain of sedition! Shade of Bacehus 1 what a thirst is mine I ii page: 58-59[View Page 58-59] 58 CHOISY-. CHAPTER IX. MADAME. THE Baronne Choisy was a star of' the first magnitude in the fashionable world of Paris. She was, indeed, more than that; she was a meteor, and since she had first flashed upon the social horizon, two years before, had held a pre-eminent place among the sisterhood of society's queens. The coming of the, unknown provincial beauty had been duly heralded by Madame (~ran- doie, whose acquaintance we have made. This lady was the widow of a dignitary of the last Orleans Court, and a somewhat antique relic of the old aristocracy of' the Chauss~e d'Antin. She made the most of her not very clear claim of ancienne noblesse, and clung to the boards of' the social stage with a clever tenaei~ty known only to a Frenehwoman, securing her position by a certain popu- larity with the younger class, for whom she rendered diplomatic services in a variety of ways; fom' trustworthy instruments of that character were much in demand in latter- day Pam'is. 'flie entree of Nina Choisy in the fashionable arena was a godsend to the worthy dame; she was a soi-disant relative, and had been requested by the Baronne to take the position of ~gis of the new and elegant hotel in the Avenue de Ia Reine Hortense. It may be imagined with what ecstatic joy she assented, and how felici- tously she trumpeted abroad the intelligence of Nina's coining, weeks before her arrival. "Such a dear child!" she cried to her first victim, la Comtesse Brie'; " she is so lovely, and so fine. She was here a long time, you know, at the pension Gaspard, and would always escape and come to me, poor child! She could not bear the re- straint. Ah ! the ingenious illnesses we invented to gain holidays; they were su- perb. La paucre che'rie! Monsieur le Baron, you know, is imbecile, and the poor, dear Colonel, her father, was killed in the hunt. Fancy the life for the darling in that heart- breaking wilderness! Me, I was writing her forever to come to Paris, and voil~! she comes. She will capture all the hearts. Ah! les beaux yeux! I go to tell Madame, Monsieur le Compte, that she must keep you un(ler the good guard when my ravish- in~ prot6qee arrives!" ~Ionsieur le Compte laughed lightly, but he had been all ears, and, after seeing Madame Grnndoie to her carriage, he saun- tered off to the Jockey Club with his news, and retailed the same in epigrammatic style to a circle of acquaintances which fringed an indolent pai'ty at e'carte'. "Prodigy en route fm'om the districts; projected eclipse of all the fixed stars and movable planets generally in the social ~vom Id!" "Mon Dien, Count, - go the Academy MADAME. with your convulsions of nature, and leave us in peace," cried a player. "He has pillaged the secrets of the astro- nomical genius in the Place VendOmne!" "Spare us the homily of the Piciades, 0 Count ! the lost, the fallemi - "JAah! it 's only a woman; see?" don't you Tiens! I thought it was a comet!" "From where, did you say?" "'Paris, Lyon et Meditcrran~e,' "laughed the Count, rallying from the cross-fire his original remark had drawn upon him. "Bah! the marrans are not in season, my good man!" "A toute sauce, mon cher, so the filet is prime ! "Hearken to the beast ! I mark the king. You don't tell us xxho it is." "Baronne Choisy, - you know the name; owned all Lyons once, and may yet, for aught 1 know." Dead, is n't he, the Baron ? " asked some one. "No, but un peu pres, I judge, nothing left but his stomach ! "Great Epicurus! nothing but stomach! Baron Choisy, mats blessed of the gods!" "Are you quite correct in the name, Monsieur le Compte?" inquired a withered, painfully preserved old gent fi-om his chair, - one of those immeasurably antique relics of society which abound in Paris. "Monsieur l'Ombi'e, I speak from the cards," responded the Count with a bow, while the whole circle turned with instinc- tive expectation toward the "shade." Nor did he disappoint them ; he filled the office of his class with singular fidelity, arid could disinter the buried histories of half the old families of France at reasonable notice. But he chose at the opening to be distress- ingly succinct. "I knew her as a child; served with her Thtber, Colonel d'Alen- court in Afiica - flue nian - killed himself hunting two years ago - made an odd mar- riage - peasant-woman or ~omcthimmg - uf- faire du cxur ai'' h)rOuiiiscd to be hand- some, but un pert' brute - after her mother probably." The listening gentlemen were not to be put off with these staccato details. "How do you say?" asked the Count Bri~, drawing nearer, and offering his jew- elled snuff-box to the veteran, while the others gathered quietly about, "peasant- woina~? a nme~saiiance then?" Monsieur l'Ombre preserved an exterior of solemn indifference, but was secretly very vain of the attention he received; the amour propre of an octogenarian is the essence of his existence in wb;mtever direc- tion it may tum'n, and the venerable "Jock- ey's" consisted in delving among the bones of a forgotten past. He dropped his well- Ii I 59 read Si~cle upon his knees, and snuffed a statements, though meagre, had cpmite truth- prodigious amount as he gathered up the fully embodied the history of Nina Choisy, fragmentary recollections in his mind, and in their general extent contained all "Yes," he began, reflectively, "a me'sal- that careless, idle Paris wanted to know. liance, (lecide(lly. It caused some gossip at She had had a peasant mother. She was the time, I remember; but the Colonel had married to an imbecile. She was very beau- been ten years in tIme field, and was half tiful and very rich. Boa! one might be forgotten, and lie was the last one living of amused, perhaps, at the Hotel Choisy! Nor his name. Then his wife died a year after does it seem essential that a closer view of marriage, without any 'one ever having seen her life should be given here. The apology a her. I never knew the whole story, but it for a woman is not to be sought in the cir- came about through an accident to the cumstances of her early existence; an in- Colonel, lie was badly wounded at Mas- dignant world refuses her that plea. And earn, and in trying to reach home got over- yet it might be told how time motherless gim'l, turned in his calbche somewhere on time endowed with a nature all passion and Camargue above Marseilles, -near ArIes, warmth and sunshine, had stifled in the I think; it was a vile road thirty years ago. heavy atmosphere of her home, and lived a They had to take him to the nearest house, childhood of alternate storm and brooding - lie could n't bear removal, - which hap- calm; how every sympathetic feeling died pencil to be a vimme-dresser's -" out between her and the stern old militaire, "Wimo had a pretty (laughter, of course," her father, who, repenting in bitterness his mnterrimpted Count Bik, "and a wom~sn of unhappy marriage as he grew older and felt ArIes, too! Mon Dicul a Lucr&e, I pre- more keenly the whisper of the world and sumne, - but to marry her!" the pride of rank, thought of her oMy as "lie did, however," continued the nar- an alien thing, or a thing, at least, to be rator, "after lying three months in the smothered quietly into oblivion with all house; said she Irid saved his life." possible speed. He sent her, in his shame, "She was well paid; and this was the to the English pension at Paris, and thereby mother of the notable Baronne?" plunged her into an atmosphere thoroughly "Yes; she died in chiildbed, I believe, unnatural to a French girl, where her as- and the Colonel lived a very retired lifii snciations were with the free daughters of afterwards on his estate. I saw huim once another land and another civilization; or twice bore at Paris latterly; the girl was where she fed with avidity on the wild ro- at Madame Gaspard's." dancing of' her mates and the ever-abun~ "So, at tIme English school! Voyons, dant, surreptitious literature of the dormi- Dupray," cried time Count, to one of' the tory, and gathered from it revelations of bystanders, a (lark-eyed, handsome man, another existence, of a world where there who was mmeghi~ently attendimug the discourse was freedom and sentiment and untram- of Monsieur l'Omnbre, "you muust brush up smelled womanhood. Beside that picture of Bulwer and the Byronie nieamuru~, - you life her own chained and fettert d future know the style! But how came she to was a hideous thing, and stirred a wild re- marry the muman of the stomach?" he con- hellion in her soul, when, to crown her hu- tinrme(l, turnimug to L'Ombre ; "old too, miliation, she was hurried from the school- is n't lie?" room to be married to one she had never '1As I am, or nearly. It was curious. It seen, of whom, indeed, she had scarcely was understooui she was to marm'y the son, heam'd the name. The estates of the Baron and Lycums was tlmuuiderstruck to learn that Choisy joined those of the D'Alcneourts, she bad capt ured the old man instead." and there was a certain intimacy between "Time son? not 1l&e Choisy, who blew the Colonel and the old noble, albeit the out his brains at Baden ?" latter, a rigid fanatic in his order, had never "The same." ceased to reproach the Compte d'Alencourt "Parlileu! then it was a choice~ between for the signal error of his youth; for the time imbecile amid the fool. 1 commend her Baron, like his neighbor, had an only child, selection!" a son, and the union of the families, had "Very good of the young one to take it heen possible, would have been "so ad- himself out of the way too, so qmmiethy." mirable." But to the daughter of the peas- "Faughm! what a gredin he was! Did ant-woman ? - a Choisy! Ah, no I and the you kmmo~v bun? lie had spent a million on old soldier could only sit silent in his bit- Baden and Ia Joneuse Russe!" Iciness. But Choisyfils, scion of a line of "Yes, I remnemmiber something of him; nobles as he was, was not a character not a nice party. Comae, Count, cent du worthy of special admiration. We have picquet before dinner, heard him called "Beast" in a circle of or- And the circle about Monsieur 1 'Ombre, dinarily lenient judges, and he fully de- having exhausted the oracle, left that yen- served the name. To what dire extreme craNe sour to solitary meditations. His he carried his gay career need not be in- I page: 60-61[View Page 60-61] 60 CHOISY. quired; but some grave contingency arose which had the remarkable effect of bring- ing the old Baron in desperation to the astonished Colonel with a proposal for the immediate alliance of their offspring. The paysanne-m~re was ignored, nor was the young man's character discussed; only the message went to Paris, and Nina was brought home to take for her husband the Beast. This passage of her life may well be curtained from view; it was such a mad, despairing struggle of the woman's heart as we should only shudder to read of, and we might err in reading it, and pity her. There was no escape; none but the one that even frenzy shrinks from, though she thought of it more than once. But imer strength re- fused it, and she was strong. Who knows? The old Roman blood ran in her veins, as it had come down warm and unsullied through the ages to the woman of ArIes, - the blood it might be of a Lucretia, as Count Brid had said in jest; burning for good or evil, but burning fierce and strong. Must she wed with this stained brute? There was an alternative, it was not sodiffi- cult to secure, - she was so young, so beau- tiful, so resistless in her intuitive coquetry! With a sort of mad ingenuity she grasped her fate and steeled her heart to the sacri- fice, and the world opened its sleepy eyes, and laughed brutally at the diplomacy of the school-girl, when it was known that she had married the old Baron and left the Beast to curse upon the doorstep. A personage who had been a silent mem- ber of the company which surrounded the veracious L'Ombre was especially interested in that gentleman's account of the Baronne Choisy, and afterwards went to considerable trouble among divers old memoranda in the evening seclusion of his own chamber, the result of which investigation was something like a grunt of ~atisfacsion, the indolent ex- tension of two colossal legs over an adja- cent chair, and a soliloquy to this effect: "Same party, as I fancied, - Flo's old arnie at Madame Gaspard's. Nina d'Alen- court, - pretty name! Peasant-mother, humph I - sick man - half of Lyons I - must look in there for old acquaintance, - 'should old acquaintance be forgot?"' And with these last words feebly indi- cating a musical intention, our worthy friend, Monsieur Somers, at whom we are taking a glance some two years previous to the date of our story, drowsed off comfort- ably on his impromptu couch. Nina Choisy had been married three years when she burst upon the world at Paris. Tragic events had marked the time for her in congenial unison with the angry tempest in her soul. From the very day of his marriage the Baron, like the rash priest of the temple, who wooed the goddess, sank into a mumbling oblivion; the wretched profligate son cut short his career by his own insane hand; and her father, the Colo- nel, had killed himself in the chase. She was little moved by this series of fatalities. She only breathed more freely after them, and planned a future of her own, hugging each day more passionately the old girl- dream, shapeless, intangible, but living,- a shadow of the ideal. A strange charac- ter was formed in this woman, or, better, a character strangely deformed. Crushed, sacrificed as she was, with all the maiden whiteness blotted from her soul; reckless, and ready for any means to gain her end, - that end was still the old, sweet desire of her best days; the haunting vision of a love, pure, perfect, stainless, and all her own. She was one of a class; and can we not fancy how Judith and Beatrice and Charlotte Corday would have loved? Her entree at Paris was a triumph. The gay coterie gathered in idle curiosity ad- mired, wondered, and lingered in a spell. The men found something in her that was not to be explained, but which thrilled and held them captive al her feet; and some, who had built their pretty schemes on the fancied assailability of the provincial wife, were left to puzzle over the well-poised woman of the world, who stepped from the shadows of the distant chateau, like Palms from the brain of Jove, armed and equipped for the strife. It was an ordeal of fire, raging and fierce, that she had to pass; but she came through it bravely and unscathed, and her first season left her victorious and triumphant, a reine du monde, of whom Paris spoke in admiration and, what was rarer, with respect. She formed naturally her circle of chosen friends, and among these figured no less a dignitary than our giant of memoranda and dreams, M. Som- ers. I have said that he was a handsome and attractive man, and the reader has, perhaps, divined that he could be pleasant and win- ning in his way. I may add now that he possessed the additional advantage of good family, and held unquestioned position at Paris as an independent and reputable gen- tleman. Not a few of his countrymen made their home in the French capital in those days, many of them of high caste, and their society was much courted in that peculiarly mixed aristocracy where the title was not always strengthened with age, or even sup- ported by attest, and where the genuine article had an exaggerated value. Edward Somers, albeit not of actual blue-blood ex- traction, hailed from an eligible environ of May Fair. His elder brother had been knighted for distinguished services in her Majesty's Parliament, and the family was an old and wealthy one. There were peo- 4 4 ,1 4 4 4 10 4 4 4 I 4 4 4 4 4 4 K pIe, indeed, of that impracticable class which afflicts all lands and races, who hinted at unpleasant passages in Mr. Somers's lifi~ of long anterior date, and the whisper was heard, and perhaps remembered, but had never brought any damage to the subject thereof. Englishmen, visiting Englishmen, as a rule, "did not know" Mr. Somers. "Brother to Sir Robert? Awl indeed, was not aware Sir Robert had a brother; un- fortunate estrangement, perhaps." Where- upon Mr. Edward would be dropped with no particular d:smage to himself. He was not extravagant in his living, and made no debts, at least none that could be talked about, and he was very clever in sporting matters, and immensely popular at the Jockey Club. He was scarcely less popu- lar in the social world, where there lacked no smiles for thu splendid lion d'Angleterre, as he was not infrequently called; and he had experienced no difficulty in obtaining the entire at the Hotel Choisy. For the rest, it would scarcely have been our Monsieur Somers had he failed to push his way into pleasant friendliness with the Baronne. Of course, she "remembered the darling Florence, - was she married? - and she was so pleased to know her brother; now that she recalled his sister's face more clearly, there was much resemblance." And he was charme(l, as all had been befot'e him, and as all continued to be who came after. He was not without certain pretensions of his own as a man of conquests, moreover, and in his secret soul there had ever lin- gered a consoling faith in events which were, some bright day, destined to conduct his aimless bark into a haven of affluence and ease. More than once had the possible agent of this delightful consummation taken shape in the person of some new fair one dawning on the horizon of his acquaintance; and though doomed to repeated disappoint- ment, the hope burned brightly to the last upon the altar of his heart. It blazed into a more brilliant glow than ever when he en- countered the Baronne, but never was the illusion so short-lived ; his passion subsided instantly again to the sober warmth of trust and expectation: for h~was very wise and quick-sighted, ~vas Edward Somers, possess- ing an alert faculty under the free and I lightsome exterior that the world reeked not of, and his wisdom lent him eyes. He was very devoted to the Baronne, and she grew to like him immensely, called him her I Hercule soumis, and enrolled him among the privileged souls who enjoyed a certain intimacy at the now famous hotel in the Avenue de Ia Remne Ilortense. Once, at one of those delightful dejeuners iflhimes at which Somers was a favored par- ticipator, there occurred an incident. The I Occasion was marked by the introduction ~ MADAME. 61 of a new assailant upon the arena where so many had contested for the high prize of the Baronne's smiles. This was a nobleman of certain celebrity; they called him Camours at the clubs, though we have heard him addressed by his correct name by Count Brid, some pages back. He came at the eleventh hour, like the tardy knight in ro- mance who enters the lists when the read- er's patience is at the ebb; he was the last of the irresistiblees" and Somers watched the encounter closely. He saw the Ba- ronne's eye take rapid measure of the man; it was just one quick, flashing glance, questioning, critical, infallible; but what another might not have seen Somers saw, a vague, far-away shade of expectancy, al- most of longing, followed by the droop of disappointment, - the look of one who seeks a lost face iii a throng of faces and cannot tln(l it. Scores, almost hundreds of times, he had caught that momentary expression; he had even seen it pass over her face at his own presentation to her, and in tiniQ he had mastered the thought beneath it. He was standing by her alone later that morning, when the party, which was quite numerous, bad returned to the drawing-room. 'fbey were at an Ol)Cfl window, where the early roses strayed in at their feet, and she was teasing the miniature terrier, pushing him in amon~ the thorns as often as he struo'rrlcd out et submission to lick the tiny foot that wrought his woes. There had been a season of silence, broken only by her fits of merry laughter at the unhappy dog, until Somers spoke in a low, peculiar tone, 'Another, -and not he!" The little foot paused half-way in its campaign against the terrier, and she looked up, puzzlemi and startled, with the faintest possible flush on her face; the bi~ blu smihin~r met here' e eyes, half sad, half own, and he added in the same tone, "Mcii em~/in! couraqe! He is in the world, and he will come!" She looked away into the garden an in- s~tant, and felt how little she knew this great woman-faced man with his surface-manner of unconscious bonhomie and all that subtle- ty below. But she liked him; there was such an atmosphere of strength and protec- tion about him, and she hoped he could be ~ood as she believed him, to be a gentleman and somehow, it disturbed her very little to Find he had read her secret. The hesi- bation was only momentary; she caught [mis hand and pressed it, an(l smile(l in his ~yes, like a tiustin~g girl. How marvelously roung she kept that face l "Allons! mon ami, we shall always be uch good friends, - n'est ce pci?" Then she ran away and joine(l her com- rnny, while the man, who of all men in B'aris at that moment was the best satisfied vith himself, remained at the window and page: 62-63[View Page 62-63] 62 CI4OISY. smiled on the vernal scene without. It may be added that 1mb conduct that evening in the privacy of his chamber was the reverse of that which we noted on a previous soin- nolent occasion; it verged, in fret, on the acrobatic, - so closely, indeed, that a gentle- man of sedate and studious turn of mnind, who occupied apartments directly below those of Mr. Somers, abandoned time mid- night lanip in despair, and, being of disposi- tion averse to complaint, sought, rather, to escape tIme infliction by a promenade upon the Boulevards at an hour when for gentle- men of setlate and respectable character that glittering thoroughfare was one en- vironed by manifold perils. From that (lay it was noticed that the Baronne accorded a certain delicate famil- iarity to her blond hercules, who knew its value and guarded it accordingly; and it was no deti-inment to Monsieur Somers in his world of acquaintance to have gained the recognized title to something like a brother- ly privilege at the Hotel Choisy. Nina's secon(l season was, if possible, more brilliant than her first; she was more fasci- nating, lovelier, and more unapproachable than before: and the men raved, while time women applauded, and each with an equal, though secret bitterness. Somers was glo- rifled, and held his post with the spotless fidelity of the Pompeiian, revelling in his privileges, m~nd watching anxiously and un- easily for that "coming man." But the great myth, the ideal, came not and while our noble guardsman rejoiced, Nina, in her soul, lost much of the wild, unspoken hope which had so long animated and sus- tained her. She grew very weary with the long wimiter of ceastiess and unmeaning gayety, and hailed the semi-repose of the Lenten days with a sigh of relief: She had coveted this restless life, not so much for any charm of its own, but as the vantage- ground whereon her life-scheme might achieve its dear result. She met its perils, breathed its poisons, and shared its strug- gles with imidifferenee; but it wearied her in the en(l, an(l it had bruised her some- times so that now slme loved it not, and re- proached it for the disappointments it had borne her. The color was slowly fading, too, from that old, never-to-be-realized dream. "Dites-moi, Hercule," she cried, leaning her chin on her hands and looking vexed, half desperate, but more beautiful in her impatient abandon than ever a graceless daughter of earth had looked before; "on done est mon Ulysse?" Somers was omily human; with all his easy control he was often enough near play- ing the lbol with this siren, and he was never nearer than on this occasion. But he checked himself bravely, and answered in mock-melancholy, "Helas! madame, if it is to be Ulysses! The poor man was twenty years en route!" "Mon Dieu! Merci - la pauvre Penelo- pe! Me, I abandon Ulysses; he is mag- nificent, tacit ii coyage ~si doucement! The spring passed away, and Nina still lingered at Paris. Never had she so dread- ed and shrunk from the return to the cha- teau, and there were not lacking pleading voices to persuade her to remain in the gay city. So she stayed even to the close, fixing her departure for the day following the Grand P-ix. it was almost by accident that she had done this, as it was by acci- dent that from her carriage she had noted the new face by Somers's shoulder, and flashed surprise and confusion on it with her wonderful gray eyes. It had not precisely charmed her on the spot, this young hand- some face of our Chai-ley; but she liked it, and found time, amid all the demands upon her attention, to give the order to Somers that we heard. When she had seen him, looked him through and through, and read him as she could so easily do, she liked 1dm better. Indeed, the fever that possessed the young man called forth something like an answer- ing flush in the woman's hca-t; it had stolen in silently and insidiously, and she never knew it till it was there. Then she grasped the thought, and hugged it with the fist strength of a passion that might grow into delirium. He was only a boy; there were moments ~vhen she would have called him a child; but there was the unbroken bloom of his young manhood upon him, cool and fresh as water from tIme spring to her thirsting heart. It was a-cry sweet to turn from that exotic life with its heated, arid glow and sickly odors, its false flowers and flilser faces, and revel in the new, the al- most unknown, atmosphere that clung about his glorious youth, to read truth and feeling undisguised in his face, to see a fiist strong passion gathering in the lion's C) cal Was it her dream? She could not remember what she had dreamed; she was conscious only of the long-coming fire in her blood, and the tardy illumination of that shaded corner of her heart, and she was supi-emely content. And he had known her, site had known him, but a day l CHAPTER X. CALLING~at his banker's on the morning after the opera, Charley found a packet of letters fmom home, and among them one from his cousin, which, glancii~~ at it with a a I J I I "LIE." 63 sick, guilty feeling hi his heart, he put away the first inspiriting impulse which ushered unopened in ins pocket. As if to neutral- him bravely and even confidently into the ize the twinge of conscience the sight of room, he experienced a sombre reaction~ a the one missive had occasioned, there was depressing sense of his own insignificance, another from lluntley full of congenial sug- which was not lessened when he caught gcstiuns and agreeable thoughts. The bro- sight of Nina afar oW splendid in flashing ker ha(1 calculated nicely on reaching silk and serpentine train, the queenly ruler Charley in this letter just when the glamour of all this glittering throng. lie had lost of Paris life had ihIlen upon the young man, Somers, and in h~s embarrassment was tak- and his epistle was a very skilful " Tally ing the wall, when the Baronne, whose quick ho l" indeed: " I shall be disgusted with eye had caught the tall figure soon enough, you if you come home having done Paris made her way to him and ivarumed his after the mwmnncr of a summer tourist whose heart with her rare smile. She was so impressions are embodied in a cab-ride to grand, so gloriously beautiful, so Juno- the Bois, a /~/e night at Mabille, and the like in her robes of state and among her daily rubbish of a table d'hote. Your op- subjects, that poor Charley fhltercd again, portunities are better (especially if, as I as it seemed his fate ever to do in these trust is the case, you have looked up Ned first moments Qf their meetings. She could Somers and put yourself under his wing), only stay a moment, and Sai(l so, adding, "It and you are sulliciently intelligent to know is very good of you to come with all these what I nevertheless take the liberty to tell dear friends who are here to say farewell you, that the Paris of to-day is unique in before I go. What a (lelightiully larg~ our age, that you enter its gates to behold number I have, have n't I?" the marvel of civilization where the cream Charley looked alarmed at the word of the earth is gathered and made contribu- "go," but the glance, half serious, half mis- tive to every department of its luxurious chievous, reassured him. life. The ebb is inevitable; what you see, "There, I can't stay," she continued, the man of twenty, perhaps ten, years hence quickly; "hut remember, I shall lose my will only read ot C'arpe diem! and don't character for remaining a day beyond the let those sudden scruples I gather from your prescribed limits at Paris ; how am I to be last - and which as a friend and an 'older consoled in my solitude, monsieur? soldier' I am going to discuss with you in Charley's heart leaped. their turn prevent you from looking "May I - shall I come?" he asked cx- through Paris to the bone. Your wise re- citedly, while the Baronne glanced about to solves will keep to bring home, and they see if his dramatic ensemble had drawn will only be dead weight to you there," - upon him curious scrutiny~ Then she made and so ibrth, through eight pages. If Mr. just the faintest little rnoue at him ; she was Huntley had known how beautifully en Juno no longer, only the girl-goddess of train in the precise direction of his, Mr. that first memorable afternoon. "Shall you Ihuntley's, wishes these lines would find our cumc?" the raoae meant; do I not stay Charley, it is probable he would have spare(l for you? Cruel !" himself the trouble of constructing the elab- Then she laughed a low musical laugh orate exhortation of which I have given a like some flitting bird's song, and glided sample; but the message still operated fa- away; paused, and turne(l back an instant vorably to the writer's general plans, since to him still standing mute and transfixed. it soothe(l a rising compunction or two She looked just a trifle malicious. which the simple exterior of another letter " Ma is, Monsieur Wales, would you had stirred, and was altogether a vehicle of ~iot like to know some of these beautiful encouragement and cheer. It was read ladies ?" word for word on its receipt, and after- The look of dismay on Charley's free war(ls reproduced at breakfast and reread provoked a second silver laugh- then she in part to Somers with continued enjoy- left him. The world sui-ged between them, ment, that gentleman sharing the same while Charley lingered a moment, following with e'clat. lie too, singular to note, her with his eyes, nfl(l feeling like a king had received a letter by the same mail amid the hosts he had thought so formida- from the same individual, but he did not ble a little time before. Certain grand think it necessary to mention the fact. dames noted the eyes with high approval, The gentlemen made their "call of and sailed by him with very kindly glances; digestion" in the afternoon at the Hotel but it is doubtful if he saw them; the single Choisy. TIme Baronne was holding her gaze he caught and noticed was the fierce, farewell lem-e'e, and all the world, migratory inquiring one of a gentleman opposite, whose and otherwise, was there making its adiens. mustache, waxed to desperation, drew his The salon was a tumult of richly dressed lip tightly across his teeth, and gave him a people, and Chancy felt rather overpow- peculiarly savage aspect. Cliarley expeni-. ered by his surroundings. Indeed, after enced a convulsive desire to laugh as he page: 64-65[View Page 64-65] 64 CHOISY. recognized "Monsieur le Compte" of the opera-box. Somers signalled him at the moment, and the two friends met in the hall. "What a jam I" cried the Bohemian. "I could n't get a word with the Baronne; but I saw the 'evergreen'" (such was his irreverent designation of Madame Gr4n- doic), "and it seems she is not going away immediately." "I believe not," returned Charley, dryly. "The gods be praised!" echoed Somers, who, if he noticed the young man's manner, evidently bore no i resentment. "What shall we do till dinner-time?" "I am indifferent; something quiet. Let 's drive." "Ban! we might look in, though, at the salon, - the art exhibition, you knbw, at the Palais de l'Industrie. There 's an acre or two of nude studies; an unusual number, and it has given rise to a curious whisper in the city which says they are portraits, the last freak of haul tan. It is tedious, how- ever, and there 's nothing else there; a drive be it." They coursed out the Champs and looked in a moment at the Hippodrome, where a blooming bevy of gini-jockies were riding absurd raee& on bicycles, after which they made a turn in the Wood, emerging at the Porte Maillot. It was an entertaining round, but Charley sat through it in dreamy si- lence, smoking innumerable cigars and drinking his glass of beer at the Cascade in blissful ignorance of its inferiority. His preoccupation was not unobserved by his companion, who smiled to himself and re- spectemi it; and it was with a start that Chamley awoke at the gate in the twilight, where they got out and went in to dine fuori le mura. Strolling down the Capucines, later, Charley stopped at one of the pretty flower- shops and or(lered a bouquet forwarded to the Hotel Choisy~ overwhelming the smiling Ceres with a hundred-franc note. "Alan Dieu! merci bica, monsieur! It is a great price. I will do my possible - un grand jali panier dora, with the camellia, the jasmine, les tub6-euses, les flours d'arange. I trust, monsieur, he will he pleased." "By Jove! my nmagtnjlco, there will be a feast in Clichy to-night, and your health drunk a mile deep in great flagons of Bar- delais! Will you comae down to the club? I must look in there a moment." Charley begged off, and sought his quar- ters; lie could brook no distraction from his fond thoughts. The rosy concierge met him in the court with an air of great mys- tery and importance, and slipped a tiny note in his hand, which he took breathlessly, and sped up stairs, madame of the candles smiling after him approvingly. The mis- sive was a crested one, and had come in due state, borne by no less a personage than a livened marvel of silence and discretion; and that was as it should be. Madame was a reader of Dumas, - qui sait? the court itself might have its quota of distressed beauty, as in days of old, and cc cher Man- sicur Vales, - was he not a D'Artagnan? Charley devoured the note with hungry eyes in the solitude of his chamber; it was not a lengthy feast, - "The good Hercules will have affaires, sans doute, to-morrow, at three!" was all it said, and an airy "N" was its signature. It need scarcely ha~e puzzled our Cliarley; the obscurity of lovers' messages should be as radiant daylight to lovers' eyes, read as they may to the unconcerned. W therefore, then, did the youth read it a score of times? wherefore, indeed, after putting it away jealously in isis bosom-pocket, and flinging himself upon a sofa to dream sweet dreams, must he needs start upright again, ravish it from its hiding-place, and read it half a score times more? The gentle, sympa- thetic reader can solve the problem perhaps better than I could. When Somers came in later, he found the youth stretched out in luxurious aban- don on the sofa, encase(l in a crimson dress- ing.gown, an~l fairly floating in smoke; the effect by gaslight was highly dramatic. "Diable des ~Etnas! how you sons of freedom do smoke!" cried Somers, divest- ing himself of his coat, and regarding Charley with serious eyes; "your daily portion of tobacco would shake me up, Charley, and I 'm no chicken. I must look after you, you know, - vans voila garde'!" The speaker busied himself the while at the sideboard, which particular feature of their mae'image, he had taken good care to have a model of its kind. He got out glasses and water and a mystic caraft, small in size but ominous in appearance, from which he poured a clear, greenish liquor into the two goblets, and by gradual and regulated additions of water transformed the whole into a milky, misty niixture that curled and wreathed itself like the genii- smoke. Charley watched the process with lazy eyes, and thought of Joe Jefferson "~mixing cobblers" at Laura's Keene's be- fore "Schneider" was "mein tog" by a handful of years. "What the deuce is that?" he asked. "The undiscovered elixir, my boy, what the good people scold a~, and what the Frenchmen, who know no medium, make a poison of; but for men of discretion and sense like you and me, ~ho can use it with intelligence, veritable drops from Hehe's cup. Drink, and be happy. Seriously, it is what you need after all that nicotine; you shall sleep like a babe and dream of angels after it." a ~iAL. 65 ~ want to be angel,"' sang Chancy, cry, and long-drawn, unmusical renderings with a laugh, as he took the profli~red glass; of" Frais- s-es!" "Des bonnes cer-z- "abszatlte, is n't it ?" ses!" and twenty other garden products, "The same, an(l the best-abused blessing filled the outer air with uproar. 11e peeped of the age; there 's not its equal in the into Somers's apartment just when that pharmacopo~ia for the balmy refreshment worthy, whose agreeable slumbers had been of body and brain. It '5 a spiritual draught, disturbed by a ray of encroaching sunlight the dew of sleep; and 'no coma,' as they falling athwart his nose, was helplessly eon- say in the schools." sidering the discouraging distance that in- Mr. Somers continued this amiable strain, tervened between the window-curtain and while Chancy sipped the drug, and undei' his bed. Somers regarded the young man its subtle influence warmed into a rather in sleepy astonishment. unwanted flow of words. He had kept his "Eli! what? I say, you 'ye made a mis- counsel so well, that afternoon, that the take! I ought to have told you that when weakness was rather lamentable; but then you hear those infernal women shrieking absinthe is a wonderful "refreshment," as outside, it is time for honest people to be Mr. Somers had remarked, but as Charley asleep. Just draw that curtain together, had not fully understood. The gentlemen that 's a good fellow, and go back to bed." shared a free interchange of ideas after the Whereupon he rolled over like an earth- evening's indulgence. Charley was enthu- quake in miniature, and presented an cx- siastic and confidential, and his friend pause of back that Atlas might have envied. smiling and sympathetic; but when the Charley went back and rang for his cof~ latter, with a touch of diplomacy that fee, tried a temporary siesta on his loungO smacked little of absinthe, made some cau- without success, and finally took to pacing tious casts of his own, and endeavored to his room. He seemed quite unsettled~ lead the conversation in the region of cer- whether because there is "coma" after ab.- tam anterior events, the younger suddenly sinthe, or because other disturbing inflim- put a check on his tongue, and went off ences were at work upon him. Somers incontinently to bed. The fact was, Mr. heard the nervous tramp, and was niore Somers labored at a distressing disadvan- distressed by it than he had been by the tage with certain disconnected theories intrusive sunshine, for he wheeled up in respecting his friend Mr. Wales in Paris, his bed, and listened. and his friend Mr. Huntley in New York, "That won't do! why could n't the and was possessed with an almost inordi- youngster sleep?" And he glanced down nate desire to be more fully enlightened on along the inviting lines of his couch re- the subject of their rather singular connec- gretfully as he spoke. Five minutes later tion. He was obliged, however, to make he came into Charley's room in a grotesque the best of his knowledge, meagre as it was, demi - toilet, and dropped on the lounge having, in legal phrase, "taken nothing by with a woebegone countenance that sent his motion," made under cover of absinthe, the young man into a roar. "0, you may and he did so philosophically. So little laugh, you sleepless prodigy, but it 's no affected was he by the potation from the joke to a man of my years and complexion mysterious carafe, that he filled his vener~ to have these rare hours of morning rest ble and gigantic meerschaum, which seemed made hideous by a hot sun, and roaring to have been made to "match" its pro- huckster-women, and pastoral youths who prietor, and puffed it industriously for more rise with the lark. XVhy, it's the last glass than an hour over the construction of a letter ip the bottle, this dreamy matinal time, rich to "My dear Dick." He did not close the with the 'bee's wino' of 'pence on earth epistle at the time, but added a last para- and good-will to inca,' to nous autres who' graph to the effect that certain events have solved the problem of existence, and would probably "eclaler to-morrow," and know that we may enjoy it only by forget- that he should "chronicle the denouement ting it! Comet up the coffee, par esemple 7 '~ with the complacent satisfaction of the "It do," responded Charley, who had faithful servant who had executed his orders nothing for it now but to sit convtmlsed with neatness and despatch!" while Somers rattled on in a vein of more "Devilish little I had to do with it!" than usual extravagance. If, as perhaps exclaimed the rather tired gentleman with the sympathetic Somers suspected, there a yawn, as he put the written sheets away; led been shadows chasing each other "tent rnieux! if Huntley's turn is served, through Charley's awakening dreams when and he does the handsome as he knows how "with the morning" had come "the light," to do. Va le coucher! gentle Edward, they were pretty effectually dissipated, as smiling Fortune attends thee still I" Somers intended they should be, over that Charley was stirring at a small hour in hilarious cup of coffee. the morning; the early world of peripatetic "I have a line from Vasour," he said to commerce was abroad in the streets in full Chancy, when, somewhat later, he appeared 9 page: 66-67[View Page 66-67] 66 CHOISY. in street dress, "begging us to breakfast with him at Carroza's. You are agreeable, I suppose; he will feel slighted if we neglect him.'' "I don't knoW," began Chancy, dubious- ly, and looking at his watch; a habit which had become chronic this particular morn- ing. "0, it 's quite informal; you '11 be free by two o'clock at the latest; that will an- swer for your engigeinent, will it not? You told me that you had one last night, you know." "I believe I did," said Charley, in a vexed tone, "and all my fimmily history in addition. I hope you found it entertaining! As you love iiie, old fellow, don't ask mae to drink any more of that poison; my sleep af-. ter it was a sequence of painful interviews with the whole line of my ancestors !" " Va doncl it was the turbot at the Porte Maillot; I told you not to eat it. It amuses me to hear you fellows from the other side rail at our tune-honored conipounds after your lmomiie-schooling on - what do you call it? 'Bourbon wlihkey!' Thirne! I had some once, disguised with mint and bitter almond and called a 'julep'; it was at Peter's with a party of' your compatriots. What a head I had after it, to say nothing of my organs! Do you call it 'Bourbon' because of its murderous qualities?" "Question de qoflt!" laughed Charley; "but I should ht~rdly have thought you so susceptible." "Helus, arni ~ moi, you may say 'suscep- tibility, thy name is Somers,' in general ap- plication to all the alluring fuiblesses which assail ,oun frail mortality! But en route! we shall not be any too pronipt at the Pahais Royal." When Charley, punctual to the moment, as may be imagined, presented himself at the Baronne's, he was received with marked empressement by a venerable gentleman in house livery, who returned to him in the drawing-room after delivering his card, and begged that monsieur would follow him up ~stairs. It was only to what in French par- lance is the "first story"; the ls6tel did not boast an entresol, and the Baronne herself met him at the stair landing and ushered .him into the broad doors of an upper salon. "Ban jour! Mr. Wales, you will pardon, me for receiving you suns fufon, anti in the me'nugerie- Va-I-en!. Tutu,- rne'cluunt cliien! - but I am really not myself to-day, and the drawing-rootn is such a Saba~'a 1" Neither the rn~nugerie nor the mistress thereof called fun apology, he thought, as he followed her with a 'beating heart; the first was a little heaven of luxurious ap- pointments, and the latter in a dress of snowy muslin turned up at the wni4s with long, pointed cuffs, and down at the neck with a wide sailor-boy collar, was too charming for criticism. It was an odd cos- tume, odd for her in its girlish simplicity, and she had laughed gayly that morning as she buttoned on her cuiTh before time mirror at the petite pensioonaire, and grown sud- denly sober, afterwards, to see how little changed in all the years was time Nina tl'Alencourt of' Madame Gaspard's. Ah, the subtlety of a wolimami's dress ! Nina had not paused to definee the impulse which gov- erned her choice that day, anti sent hen back to the winsome school-girl, all inno- cence and momnanee ~mnd tlrcamns, of' six years agone. If it had seemed to her something of' a disguise, she overshot mIme mark, for it pleased without blinding time e~ es for which it was intentled. A trace only of the regal woman of the opera appeared where the cuff clasped time wrist an(l where the wide collar dipped in front anti showed a little chain, circling tIme full thin-oat like a thread of gold, and supporting some treasured talis- man on her heart (lie wondered with a little jealous spasm what it might he) ; but he saw the " form wimhiimi " alt the sanme the smooth, bare shoulders and the snowy neck and breast with its burden of flashing jewels, as he had seen it that night in lien box at the Itahien; and it was thins he should even remember hem-, cs in soiiie one dress more than any other we all recall the wo- mmmcmi wimo have mimarked our lives, lie was wonderfully pleased with lien, though in this guise; he had never felt so little g&me' by her superb beauty; and as she tumbled the unhappy Tutu on his back in lien pretty childish impatience, and flashed lien white foot before his eyes, encased but uncovered in the how-cut graceful slipper of the day, the impulse was strong within him to catch hen up hike a child amid toss her to his lips. But he only looked sympathetic, and was "desolated" to learn she was "not her- self." 0, 1 'm not ill," she said, petulantly, and then paused to add in a hmalf~mnelan- chohy tone, "though I often wish I might be, just fbr time change. I am glad yomm came. I want sonme one to talk to death this afternoon, some one sympathizing amid good as I think you are. Do you mind lie- ing talked to death?" "By you? Life has no charm beside such a fate, madatrie!" cried Charley, gal- lantly, though with too much feeling for a gallant. "Ah! Mr. Wales, you, too, speak the language of the world when you like. If I measured you by that speech I would not have you in my sanetmun to-day. Venez! you must sit there in that little fauteuil, and I shall sit here where I can st e in those hig eyes if you are time true knight suns peur ~em suns ~'eprocke that I have thought you to be." 66 CHOISY. it 4 it it it 67 A little puzzled but very happy, Charley "Paut're lwmme!" laughed Chancy; did as he was bid, and lowered himself as "eveii he, wrapt up in the gloomy sciences, gracefully as he c~u1d into the fauteu ii; he could not resist you!" found it the essence of comfort too, though She did not join the laugh, and he fal- the Baronne laughed gayly at his temporary tered again beneath the steady gaze. "Now embarrassment with his legs, as she fell into I wish to know what ~ou have been doing the soft corner of a canape' opposite and ever since you came to Paris, one, two, leaned back lazily facing him with merry five days ago, under the guidance of Her- eyes. "Now you are studying a position! cules. He is a naughty man, is her- I won't have it! I want nothing but lion- cules; he belongs to my world, and all the esty from you this afternoon, monsieur, people in my world are wicked, you know." even to the pose of those pretty boots !" There was no penetrating this sphinx, Charley joined in the contagious laugh beautiful and irresistible as that of' Heine's and submitted bravely to the situatioii, fhncy. Cliarhey was alniost embamiassed, stretching huis legs straight out with a lazy and not particularly comfortable, but h~ grace. lie had been a little bewildered, sought refuge iii a lively description of his but lie recovered niiraculously under the brief pilgrimage in Lutetia, and she encour- undefinable charm of her gay familiarity; aged him with, smiles and little sparkling lie had wit enough even to weigh her last bits of' laughter, and lie did very well indeed. words, and form the instant deterniination to " And have you told inc all, monsieur?" be "honest" as she asked. Poor Charley! she asked, sharply, when he caine to an end. it was the unconscious strategy of innocence; "Quite, I think, and a very stupid his- he would hardly have held his own on any tom:y it must have been for von." other ground. The honesty of' the fr~ink brown eyes "There, madame, I niake myself' com- was not to he doubtful even by the woman fortable at the expense of grace. It is your who was putting this man's soul to every command. I did n't think I was so long, test in her power, and judging him with though," he said, ruefully. every critical I'aculty of her being strained "Are you?" she asked, ~bsently; but to the task. her eyes took in the halfZrecumbent figure "Of course it is stupid when I find my- as she spoke. Then they returned to his self the ruling genius of it!" she sai(1, mima- face rather seriously. "I am glad you lieioim~ly; "there was iso expense of' compli- caine," she said, repeating her words; "1 ment in that; and what will you do, pray, scarcely believed you would." when I go away?" "Could you tloubt it?" said he, ear- He looked~tip~quickly with a hot suro'e of' nestly. blood to his cheeks; but lie met only ~'cohd "0 yes, easily, very mueh." and rather cynical gaze, and the surge re- "I cannot think why you should. I am tired. lie grew restless then - he would happy, more happy than I dare to say, to be irritated in a moment - amid said, coolly have come to be here now." enough, " Upon my word, I had not It was hard to meet lien steady, serious, thought of it; I had hoped -" unfathomable gaze and rhapsodize, and he "And Paris is one vast resource, n'est ce faltered before it. pus?" she laughed, harshly. "You will for- "And notre Ilercule, where rides he the get me in an hour, -. properly circum- whilst?" she asked. staneed, in a tithe of that time; and why "Indeed, I hardly know. I left him with n(Jt? Why did you come today to see me, a learned gentleman from the Quartier, an Mr. Wales?" £sculapius who seems in great odor with He was stunned, but found words to our noble Olympian." reply, "You asked it." "Ah yes, I know; Monsieur Vasour, was "AIm yes! so I did. I fancied, absurdly not? a horrid man who smells of the enough, that you were not like all these lamp," said Nina with a grimace. nien who come here; but you are just the "But a very clever one, I should think; same." he quite dazzles me. One feels like a The soft melancholy with which they Promethean vehicle in the master pres- were uttered could not cover the injury of ence -" these words. Charley rose quickly. Poor fel- Her laugh stopped him, and made him un- low! how easy she found it to play with him! comfortable. "Madame Ia Banonne l I can only re- "You poor boy I Do you know, your gret -" Prometheus went once to attend an ahing "There! you bad child! you promised nymph? The first time he was gran'l and to be good and endure, and you fly in a serene ; the second, he smiled; the third -" rage! Sit again, vile! Je vous en corn- "Oh! the nymph had got well again, He sat down silently again, but with a and would n't see him." ruffled brow. She waited till she caught page: 68-69[View Page 68-69] duolsy. his eye, and then held it like a magnet with her own, earnest, softened, almost tearful. "You were very quick to resent my words, Mr. Wales," she said, sadly, in Eng- lish, "and they were those of a poor, fool- ish wpman to a strong man. Have you an idea, I wonder, of what words 1 have had to listen to and smile, and bear my humilia- tion, here, under my own roof, thousands, I had almost said millions, of times?" Charley looked at her with a great throb of remorse; lie tried to say something, but succeeded only in uttering a word, "Ma- dame-" "I wonder also," she continued in the same weary tone, "if you have any concep- tion of the lives we lead, - for I am only one of a class, Mr. Wales, - of the life I have led, must lead to the hitter end ~?" She paused then, and Charley said, hum- bly, "I know little of Continental life, ma- dame, - nothing, you may say; but what you tell me seems incredible. In our coun- try it could not be. May I ask your pardon for my haste?" "You good child! Did you suppose I cared for it?" She was leaning her face on her hand now, and looking at him with a sweet sadness. "In your country all is free and beautiful, and a woman's burdens, if burdens they be, are of her own choosing. Do your women appreciate their condition, Mr. XValcs ? ". He smiled at the thoughts the question suggested. "Ah! you smile, and I read your thought; but would they change their state for ours? I think not, though I have known some of your fair countrywomen to come here and make marriages, which is droll." She shrugged her shoulders at the idea, and there was a little pause. "You have never heard, you know nothing of my life, Mr. Wales?" The question was rather direct, and he was confused by the reflection how little he did know. "Nothing, madame; I have no acquaint- ance, no opportunities; I am here since so short a time," he stammered, and then took courage and added quickly, "why need I, madame? I know that you are beautiful and good, very good to me, and I -" "You would die for me, would you not?" she put in mischievously, but with a glow on her face that his sudden show of feeling had called up. He saw the last and ig- nored the tone. "There may be that iti life which would make death dearer than life." "And that which would make life more terrible than death," she responded, in a tone as full of feeling as his own. "1 have known that; some day when we are the very, very good friends I hope we may be, 69 I shall tell you about my life, and you will pity me, perhaps, and like me none the less because I am less good than you had be- lieved. I have never had a friend, Mr. Wales, in all my life, - scores in name, but none in deed, - though poor Hercules would weep to hear me say it. You know what I mean?" "I can fancy it; a friend is rarer than the world allows. I have but one. He will he blessed indeed who shall claim the name from you." "I shall he blessed in finding him. Tell me, - I have never thought to ask you, how old are you, Mr. Wales Y" Vingi-sept," laughed Charley. "'Rouge, impair, a passe,'" she laughed back to his uncomprehending ears. "I did not think you so old. Tenez! I should be as- tonished when I think of it. Why, I am embarrassed, Mr. Wales; I thought you were mimy junior!" "If 1 might hope it would give me a grace in your eyes - Ah! madame," he ad (led, catching her sudden gayety, "let it not be remembered against me; I was happier to be-" "'The good child,' n'est ce paz?" she said as he hesitated. "Enfant! No, Mr. ~Vales, - and there 's a lesson for you, - no wo- man ever gave her heart entirely to a youn- ger than herself~" A sweet lesson and an apt scholar. "Then shall I assume my new powers," cried Charley, blazing at her with his Isuob- ino~ e ~b as . b ~ yes, your reverend senior "No, no! I won't be ruled. Don't at- tempt it!" she cried back; "I am untam- able, Mr. Wales." " .1 think not." " ('jell how cool he is! How should I be tamed, monsieur?" How indeed! the question took a myriad forms in lip and eye and gesture. "By a tender hand, as nature's fiercest spirits are. Omme need only not to be afraid of you." "Mon Dieu! You are unmasking, Mr. Wales; and are you not afraid?" He did not look like it certainly, with the smiling lips and the bright gleam in his eyes. He had gathered up Tutu and won the coy friendship of that minute bit of ani- mation with his "tender hands," doing which he neglected to respond to the Ba- ronne's question. "1 asked you if you were not afraid?" she repeated with a little wondering at her heart. "No! Iwas; I am so no longer." "And why?" "Because," he said quickly, dropping Tutu and turning to her, "it is I who am to be your friend." For a moment they looked silently at 4 4 4 4 4 'I each other, he with a rapt, almost exalted face, and she with wide-opened eyes am lips parted in a smile that had died at it: birth into something like pain. A threat held them apart at that moment - a little invisible thread that must break in another instant. Bnt she drew back before it parted. Nol yet, not yet! it was so sweet. "Grace, Monsieur le dompteur, it is I whc am afraid!" she cried with a laugh, and ris* ing as she spoke. "Are you a musician, Mr. Wales? Of course you are; music it essential to your system of soothing the savage heart." "I am no musician, madame, though I can play a little and sing a little," he an- swered, indolently. There was a little chill of disappointment in his tone that was not lost on her. "Ban! you shall both play and sing for me all the days when I wish it; n'est cc paz, mon ami?" "Ah yes! if you should ever wish it." There was no chill in his tones now. "I do wi4i it, even now," she cried. She had tripped across the salon and thrown open a little gem of a piano as she spoke, and now she came back to him, where he still sat watching her movements, and caught him by the arm, like an impulsive child that would not be denied. "Came, how delightful it is! No one ever plays for me that is, not as I care to hear. I am sure you will." Charley laughed happily and obeyed. He ran over some rambling snatches of Mendelssohn with the rare expression which was his peculiar gift, while Nina leaned on the instrument and watched him with spark- ling eyes. She worshipped music, and made it almost her key-note of character; and the firm but soft touch of the young man, modulated to the ordinary force of a woman's hand, but eloquent of concealed strength, was all her heart craved in him. "How beautiful I" she murmured, when he came to a pause, - meaning his music, probably, but looking at him. "And now, & vous!" he said, rising. She looked at him silently, as if she had not heard the request. "Do sing something for me," he pleaded, coming around to her. Some scattered sheets of music lay upon the piano, and he took them mechanically, waiting for her to wake from her revery. One of them caught his attention; a rough crayon-sketch of a head had been traced on it, and he turned to catch the light upon it. It was early twilight, or near it, and the room was dark- ening. He recognized himself, and turned to her with a quick impulse. She had awakened now, and was smiling and blush- ing all at once. I "Fi I give it to me," she cried, and made I a little snatch at it, which simply resulted in his catching her hand and holding it I very tight. "There / you asked me to sing for you," she said, turning her head away, and tug- ging feebly fur freedom. He released her at once. "Please do," he said. She sat down and sang some brief, sweet romance he had never heard, - sang it so soft and low he could only gather a few words of its meaning; but the perfect music thrilled him to the soul. He begged a repe- tition, but she rose when she had finished. "No; some other time. You sing 'An- nie Laurie,' don't you? Please sing it for me. I was once in an English school here, you know. Ah, how happy I was then! and I had a darling friend who sang it so sweetly. Sing it you, and I will go to my corner and be so exquisitely sad I" It was one of the few songs he sang well, had sung all his life, and it might have brought "exquisite sadness" to the tra- ditional man of stone to hear him on this occasion. When he concluded there was perfect silence in the room. He could not see the Baronne from his seat, and he crossed over to the canape He found her with her head buried in the cushions, sobbing convulsively. A deep, immeasurable pity for the wearied, unsatisfied woman of the world welled up in his heart, and for the moment vanquished every other feeling. He went down upon his knees, and sought her hands and kissed them tenderly with the few words he could trust himself to speak. Her hands clasped his in turn, and pressed them on her heart, as if to still the tumult there; but she did not lift her head or speak, until he had leaned over and with his lips touched her temple where it met the cushion. She shiv- ered at the touch, and drew herself away. There had been no mockery in her emotion, for she was very pale, and the eyes that met his were streaming with tears. He would have kissed these away, but she re- pulsed him gently. Once she faltered, and he caught her to him for an instant, but she struggled from his arms in the next. "No, no!" she cried, and her voice was like a wail in his ears; "pity me! pity me, and leave me!" As she spoke, her cold, clinging fingers twisted themselves from his own, and he arose without a word, gave the hands a last kiss, and moved away. His tears half blinded him, and he paused before he reached the door to clear his eyes. He heard his name uttered clear and strong, and with an almost hysterical tenderness, and turning he saw her risen from her seat upon her trembling limbs, with arms out- page: 70-71[View Page 70-71] 70 CHTOISY. stretched towards him, and the pale face drawn with an agony of feeling. In an- other moment she was sobbing on his breast, moaning low, unintelligible words, while her hands wandered nervously in his hair. Then she crept tip to his lips with her own, cold and trembling as a frightened child's. Ex- cept those of her dead father, they had touched no other man's in all her lifb. And the rarest words that ever pass a French- woman's lips c~ame in a whisper to him, "Mon Charles, h moi I Je t'aime I" CHAPTER XI. A MESSAGJi FOR AMERICA. THERE are certain divisional periods in his work where the veracious historian is per- initted by ancient custom to pause; and while he generously enables the absorbed reader to draw breath after a series of thrilling events, to stretch the limbs and adjust the chair- cushion, and light a fresh cigar, he does something of' the kind himself; and in the interval of the acts goes rapidly back over the ground lie has passed, and gathers the scattered threads of his narrative well in hand before procee~ling. And at this point it is asking no more than the time-honored privilege of the old Chorus to beg the reader's indulgence for a little speech. Does any one cry "Speech"? Perhaps not; but strengthened by entertaining remi- niscences of the Speaker's Gallery and 'Scotch dinner-parties, I encourage myself' with time example of those good souls who will speak, to whom speech is not to be denied, and mount my stump. If it unhap- pily shall be judged that I have hurried my hero too rapidly from point to point in a career that savors somewhat of the descen- .sus A verno in the nostrils of the righteous, I have told the tale badly, and failed in an honest endeavor to give some redeeming color to the fatalities which dogged our Charley's path. it was certainly my hope to divest them in a measure of their sinful and irregular character, since, bad as they may be, they are but the precursors of worse. Having failed in this, as the ominous silence of my respected audience leads me only too surely to believe, I am impelled to express my regrets, as well as to insure my con- science by the addition of something like a warning. I regret, then, for a certain por- tion of my hearers, that my story is not one of peaceful scenes and virtuous deeds; that my hero must needs fall lamentably short in those high and peculiar qualities which could endear him to their hearts, or even render him tolerable in their eyes; and that my little stock of incidents and the several characters who figure therein are probably too thoroughly of the earth earthy to meet their lofty requirements. And let me be saved from any subsequent imputation of leading any spotless feet into the mire Un- warned. I have intimated that the course of this history, like the course of most his- tory, tends from bad to worse. Therefore, withdraw all ye who would avoid the dan- gerous exposure with dignity and prudence. I bow to your superior views of' life in all humility. 1 weep that all the world is not so good as you, and I lower my eyes, inno- cent of resentment, before the cold condem- nation of your glances as you pass out. To the few who remain I turn with a lighter heart. I am relieved, and I may even venture a smile of sympathy as I re- sume my story; and if, in my covert study of tIme upturned faces bef'ure me, I shall de- tect here and there one lighted by gleams of kindly interest that tell me I have awak- ened the hearer's emotions, and that I may end by soothing a bitter memory and giving courage to struggling resolves, 1 shall be richly rewarded, and strengthened in my trust that it is from the lives of feeble men and women like ourselves, who, through much error, have fought their way to truth, rather than from the records of unblem- ished saints, that we may draw our hope and consolation in a life hedged round with peills and mishaps. It was the afternoon of a burning August day at Paris, just two months after the events recorded in the last chapter; one of those fearful days when the asphalt scorches one's boots, and the yellow house- walls reflect a white beat upon tIme streets; when the industrious shower of tIme water- carts is repelled in a mist of steam, and the few loiterers on the Boulevards hug the southern wall, and even the impervious cochers seek the interiors of their cabs or abandon the same for the nearest eslarninet, to groan and sweat over en(lless but inef- fectual hocks of icy beer. The Gardens of the Tuileries, the Champs Monceaux, amid even the little crescent o C green at the new - Church of the Trinity, are tIme refuge of per- spiring thousands, who linger in the grateful shade, but with the inextinguishable vivacity of their race defeat its kindly service by lively gossip and restless movement. Out in the Bois, one finds whole lines of deserted carriages along the shaded drives, with their sleepy Jehus watching them from under adjacent trees, while stray peals of laughter from hidd~ii corners of the tangled foliage tell of the wandering occupants. At Neeser's, an pxmy of half-melted gar~ons struggles against nature in furnishing the brewage of Munich to another army of suffering consumers; and in Rue Scribe one may see at intervals some adventurous A MESSAGE FOR AMERICA. 71 American, fortified by an experience of pause; it contains the single mystic injunc- boiling thermometers in the home-land, tion to "keep the kid on," together with a braving the scorched and shadeless path to statement which has roused all the enthu- Thorpe's and iced champagne. siasin of our pilgrim to Trouvihle, namely, There is, nevertheless, a certain activity that the, writer has caused a credit to be prevailing in all the heated thoroughfares; it placed to Monsieur Somers's account at bespeaks a widespread movement among a Bowles's, which it is hoped will prove ac- large class; and in remarking that its main ceptable, and be used to advantage in the features are baggage-laden cabs, wheeling execution of' plans in which the writer and towards the various railway termini, and per- the recipient are "mutually interested." spring gentlemen who, bag in hand, pursue There could be no doubt that~ the credit the same routes by omnibus and panier, we was" acceptable." Financial windfalls were are led to conclude that this general stir is as grateful to Mr. Somers as to his fellow- bred of a sudden attack of the out-of-town men; for, though Dame Fortune was not epidemic. The explanation is sufficiently ap- especially ungracious to him in the matter parent in the Champs Elys6es, where ahostof of supplies, there were times when the busy workmen are training long lines of tri- horizon of his affairs was specked with colored lanterns along the walks, and uniting clouds, when the baronet-brother, who fur- the Plane de la Concorde to the Arch of wished a fair stipend on rigid conditions, Triumph by a glittering cordon of holi- would ruffle his brows at some trifling in- day insignia. It is, in fact, the 14th of fringement of the same, and put on the August, and to-morrow Paris, which is screws in a way that was grievously felt France, will go down in the dust to her by the pensioner. On such occasioiis the idol and burn some millions in incense in alarm of' the latter, and his haste to plead the worship of' him who sleeps in splendor an excuse and smooth over the ihult, argued at the Invalides; and, paradoxical as it may the impendency of very grave possibilities. seem, every boi'n Parisian who can contrive It is not necessary to our story to deal with an escape will fly the scene, while a pro- the remote antecedents of Mr. Somers; so vincial multitude will pour in at the gates much of the record as may be essential will front the Midi to the Rhine. comae out in due course, and we are glad to In his shaded apartments on the Male- leave him in the protecting halo of mystery, sherbes, we find the noble Somers deployed which garb carries so very many of us safe upon a sofa, tIme insufficient proportions of an(l unquestioned' through the world. As which are pieced out by a convenient chair, we know him, and as the world goes, Ned smoking a meditative cigar in such de'shabille Somers was not entirely a bad fellow. as only the privacy of his chamber could Practically destitute of the abstraction excuse. There is a disorder in his room, which we call a conscience lie was, and and signs of pillage in the opened wardrobe little influenced by any considerations in and the scattered drawers of his bureau, life beyond his individual welfare and the while a chaos of personal effects is strewn, ways and means thereof, there was yet no as only the bachelor-hand may strew them, poAtive element of evil in the man, beyond upon tIme floor, the bed, and the halfscore the passive acquiescence of those natures ot' chairs. In the mni(ldle distance a pleth- which flourish on the neutral ground of one portmsnteau, crammed to its utmost mom-al ideas. The evil of their (hoing is a capacity, and promising a trial of strength question for the phihosophems; given a to the hand that shall close it, tells the tale, favorable conjuncture ofr'ircumstanccs, Som- - Mr. Somers also is going out of town. ~ers would go through life and do no man a lie is going down to Trouville, - grace- wrong; pushed by opposite influences, he less, jolly, overflowing Trouville, ~t cote' de would have sacrificed much in jealous la mer, where their wear a nightcap in the regard of self, and felt himself justified pos- daytime, which is primitive 'and emblematic sibly in so doing. The world is full of such of repose, and bathe e~ travestie, as they men; indeed, when possessed of a certain dance four ihouths later ~at the opera-balls, executive force, they are the most success- He is possessed with all the pleasures of f'ul men. What we succeed partially in anticipation, as he lies there and blow expressing in the terni nobility is the anti- indolent clouds of smoke; he knows Trou- thesis of his character, and thus his char- ville of old, and he is known of Trouville, acter is best described. and a thousand agreeable, enticing memo- Somers was conscious of being accessory ries rally at the name and glow in his heart to an underhand scheme of Richard Hunt- with genial warmth. Nor is this engaging ley's against young Wales. Circunistances prospect the only stimulus to his great in no great measure controlled by him had self satisfaction~ at this time. He holds lent their inexorable aid, and to an extent in his hand a letter received that morn- relieved him from action in the matter; ing by foreign mail; it is a letter of congrat- but he had originally accepted the commis- ulation, of commendation, I may say ap- sion, and rejoiced now in payment for the page: 72-73[View Page 72-73] 72 CHOISY. same. In all this he found matter for much self-congratulation; but it should be said in his favor, that he did have a little sympa- thetic twinge for Charley; he "liked the boy," and wondered, with a spark of regret, why he could not have been "one of another sort." "Huntley means his ruin, and what Runtley means to do he does. I 'm sorry; I wish lie had left me out ofit; it's fishy!" But the fine Anglo-Parisian did not per- mit this single disturbing thought to mar the felicity of the moment. In the form employed by deliberative bodies his medi- tations might have been summed up thus - Whereas, the said Charles is a victim to certain mysterious combinations of the said Huntley, and is therefore entitled to com- miseration by reason of his many excellent and attractive qualities; and, Whereas, the said Huntley is a devilish clever and altogether formidable fellow, whose orders are in no respect to be ques- tioned, and who, moreover, is not ungener- ous in his recognition of services rendered; and, Whereas, the said Somers is infernally lucky to have served the one without hay- ma actually wrought injury to the other; 'ileit resolved, that Trouville-sur-Mer offers at this moment a harbor of exceeding peace to the said Somers, to which, at this auspicious juncture of his affairs, it is voted that he shall without delay proceed, to en- joy a fitting respite from his labors in town. The simple fact was, that while Somers really felt a strong liking for Charley, he felt a stronger fear of Huntley; and there is no choice in life between the master one {ears and the master one likes. Diaposing of the final details of his prep- aration, Somers strolled around to the bank- er's, where he found some letters for Char- hey, which he brought away. He had done the same with exemplary regularity for two months, and forwarded the missives from various conycuient stations of the post, but never from the bank, where the question of Mr. Wales's whereabouts was one of no little mystery. This day he returned to his apartments and made a neat packet of the letters, elevating his eyebrows slightly as he noted the feminine character of their superscriptions. This packet he addressed to adittle-known Swiss village, -one of that vast colony of chalet-clusters where a sum- mer world hides its sins, - described in modern vernacular as "a small hamlet of Vaud, mule snetres de kauteur," and possess- ing the varied advantages of magnificent view, pure air, grape-cure, and cure of milk, courses de montagnes et prix mod6'e's. He smiled to himself oyer the task, and sang, softly, "Zwei Seelen und em f3edanke, Zwei Herien und cm Schiag." After which he gave the packet to the con- cierge to post, and bidding that amiable but desolated female an impressive farewell, bestowed himself forthwith in a cab, with his impedimenta, and drove gayly to St. Lazare. Not many hours later he descend- ed at the Arm of Gold, and there was joy among the nymphs of ocean, by whom the "Hercules" of Nina Choisy was gayly des- lo-nated Pare Neptune"; and in their de- lightful keeping we will leave him. The world gossiped, as it gossips ever, in the long, idle, summer days, and the invisi- ble agencies which bring in the supplies furnished more than one mysterious whis- per about the Baronne Choisy. Some Paris friends, bound to Switzerland and pausing at Lyons, discovered the fact of her absence from the chateau, and sent the news hack to Paris as a bonne boucke for the stay-at- homes; and from that point the wonder grew, and grew the more rapidly because there was no clew to her whereabouts. Somers, cornered at the club, denied the fact; driven from that, he confessed un- bounded surprise and utter ignorance; and so the busy bees, left to their devices, searched Europe for the lovely Nina, and, finding her nowhere, established her every- where, in one place after another, and sometimes in several at once. Then there came a lull, and the false oracles, warned by instinct, were silent as tombs. Some gallant club-men, afflicted with the Alpine mania of clog-soles and empty knapsacks, stumbkd upon the miss- ing divinity among the lower hills. They were unambitious climbers, and shunned Chamounix and St. Gothard for the Or- monts and cheap roulette at Saxon; hence their falling into sequestered paths. ~7hey came back to Paris, and, like discreet Frenchmen, retained their discovery until they had dined; before they dined again, it was known from the Tuileries to the Faubourg Poissonninre that the dashing queen of the Avenue de ha Rcine Hortcnse was (tout bas!) en liaison, sais-tu, avec ce jeune Americain de les grand yeax bruns! "Enfin!" cried the united Jockey Club; and with the afterthought it looked at itself in the glass, twirled its mustache, and said, under its breath, " Comment diable!" Mr. Cheerful Scribbler, Paris correspond- ent of the New York Evening Tattler, was duly electrified by this bit of scan. meg., as it came in fragments to hi~ ears in the rattle of table-talk at the Cafh Anglais. He made hurried notes of the ease, which he subsequently elaborated at his aerial nest in the Rue des Martyrs; and thus it came to pass that in tl:e waning summer days a widely copied item of choice "for- eign gossip" went the rounds of the Amer- MR. HUNTLEY'S PROGRESS. '73 jean press, having first seen the light in the I beg your pardon; but out yonder, as you chatty columns of the enterprising journal will admit, there was method in all the above mentioned. I quote so much of it as madness, -a legend in the tumult and fury serves our purpose. of the stage, which one might read and "All Paris," it said, -" and 'all Paris' comprehend. But what to gather from such at this out-of-town season is a comprehensive chaos as this? I see no class, no right of term which takes in Baden and Spa, Hom- place; I see nothing, monsieur, but a mad bourg, Biarritz, gay Vichy, and Switzerland whirl of social life, without distinctions and entire, - is in a flutter of excitement over a free from barriers, where there seems great fresh development of 'scandal in high life,' danger for all, and protection for none. which has more than ordinary piquancy. Mon Dieu! mon ami, it is worse than Paris; These little events in France have the pleas- it is la Commune diabolically perfected! ing quality of arousing a gentle and sympa- Softly, my friend; do not give our strug- thetic interest, without in any degree dam- gling civilization so hard a name; it is aging the characters of what we may call younger, by some thousands of years, than the 'contracting parties'; au contraire, the yours, and in time we hope for better things. distinction rather elevates them in the gen- You ha upon a peculiar era of evolu- eral esteem, gives them a certain attractive tion; the star of ancestral pride had no renommc'e in the social world, and wins the title to its place in our skies, and has re- high approval of the scarred magnates cently fallen, and Nouveau Riche is the thereof. In this instance, however, the genius of the hour. The homage of name ease will possess unusual interest for your and line died when legal-tender was born, readers, since, while the fair enchantress is and Mrs. Van Anything, with a clear ha- the beautiful Baroness Ch-y, whose invin- eage running back to the burgomasters, cible charms have been the talk of Paris must take the wall for Mrs. Paul Potiphar, for several seasons, the favored gentleman and fly the course with all her court as is no other than the only son of a prominent Fortuitous Smith careers like Phaeton on banker of your city, who shall be nameless. his resistless course. It cannot soil the "I will only add that his handsome face glossy black hides of his matchless six-in- is too well known, both in the street and on hand to say that Fortuitous owes his all to the avenue, to have been forgotten in tbe the magic popularity of a nameless com- brief interval of his absence abroad. The pound at a dollar the bottle; there will be sensation here is intense, on account of the fools to buy and knaves to sell when you hirh position of the Baroness and the sin- and I are duet. And why rake the ash- gu~iarity, in Parisian eyes, of her choice in heap to tell me that Mrs. Potiphar's Poti- bestowing her favors on l'Etranger." 1)har began his business.life in the vocation Following in the wake of this pre~ous of grog-mixer to the maritime world of epistle, we will leave the Grande Milk to South Water Street? Times, men, and its August sunshine, its loveliness, and its principles have changed. Progression and sins, and Ide us homeward over the west- aggression are the key-notes of our civiliza- era sea. tion, and we reject the mouldy traditions of the cradle-lands with scorn. With equal- handed recognition of merit and ability, we CHAPTER XII. send our prize-fighters to the legislative MR. EUNTLEY'S PROGRESS. halls, and dismiss the useless veterans of our wars to the starvation byways of for- Cw'um non anzmum mutamus. We come eign lands. There is but one god, and his from Paris, and we are at Newport. There name is Success! Down, down, all ye, has been some marvellous scene-shifting; and worship him! N'importe the hideous and what a cool relief, after those glaring, brute-face, the filth-stained bands, and the sunburnt streets, are these pretty lines of corrupt heart. He glitters with gold; gold cliff, beach, and sea, with ;green trees and to pay and gold to give; and more men smiling cottages beyond! Is 't not a rare, will come at his call than gathered to the sweet scene, my French friend? loaves and fishes by Galilee. Kneel to Cllarmante.! But tell me, these, actors him, follow him, imitate him; give heart whom I see, monsieur, thronging this pretty and soul to the task; heed no cry of nature stage? They are the same. No! true, it or voice of need; be deaf to the tender wo- is another tongue, but the dress, the action, man and the weak old man; the one will the manner, - bak! ces sont les mfmes! smile on you by and by, and the other will We have voyaged in our dreams only; this die, and you must lose no minute in the giddy, feverish play, 't is just as giddy breathless race. Some day, more glitterinct and as feverish as that other across the and golden even than your g9d, you shafi sea. Less sinful? Pcchaps; certainly less push him from his stool, and s~t triumphant smooth. Stay! what, if you know, may in his place. BahI it is but question of be the argument? Me, I am very stupid, decimals; beat. him a head, and the place 10 I page: 74-75[View Page 74-75] 74 CHOISY. is yours; but never dream of happiness so long as he is richer by a dollar than you. And see how here in our Newport - our little allegorico-comic picture of American life - the metal smooths the way! They cut the corners of whist-cards in France and gild them to umake them slip; see how the "bad cards" slip in this pretty deal we are watching! Down the dance goes Beauty with the Beast, and, as I live! Rigolette! and Clytemnnestra! and all because of the gilt! Why do you not join the round? What! Zounds! is the record so bad as that? Never mind, old fellow, are you not gilded? Achilles was not more proof than you! Enter, and he happy! We find the Jennings household, of which Enima lowland is a treasured mem- ber, installed in their cottage on the cliffs, where, indeed, they have passed the sum- mer. The gay world has seen little of Miss Rowland, however, and ~t is whispered that she is broken in health. As we see her this hazy afternoon, sitting with the rose-checked Clare in the shade of the east- ern porch, there would seem to be good real son for the report. The contrast is painful when one turns from the face of her merry friend, glowing and sparkling with life and health, to her own, so wan and colorless in the shade. The slender form, too, is more fragile than we knew it, and the hand which is twining itself in Clare's luxuriant curls is thin, and shows the dark, overlying veins all too plainly. Miss Jennings, with all the old child- manner, sits flat upon the porch, with her pretty head resting on Emma's knee, and her eyes staring blankly out to sea; the whereabouts of her legs - assuming, if we may, that she is possessed of those useful appendages - would best be described as "anywhere." TIme slant rays of the sun are Thlling beyond tIme cliffs upon sea and sail, and the drive is growing lively as fashion gathers to its sunset parade; but the silent girls keep their places, and seem to have no thought of the gay world with- out. Emma is the firbt to wake from her revery. "And Mamma Jennings is then quite decided?" "0 yes! You know she never decides twice, - I mean, she decides once for all; it 's as goo(l as done. And is n't it odd? After tensing her, a whole year to go, now, when it is certain to be, I feel a sort of shock; I think I am a little afraid. Dear me! I'm just like Nethdie; lie cried so hard to be let go to the minstrels, and when he saw their black faces he slid down on the floor and cried harder than ever to be taken home." "Have you lost your old desire to go?" asked Emma, smiling down at the upturned face. "0 dear, no! It is n't that, but I never thought much about the going, you know, and there 's that awful sea! I was fright- ened to death every moment the oIlier day when we were out in the yacht with Mr. Huntley. I shall be just good for nothing, I know, the whole way over. But I am glad, ever so glad! 'Not all 01(1 Neptune's flood,' as that darling Booth says, can wash that out!' And are you riot too ? "I shall enjoy it very much, very much indeed," answered Emma, quietly. In the interval of silence which followed, Clare caught the thin hand in her own and looked up softly. "Have you thought, dear, we might run across that naughty Charley somewhere?" There was the faintest possible flush on Emma's face, but no answering pressure of the hand. "I have thought of it, it seems quite possible. I should be very glad if we might." "'Would it not be nice! But what a lec- ture 1 shall give him. I shall study it up all the way. There 's mamma calling to know if we are going to ride. You don't care to? 1 '11 run and tcll her, an4 come back." Miss Rowland leaned back wearily in her chair, a great, soft wick er-work affair, that seemed to fold her in its arms in con- scious sympathy. The mention of' Charley's name had awakened painful thoughts - thoughts that sometimes slept, but never left her; and her eyes, looking upon the darkened waters, were dim and saw them not. Bravely and hopefully h~d she waited for an answer to liner second letter, written in the winter,- the letter so full of affection and tender words, - the letter in which all that she might write she had written; but it had never conic. ~he could not know that he, the most negligent of correspond- ents at best, had begun a reply to it, be- ginning the work in England, hurriedly completing it in Paris, and ending by toss- ing the epistle into his desk. We know what became of the letter; she never saw it, and it was just as well, perhaps. For months she watched and hoped, invented ingenious excuses for him and accepted them for herself, and fought oft; to the last, the shadow that boded such misery to her; but with the long summer days the hope had died. If she could have heard of him but in(lirecthy, some ~vor(l to tell of his wel- fare and his feelings, if he were well and not unhappy, the burden would not have been so hard to bear; but lie wrote tono one, after that single letter there came no tidings whatever. It was the very worst she MR. HUNTLE] had feared; he seemed utterly blotted from her life. But the patient courage of the woman gave no outward sign of failing; neither the ever-watchful eye of Huntlcy nor the ten- der solicitude of Clare could detect any further eVi(lcuice of the bruised heart in word or manner. To the latter, who waxed wratliful and tempestuous over the non-arri- val of the fhmou~ fasliion.plates, she said, "We ought to remember what a whirl he is in; and you know he always made such a task of a letter." "I don't care!" flashed Miss Chare, "it 's just a shanme, and I shall scold him famously when he comes home with his waxed mustache and Paris airs. I '11 make fun of everything lie says, and ask him if it is true, as Nurse Rollin says, that they eat nothing but frogs there, and cut off heads of a Suiiday in the square for public entertain- ment. 1 wish lie was here this minute !" Something, however, in this inspiring idea seemed to check the young lady's vindictive impulses, for she grew pensive at the thought, and ended by brushing away niore of those truant teirs. What drew them from their source was not quite apparent; but she was very tender to Emma thereafter, and in time they caine to speak very rarely and briefly of the absent one. Mr. IIuntk) bud asked Emma once quite suddenly, "You hear occasionally from your cousin, of course? I am in his black books; he writes me no more." "I have had but one letter from him; he was always a poor correspondent." There was not a tremor in lip or voce, and the heart of Ilumutley was glad. But the woman suffered; her pillow could have told a weary tale of tears, and the brave soul that bore itself patiently before the world faltered and grew faint in the dark- ness ami(1 solitude, and her health failed. This was the uuish)oken thought of all her friends; for, though there was no apparent disease, it needed ormly the comparison of the fadimig girl with her former self to con- vince the observer that she was really ill. She had never been a strong woman, hut from PkYsical delicacy she lapsed into weak- ness. Th~ anxious eye of Mi's. Jennings noted time change, and s'he had ventured once to question Emma very guardedly and carefully. But she n~met only with pained surprise, with unhesitating disbelief, indeed, at the time, which made further discussion of the subject impossible. She was so moved by her fears, however, that she ignored boldly the prescribed date of tIme fashionable hegira, amid hurrie(l her household down to the beach a month before the usual time, taking Emama with her. The niove was a serious inconvenience to Mr. Richard Iluntley. That gentleman ~'S PROGRESS. 75 had made very satisfactory progress at the house in the Avenue, where he was grown to be something of an intirne, as he was also now a frequent participant in the business councils of Wales, Bwton, & Co. Without self-questioning and without the slightest anticipation that he could ever be more than the sympathetic an(1 congenial friend he was, Emma Howland'contiiued to meet him in her parlors, and after a time to accord him a certain preference which was not unnoted by her gentleman friends. Of their inferences she had no hint, and of the outside rumor she heard no word. But the advantage iva~ one that ilunticy budt on bravely; it thinned the ranks of his coni- petitors, and helped him to push that stolen march, of which the object never dreamed, with steady persistency. But the flight to Newport was a disaster to his arms; it occurred at a pet'ulialy un- fortunate period in his strategeticid game, and it is not to be wondered at if the guarded patience of the man gave way un- (Icr the disaster, especially as patience was purely a borrowed quality with him, worn for a time and fbr a purl)ose. Tie lost his head, or came very near it, and went beyond his r6le, for he followed the party to New- port within a week, un(lcr a flimsy excuse of business in Boston; and as there was not a hotel opened in the place, they lodged him for three days at the cottage, during which time his devotion to Emma was so marked that even the unsuspecting girl was made momentarily uncomfortable by it. Then his blood cooled, and he caine back to town to think on whet he had (lone~ Mrs. Jennings viewed the alThir in some perplexity. She was perfectly well aware of Miss Howland's feelings, an(l share(1 the general affection for the absent ('harley; but she was also very favorably ~lisposed towards the broker. She liked him, in fact, very much, and decided, after some reflection, that Emma would he made happy and rescued from that insidious decline by marrying him. "She is just wasting herself away over that wayward boy, who is forgetting her as fast as ever he can. If she would only learn to like Mr. Huntley! I think I'll speak to hei-" With this purpose she managed a t~te-~- l&e with Emma some days after Humintley's visit. It was in her own room, where the young girl often lingered, seated at the feet of the elder, for whom her affection was all that of a daughter, enWinced by an enthusi- astic sentiment of admiration and confi- denee. "I think you like Mr. Huntley very much, do you not, dear?" asked Mrs. Jennings, after a circumspect approach to the sub- ject. page: 76-77[View Page 76-77] y( 7 CHOISY. "0 yes I very much indeed. He is so agreeable, and so very clever, and was such - such a friend of Charley's, you know." "So he was. I remember." "I suppose he must be much older than he seems, he has seen so much of life and the world. He is really wonderful some- times." "I can readily imagine, though he has never exhibited his wonders to me," said Mrs. Jennings, smiling; "and you think him 'old'?" "I don't know, of course; not particularly old, perhaps; but forty or more, certainly. It is not easy to guess the exact age of a man like him." "Forty can scarcely be called old; men at that age possess deeper feelings than at any previous time." "I suppose so, &nd I have always im- agined Mr. Huntley to be a man of pecu- liarly strong feelings. One feels an in- stinctive curiosity about such people, a vague suspicion that their lives have been marked by great events, saddened by some heavy disappointment. Of course, they never speak of it, and one is left to one's surmises. "That does n't always follow, my dear; a man, many men, arrive at Mr. Huntley's age without having had their stronger affections engaged." "Do you think so? Of course, you ~re right; but I always think that passage of life belongs to earlier years." ~' With women, as a rule, it does; hut with men, and especially with men who enter the world young and encounter much vicissitude, the sentiment often remains un- awakened." "But I am quite sure Mr. Iluntley has had his' experience.' I have detected indu- bitable evidences of it more than once." "Have you, indeed," laughed theeldier, - "you watchful puss! And in what, pray?" "0, 1 could scarcely explain in what," answered Emma, blushing faintly. "Once or twice he has spoken of love, briefly and delicately; rather sadly too, and only as a man could do who has loved some one - "Or loves some one now," put in Mrs. Jennings, ('unningly. rphe shot fell short, however; Emma only mused, and after a moment said, innocently enough, "No, I should hardly think that possible." "What a child it is I" laughed Mrs. Jennings, bending down to kiss the upturned face; no one so well as she, the wise woman of the world, might know the rare value of that pure, guileless heart. "As I said," she continued, seriously, "men at Mr. Huntley's time of life and of a nature like his, if I judge him rightly, have intensely strong feelings. Whether they have had what you call an 'experi- ence' or not makes very little difference; if they conceive an affection, it is very deep and strong, and it must be a great misfor- tune for them if it is misplaced or made light of." "It would be very sad," said the young girl, sympathetically. "it would be more than sad; and it would be very wicked wilfully to encour- age or to deceive such a one, - would it not, dear?" "0, terribly! Could any one do that deliberately?" "There are some who would, I fear; very few; not you, I know, above all." "You good mamma! I would not, though - I could not!" "And yet - Listen, you funny child! I am going to tell you what every one in the world knows but you, - Mr. lluntley is in love with you !" Emma looked up for an instant with ter- ror and bewilderment in her eyes; then she flushed scarlet, and buried her face in her friend's lap. "0 Mamma Jennings, don't say that!" Mrs. Jennings was a little startled, de- spite herself, by the drawn face and the ap- pealing tone. "There, there! never mind, darling. I - somebody ought to have tuld you before, since you have got no eyes for yourself; if it had been sornd~ody 1 know, you would have seen it long ago! There is no harm done to any one, dear; and I think now that all my fine, preparatory questions were mistakes. I only wished to know just how you felt." "I never dreamed of such a thing!" said Emma, raising her pale, distressed face; "1 did not, indeed, mamma, and now - Dear me! I think I can see something of it. How stupid I have been! but~I did not know. 0 mamma! what shall I do?" And down went the glossy head again in despair. "Tut! It is nothing, child. The worst is over, and we will easily arrange the rest," said Mrs. Jennings, with a little huskiness in her voice, as she patted the head lying on her knee. "I am so sorry! How could I have been so blind? And yet he was so serious, so old! 0 mamma! you don't think - have I - was I - encouraging him?" "No, pet; no possible blame can attach to you. But, child, why do you dwell on his age? Surely, lie is not so very venera- ble; he is younger in nature than half these ungoverned young men you know. After all, do you not like him a little, just a little?" The young girl was all alive now to the significance of Mrs. Jennings's words. She MR. HUNTLEY'S PROGRESS. 77 looked up with a pained face, and said in a too little of what we may call the physical choking voice, "Don't, mamma, please!" rebound in the system of one so young. A And Mrs. Jennings saw the hopelessness case requiring great care and all possible of the task in her face, and felt it in her distraction without excitement; a case words. which particularly demands change, a mod- "Pardon me, darling, it was only the old elated variety of life and scene, or even lady's fun; I won't say any more, and you altered conditions of life. I need scarcely must not let this worry you; it is all over, tell you, madam, how precarious are these But you are not sorry that I told you be- periods of a young girl's life. A Euro- fore lie did, are you 'I" pean voyage? The very best ofdiversions, "Ah, no! I am so glad you did; but I madam; care at the outset in not overdoing can't think wha~, I shall do. I can never the strength. Winter in Italy or south of see him again. ,, cried Mrs. Jennings, France. I have no hesitatlmn in recoin- "Fiddlesticks! mending it as the very best course." assuming a merry face; "leave it all to me, Acting upon this advice, Mrs. Jennings dear; you can trust me, can't you? Only brought her long-meditated project of a put away those troublesome thoughts. visit abroad to definite shape. She saw There! I hear the girls; now run away and Mr. Wales, and found no obstacle in his gossip, and I will plan a campaign, for our wishes; he only regretted that the "voyage fitithihi knight will come again before long, should have the character of a melancholy 1 know. Aux armes! There, go alono-!" necessity for his niece," and was warm in But it was not so simple a thing to "put his recognition of Mrs. Jennings's great away" the troubled emotions that this reve- goodness in arranging the trip for her hene- lation awakened in Emma's heart. It had lit. Mr. Wales's respect for avid confidence shocked her far more than Mrs. Jennines in Mrs. Jennings were unbounded; she was could know or imagine; for there was some- one of the "successes," and in a class for thing more than the mere pain and humilia- which he had the highest regard. So the tion of her mistake, something which shaped wise lady made her preparatory arrange- itself in a vague distrust, an intangible fear, ments rapidly, and had them well in shape before which she shrank and cowered with before the secret was revealed to the excit- a great dread. She could not ignore the ed Clare. That young lady begged pite- powerful influence that Huntley had gained ously to be allowed the privilege of telling and held over her, or blind herself to a Emma, and after many admonitions it was strong, sympathetic liking for the man which granted her, and that afternoon when we had grown in her heart. She did not love fbund them enjoying the sunset sea the him. 0 no! she could love but the one, momentous intelligence had been imparted. and should love that one always. But that We leave the pleasing figures of speech, the terrible aching void which only one love tremendous flights of fancy, in which that could wholly fill had given place to a cer- exuberant damsel had indulged bel'ore the tam affection for the other, involufitary silence of exhaustion and reaction in which and unsuspected. And now this affection, they were first disclosed to the lively imagi- just discovered, filled her with fear; but nation of the reader, while we return to she was powerless to cast it out. Mr. Huntley. Why could he not have been the impas- He had "come again soon," as Mrs. Jen- sive creature she had imagined him? - the nings predicted, and had been a regular devoted but pasaionless friend of the beauti- and frequent visitor at the beach and at the ful and wealthy girl? cottage. But a new and uncomfortable She shed bitter tears that night, and shadow had entered his dreams. On his wrestled with the new terror which had second visit he found Miss [lowland recov- entered her Jifh, and the trembling lips ering from an illness, and dii not see her; moaned in the darkness, "0 Charley 1 he saw Mrs. Jennings instead. why dii you leave me? ~hy do you not "'rhe poor child is quite miserable," she come back?" said; "she insisted on seeing some gentle- She had her first real illness after this. men friends a few moments this afternoon, She broke down suddenly, and Mrs. Jen- but I vetoed any further indulgence em- nings, though much alarmed, felt a certain phatically. You must excuse her, Mr. satisfaction in securing the long-desired Huntley; she will regret her inability to see opportunity for medical advice. The prosy you. rhetoric of the man of science merely con- "I am too pained to learn that site is not firmed her fears. well to regard my own disappointment," "No present disease, madam, but an un- said Huntley, with an anxious face and a fortunate susceptibility, possibly a predis- raging heart. "Gentlemen friends!" and position. Her mother was delicate? Ah! before him! And what was this diplomatic I should have surmised as much. There woman "up to"? Of the very few people are indications of mental depression, and in the world the man really feared, Mrs. page: 78-79[View Page 78-79] A GAIN OF GROUND. Jennings was perhaps the most formidable at that moment. "0,1 trust it is nothing!" said the lady. "These young bodies have their little mala- dies, you know, often as causeless as they are harmless. Miss lowland has had much sorrow, and, I fancy, was sadly afflicted by the unceremonious departure of her cousin in the winter. She is wonderfully tender- heatted; it is a pity we older ones cannot give these sensitive children a little of our savoir supporter, Mr. Iluntley; they are so absurdly given to bruised hearts and rainy- day sentiment!" "I trust Miss lowland has not fallen into that melancholy strait," said the broker, bewildered and enraged. The delicate manner with which she elevated him to an equality with herself as a grave senior, and her agreeable tone of confidence, were to- tally unappreciated by the gentleman. "Something of it, perhaps; if she were not such an angel, I should have less pa- tience with her. Do you m~ever hear from the runaway, Mr. hluntley?" "From - 0, Mr. Wales; he has quite discarded me. I hear of him, however, at Paris." He looked very much as if it were possi- ble to press further information from him on that head, but Mrs. Jennings showed no disposition to avail herself of the chances. "Indeed! enjoying himself, no doubt. They will do it, and Charley is like us all; if the scapegrace does not return to grace soon, though, I shall conspire against him." "And you would be a dangerous antago. nist!" Iluntley could not but say, though there was more evidence of the smart in his tone than he had imagined. "I should think I might be, Mr. Huntley, as I value the happiness of Miss lowland as I do that of my own daughters." After this he saw Emma, but always in the company of Mrs. Jennings, who, with a quiet persistency that foiled him effectually, assumed entire supervision of their inter- course, and shaped it according to her desires. He was bewildered by suspicion and anxiety, and the constraint he had not failed to detect in Emma's manner - for even under the broad, protecting wing, she felt a strange embarrassment in Huntley's presence - did not ten(l to quiet his alarm. It drove him to cx pedients, and under cover of a yachting party lie had hoped to escape the watchful guardian; but even in this, and to the speechless astonishment of her proge- fly, who knew her deep antipathy to boats of all kinds, Mrs. Jennings came resolutely to the front, and Mr. Huntley cycutually returned to New York in a state of despera- tion. Learning there of the European project, which had notbeen mentioned tohimatNew- port, he repaired incontinently to his quar- ters, hurled a fine new Christy at Venus Callipyge, and, glaring angrily at the man in the mirror, "d-d his luck" in no gentle terms. It was aggravating beyond words to have a complication more alarming, if possible, than all he had overcome, arise at this juncture of affairs. Only a little time before - it was when lie received tIme satis- factory advices of Mr. Somers at Paris - he had surveyed the field with exultant feel- ings, and like a great strategist, who has gained by covered movements the key aof the position, felt victory within his grasp. And now ! - it was bad enough to have Miss lowland dragged away from town a month earlier than he h~d expected, and to have that in- clever "Mamma Jennings" stepping between them, as she for some in- explicable reason seemed disposed to do. But to go to Europe - why, it was ruin out and out to all his plans! At the least, it would make slicer waste of all his months of careful advances, and night lead to - to anything,'cverything, lie did not like to think what. The man of passion got the better of the schemer at this thought. In his anger lie seized on a very small weapon indeed; for alighting on a copy of the "Tattler" containing the letter of Mr. Cheerful Scribbler which I have noted, lie sent marked duplicates of it by post to Mr. IVales and Miss Howland. After thia noble thrust lie smoothed his front, gathered all his hopes and fears and anger and love in one deep resolve, and in the last week of August went down to Newport to put it to the touch. Emma lowland, sitting alone in the twi- light, murmured again the glad words of Clare, simple echo as they had been to her unspoken but governing thought: "Per- haps I shall see him there! It seems even like a certainty, and yet how far away, how dreamlike! I wonder would he think me much changed; I wonder -" "Ah, you poor dear! I thought it was only about time drive, and behold, a long list of instructions from mamma, which has kept me all this time. Letters from New York; and fancy you dear impassive thing! - our passage taken in the Russia fbr the middle of next month! I wonder what the Russia is like. I heard Captain Murray say time China was an 'old tub'; but China is a bug way from Russia, is n't it? I should not 'admire,' as that excruciating smirk from 'Bost'n' sags, to 'go to sea in a tub,'- would you? If you are n't too tired, dear, dcs come and play some of those delightful sona- tas now in the dusk before supper, they make one so romantic and so hungry"' It was a happy chance that led Mrs. Jen- nings to note, among the contents of her 78 CHOISY. 79 mail that afternoon, a brown-wrapped paper a little remorse for having held him in sus- addressed in a coarse, sprawling hand to picion, and she spoke warmly under the Emma; to note it curiouAy, and, impelled sense of reI~cf. by an indescribable feeling, to break the "By a chance she has not, poor child; cover and glance across the sheet, where a it would have been a misery for her. And inarke'd paas~ge at once fixed her eye. She would you believe it? some one sent her read it once, twice, and then never rested a marked copy of the paper!" until the paper was in ashes. Many a time "My God! - Your pardon, Mrs. Jen- afterwards she reverted to the circumstance nings; can it be possible?" with something like a superstitious thrill; "It fell into my hands, fortunately. It but at the time she only wrinkled her brows amazed me. I did not think she had an in angry bewilderment. enemy in the world." "Who sent it? could he have done it? The expression of the broker's face was If he did, I will know it; and ~f he did-" a fine simulation of grief and anger. The ordinarily placid, handsome face "Have you preserved the paper or wrap- boded no good to the one who dwelt under per? Is there any clew by which we might the weight of that suspicion, should it prove trace the cowardly act to its perpetrator?" to be warranted. "I burned them both instantly. Better thus; and since the evil was prevented, it matters little~who the wretch was." ChAPTER XIII. "I should like to know," he mid, grimly; A GAIN OF GROUND. "but the danger remains. The matter is something that will be much talked of, and WHEN Mr. Huntley called at the cottage it is to be feared that she will hear the after his arrival at the seaside, he found story, in spite of every precaution. I dis- himself, as usual, in the hands of Mrs. Jen- covered that Mr. Wales had read it, and flings. He was thoroughly convinced that ventured to suggest that it would be very this lady latterly lay in wait for him on all painful to Miss lowland; she will learn occasions, so inevitably did she precede all nothing through him, 1 'm sure." others on the scene whenever he presented "Nor in any way, so far as I can prevent himself at the cottage. it. I shall be glad to have your assistance, "Ali! Mr. Huntley, how do you do?" Mr. Huntley, in that. I will call the she said, giving her hand to him with her girls." usual cordiality, and, turning to the domes- Mr. Huntley was jubilant over the marked tic, told him not to summon Miss Howland kindliness of these words. "By Jove! I immediately, she would do that herself, believe she thought it was I! And how "I beg your pardon, Mr. Huntley, but, be- glad she was to discover her mistake - The fore the girls come down, I wish to speak triumphs of innocence are sweet, and I 'm with you on a subject of great importance." better by several tricks with her at any The gentleman buckled on his armor and rate. Courage! ~non infant I" filled his lungs in preparation for an attack. Mrs. Jennings, going out on her errand, He was never quite sure of Mrs. Jennings; said to herself, "I almost wish the child he feared everything, and was or tried to be would fancy him; it will be a long wait in readiness fir anything, but it must be for that flyaway now, and after all- The owned that he was never free from a degree scampllam out of all patience with of trepidation in her presence. him!" "I wished to ask you," continued the And Huntley had reason to congratulate lady quietly, but regarding him closely, "if himself upon an improved state of affairs you had seen a certain wretched bit of gos- during the days that followed. There was sip which appeared lately in some New a marked relaxation in the vigilant watch York paper: it was in a Paris letter." of the elder lady, and a return of composure I~untley breathed easier. - He was quite in Emma, who was only too glad to shield equal to any situation where~ the quality of herself in the belief that his feelings had deceit simply was called into play; it did been misjudged, - a belief that his guard- not even alarm him to think himself sus- ed bearing tended to confirm. Indeed, it pected. His assumed distress was perfect. might almost have been judged at the time "Good heavens! has that reached here that it was to the laughing Clare rather than already? I heard of it myself but yester- to the invalid girl that his heart pointed. day, and you have h~t forestalled me in But he was only watching his chance, and speaking of it, Mrs. Jennings. It was in it came of course; it always does. great part my object in coming down to They were all walking on the cliffs one warn you. Has Miss Howland - I trust it afternoon, when Emma was overtaken by has not reached her." sudden fatigue, a circumstance of frequent The lady felt it impossible to question the occurrence 'iatterly. She returned to the sincerity of his troubled face; she even felt cottage, and he accompanied her, of course;. page: 80-81[View Page 80-81] 80 CHOISY. he could not do less; and she could not refuse to permit him. He was tenderness itself in arranging the big chair and its cushions in the cool parlor, full of a play- ful, petting attention and merry words that won her smiles and almost her heart. Talked to as a woman, petted as a child! Do it' well, 0 reader mine! and she is yours! "I am ashamed to have been such a trouble~ to you, Mr. Huntley, and I will re- lieve you now; you must rejoin the oth- ers." He looked the picture of dejection; but 0, how his heart was battling in its strong walls! He needed all his matchless self- control now. "And thus you reward me by sending me away!" he said, with comic but mean- ing melancholy. "0 no!" said Emma, uneasily, "but I thought-" "Let me stay, please. I will be good. Shall I read you something" (it was so in- nocent to be read' to !) - something from this?" he added, taking a little volume from the table. "It looks like a favorite; well used." Could there be danger in that calm face? She looked at him covertly, and smiled when she saw the book. "Would it amuse you to read that?" she asked. "I especially admire Heine," he respond- ed quietly, turning the pretty leaves; "once I was quite diseased with his verse, 1 as- sure ~'on; there are some rare gems among the Lieder, this, for example, - 'Du bist wie eiae Blume So hold und schiin und rein.' I see you have marked it. And fancy him, the man of reckless, dissolute life, writhing upon a bed of agony and dictating the soft- est, sweetest lines in poetry!" "It is strange," answered Emma, absent- ly; but whether it were Heine on whom her thought rested, or the present Huntley, who was one never-ending revelation, it would be difficult to determine. He toyed idly with the book for some time in silence, and she, stealing a glance at him, felt her fears rising again. "The thought that you are going away so -soon and so far haunts m~ and spoils all my efforts to be agreeable," he cried at la'~t, tossino' the l~jou volume upon the table des- perate~y. "I can't think what will become of us when you are gone, and yet I doubt if you have many regrets." "0 Mr. Huntley, that is not kind! One does not go away from home without regrets. It is only the companionship of Mrs. Jennings and Clam that reconciles me to it at all." it was not much to say, but she said it more warmly than she thought.' There was another interval of silence, in which she felt his eyes upon her, and grew almost faint with dread, straining her ears in the desperate hope that some one would come. But no one did. "And you have no idea when you may return," he continued, pathetically. "Mrs. Jennings speaks of spending several years abroad; should you remain so long away also?" "0 no ! - that is, I think not. It will depend - I - I had not thought much about it." She had struggled bravely to form a con- nected sentence, having all the time a shud- dering consciousness that he had risen and come to her side; but for her life she could not raise her eyes. He stood there a mo- ment, silent, and then spoke in low, tremu- lous tones that she lono' remembered. "Miss Howland -~mma - do not go, or, if you will, let me go with you." There it was! all she had feared and dreaded so much! What could she say? O for Mamma Jennings - anybody - or an earthquake! She made a mighty ef- fort and met his eyes. There were tears in them, and this vanquished her. "0 Mr. Huntley, I am so sorry! I am afraid I did - did not understand." He was on his knee and had her hand, kissing it softly and trying to catch her eye. "My darling! may I tell you all?" Something flashed and thundered in her brain. "Charley! Charley!" was its bur- den. She snatched her hand away with a shuddering spasm. "0 no, no, no! for- give me, Mr. Huntley. I ha~ e been wrong. I did not dream until Mrs. Jennings told - I don't know what I am saying. Please leave me - some other time -" Her agi- tation was terrible; it frightened him, and he got up quickly. "My dear Miss Howland, I beg your par- don. I have erred; forgive me, if you can; I shall not offend again. There, I see them coming; I will go away." The sad, contrite tone reassured her and gave her strength to speak. "One mo- ment, Mr. Huntley. It is I who should ask forgiveness. I fear I deceived myself and deceived you. 1 never supposed, never thought of you as anything more than a friend. I am very sorry -1 beg -" "Do not speak of it more, Miss How- land," he cried earnestly, and his struggle to look cheerful smote her to the beast; "save yourself any further pain. I forgot myself; will you forget that I did so? Even at my age," he added, with a sad smile, "men are not always masters of themselves, you see. I regret having given you a moment's pain; I shall have more -" A GAIN OF GROUND. 81 "0 Mr. Huntley -" j sped through the night over the New Haven "C'en est fait! they are coming in now. Road," and what a darling she is! I called I shall not see them again. Will you please I her an angel, and she is one: Lucifer ought present my regrets? I shall go back to to know. She will remember that, too, and town to-night. May I ask it? Miss Emma, the kisses on her hand, fbr she likes me- we shall still be good friends, shall we more than she knows. Bah I with a clear not?" track I 'd win her in a month; but there 'a She gave him her hand quickly, and said that infernal European business - through her tears, "Always! always, Mr. "TIcKETs!" Iltintley." "Allez au doable!" He pressed the hand to his lips, and she The self-possessed functionary, not being felt his tears fall on it. "Thank you! you conversant with the French tongue, only are an angel, Miss Howland. Adieu!" smiled blandly at the cross gent with the And he was gone. mustache; but he carried the memory of Mrs. Jennings, coming in, found Emma that cold, handsome face in his mind, which crying silently in her chair. "Hoity- was a dictionary of faces, for months. "Not toity! what 's this?" She had a shrewd a nice boy when he is ugly, I should say," suspicion what "it" was; she was only was his comment upon it. anxious to learn results. Emma got up The "European business "was, indeed, a and hid her head in the "mamma's" bosom subject of sore distress to the broker. With with a sob. the perverse blindness of a lover he had all "He has been here. I was so unhappy; along refused to share the general belief in but perhaps it was best I should tell him, Emma's declining health. As her indispo- after all. Was it not, mamma?" sition kept her out of society at Newport, he "Of course it was, dear, and I had fairly regarded it with a certain satisfaction, and given up the hope of balking such a very Mrs. Jennings's unpleasant expose' of its persistent gentleman. And what did the causes had not tended to make him dwell darling say?" much on the subject. Aside from this con- "I don't know; I can't remember, I was sideration, the foreign trip assumed the so startled; only he was so good and noble! character of an imposition in his eyes; he He spared me all the pain, and has it all gave the plan inelegant names, and chafed himself;poorman! lam 50 glad, though; and fretted over it without having dared to we are croing to be good friends always!" venture an opposing word, and without ar- Mrs. inningss secretly elevated her brows driving at any expedient for his own benefit. to the extreme limit of their range, but He could follow; but as his affairs stood at patted the head on her shoulder kindly, the moment it would be an irreparable and said, "I am glad it is over, dear. damage to his business' interests to leave Now the ghost is laid, and we shall not have them. Thus the pleasant thought he brought to be sueh schemers any more. It was high away from Newport was neutralized by op- time, too'; we must go to town next week posing troubles, and he took his way down and bid everybody good by; write a million town the next mornincr in a letters, pack a million trunks, and receive a gloomy state of mind. feverish and million commissions before we go down to Who is brave is fortune-favored, per- the seas. There, dry those eyes, and no haps; but to be "born lucky" is better, as tales out of school to the girls; but I need the world 'voes, than to be born rich. not tell you that. Is Mr. Huntley coming When HuntYcy arrived at his office, he to ten, as he promised?" found a note from Mr. Walesbegging his "No, he goes back to town, and I am to presence at the banker's at his convenience. present his regrets." There was no question of convenience in "That is better. I suppose he has let that and similar cases, however; he always his business go to the dogs, all for you, you went at once. invincible young woman! Never mind, he A great corporation of the Great West, is not the one to go into a decline; and he driven to certain measures for the improve- will be a nice friend, even if he was such a ment of their commercial facilities, had need dreadful lover.~~ of money for their plans, = very much mon- There was, in truth, no incipient indica- ey, indeed, to raise which they issued bonds, tion of a "decline" in Mr. Huntley's man- published their resources, and came before ncr as he betook himself to town that night. the financial world as borrowers, in the One would have inferred, from the tenor of usual way. It was desired to place a portion his thoughts, that he had secured much, if of the loan abroad, and Mr. Wales, in whose not all, he had hoped for in this superb final hands the matter rested, found himself in effort at the sea-shore. want of an able and clever agent to go out "How the child trembled!" said the with the bonds. He bethought himself, at gentleman to himself, as deep in the deli- once, of Huntley. cious memory, and curled up in his seat, he "If you can arrange your affairs to that 11 page: 82-83[View Page 82-83] 82 CHOISY. end, and undertake the negotiation, it will journey can be made leisurely, and making be a service to us and ~in advantage to it thus you will find it very delightful. The yourself. In any cas~, you will be compen- beautiful Rhone Valley will be in its loveli- sated for your time, and, if successful, share est dress, - vineyards turning to gold, with the benefits. The company will allow you distant mountains whitening with early an- an eighth of one per cent as a commission tumn snows, and the softest, haziest skies in on all sales at the agreed price; you know the world. It is a glorious country, and full the quality of the bonds, and I think they of fascinations," continued the broker, warm- will go off well, both in the English and ing with his memories; "I have walked German markets, even to the whole amount every yard of it and recall it, with peculiar of six millions. Think it over, Mr. Hunt- pleasure. You should stop at Dijon, which ley. I will only add that we will receive is one easy stage from Paris, and thence to any transfers of account from you at our Avignon, avoiding Lyons, which is uninter- office, or otherwise assist your business, dur- testing and unclean, and an infliction after incr your absence, with pleasure." Paris. The other towns are old, quaint '~VIr. Huntley maintained a careful defer- places, and will amuse you, and the Dc la ence to appearances, and went away with Cloche at the former, and Palais Royal at due gravity of countenance to "think it the latter, are fine specimens of the old- over"; but in fact his heart had bounded at time provincial inns of France; they bear the proposition, and it was with some diffi- about the same relation to the vaunted culty, as he subsequently assured the man English inns that a fine glass of Cbs Vougeot in the glass, that he had restrained himself does to a tankard of muddy beer. rfhe from "embracing the old brick on the ladies will find abundant matter for sight- spot!" seeing and enjoyment ;,the noble Ricuzi's He accepted the agency promptly, and prison-house stands still at Avignon, I found nothing in the prospect to regret, cx- think; and, indeed, it is not possible to con- cept the fact that his departure must be vey a foretaste of the peculiar charm of the postponed for some months. A single con- country, which makes itself felt at every tingency now remained which was not step. The very stones will sing to you, pleasant to contemplate, -Miss lowland Miss Clare, that you are on the old 'road might meet her cousin in Paris. It was not to Rome.' You must by no means omit to possible to overestimate the danger of such have 'Childe Harold' and Macaulay's an encounter; he trembled to think of it, 'Lays' in your handy-bag!" and planned carefully to prevent it. A nice "How delightful!" calculation based on Mrs. Jennings's itiner- "Once at Marseilles and on the Mcdi- ary, and giving the party a brief sojourn at terranean, you will cease to regret Paris, if London and Paris, got them safely en route you have not already done so. There is a for the South before the return o~the fash- spell which hangs about the shores of that bonable world to the latter capital, and ren- wonderful sea which is not to be described. dered it improbable that the travellers Ah, those days! I am young again when I would encounter young Wales there, unless think on them!" he were warned of their coming and has- Mr. Huntley smiled curiously, while Clare tened to meet them. To guard against this sharply resented the imputation thus cast he wrote out in express terms to Somers: upon his youth. But it was very charming "If any letters arrive for him of later date to listen to him when he talked thus,; Clare than August 20, manage it that he does was in ecstasies, and Emma listened with a not get them; and if he should be in town, soft smile that warmed the gentleman's by any chance, in September, you must get heart. Once indeed Miss Jenninos's un- him away. Move heaven and earth to pre- petuosity led to the expression of a wish vent the renconire; everything depends that Mr. Huntley was going With them: "It upon it. I leave it t') you in confidence; would be so nice to have such - such a will send more funds by the next steamer." "Courier!" he said, laughing. "I should Further *than this,~ lie presumed upon be very happy in the office, happier than "some acquaintance with the country" to you think; but it is hardly possible. That give Mrs. Jennings advice touching her I may pay you a flying visit during the win route of travel. "Considering Miss How- ter is, however, quite probable." land's health, which, of course, is to be "Is it, really? How glad I am 1" thought of avant tout, I should s~y it would "Business," he added, smiling; "nothing not be well to remain at Paris later than* more or less than your condemned clement, the first week of October. Nothing could Miss Clare, points to a voyacre abroad for be more trying, J fancy, than the disagree- me in some months; and if 1' were sure it able and variable weather of that period; would be agreeable-" it often grows suddenly cold, and is invari- "Are n't you ashamed, sir! naughty ably wet. Then it is not too early to start man! Of course, we should like - There, South, since, as you are situated, the long I 'II not flatter your conceit; but if you THE LAST STRAND. 83 are in Europe and do not come to see encouragement and satisfaction from his labors. "Then it is settled," he cried, laughing. The party sailed in due course. The His little znanceuvre had won a shy, pleased broker was kindness itself, and attentive to glance from Emma, and a flush to her cheek, the last, performing a multitude of little ser- and he was content. "Come I will, though vices which were highly appreciated by the the Alps were multiplied by hundreds! I ladies. Towards Emma his manner was shall find you all resplendent in Menton- ever delicate and reassuring, and so full of naise hats, and brown as berries with that guarded tenderness that the poor girl was Southern sun that penetrates everything, made almost remorseful at times, and shed j Miss lowland, you must promise me to get some secret tears over the thought that she ~ horribly tanned and very strong against my had marred the happiness of such a noble coming." soul. At the last moment on the deck of Emma blushed again, for the words con- the steamer, when she gave him her trem- cealed a tenderness beneath their gayety. bling hand and noted the struggle which "So she shall !" cried Clare; "but do was only too evident in his face, her own you remember Mentone, Mr. Huntley? is it emotion had nearly vanquished her; he a long time since you were there?" was singing for joy at the remembrance of "Ah! yes; I should frighten you if I the flooded eyes and faltering tones for days told you how many years, but I remember afterwards. it well; a little, sleeping town nestling "Good by! Miss Emma, I shall watch about its one cathedral tower, as they all the telegrams anxiously to hear of your safe do, with splendid lines of mountain behind arrival at Queenstown. A thousand good it, and a little, two little indented bays on wishes! You must get quite well, you either side, as blue as the ribbon in Miss know; and beware of London and Paris. I lowland's hair. Rather soiled and dark shall see you again, perhaps, by the New the old houses are on close examination, Year." and not always breathing of Araby; best "I sincerely hope so. I should be very looked at a pace or two away, as is every- glad. Good by! you have been so kind, thing in Italy, even to the incomparable I do not know how to thank you." Seggiola under the glass. These old "You have more than done so; you have places do not change, though modern acces- made series have crept in largely on the Riviera, voir 1,,me happy, for I still hope! Au re- by reason of the winter colony of foreign And the strong pressure of his hand visitors; and our original, picturesque vii- seemed to linger still when Fire Island light lage is fringed with new villas and enor- was a star on the horizon, and the home- mous hotels. The mountains, seamed with land had sunk in the sea. terraces of lemon and olive trees, and the curved beach strewn with boats and nets, are unaltered pictures, and the people them- selves, peasants and fisher-folk, are just the CHAPTER XIV. same in dress and lano~u of the Moor." ~ age as in the days THE LAST STRAND. Clare filled the pause with a sj~h: "0 Tun heart of Madame la Concierge at dear, I wish we were there now!" the fine Haussmannic tenement in Boule- "I am familiar by accident with Mentone; yard Malesherbes was made glad in the a land-slide on the Corniche cut me off early days of September by the return of there when en route for Lower Italy and the Monsieur Somers. Delightful as was the East, and our party found it so delightful gay life at Trouville, and brilliant as his that we lingered there many days. ft was career in that festive atmosphere had been, only a little fishing-village then, - Pied- Monsieur Somers found it necessary to tear niontese, I think; but it had aJready two or himself from the enchanted ground, and three hotels, and its vicinity to Nice had return to ParL~s after the sweet interval of brought it into some notice. It is a lovely three weeks. He had nobly fulfilled the spot; I can recall none which exceeds it in duties of his position at the charmi~ig resort, point of scenery and the dazzling trans- however, and there remained to him in parency of the air; the hill-tops seem cut separating from its little world of light- out from the blue sky beyond them. You hearted people the satisfaction of feeling find nothing like it below, until you reach that his departure was as triumphal as had (4r~ece." been his entree. He had religiously taken Mr. Huntley's glowing descriptions would twenty-one surf-baths, eaten twenty-one cx- be occasionally varied by discreet allusions cellent and sustaining dinners, involving the to the danger and unpleasantness'of Paris auxiliary item of forty-two bottles of very fair in the autumn, and his suggestions were so Bordeaux, danced at twenty-one delicious attentively received that he gathered much soire'es, and flirted desperately but syste- I, page: 84-85[View Page 84-85] THE LAST STRAND. 85 84 CHOISY. matically, as they do in France, with sixty- three alluring females, allowing a mod- est average of three per diem. Like the well-graced' actor that he was, he left a melancholy void behind him, and came away glorified; duty called him to his post, and, greater than Hannibal in Capun, to his post went he. It is scarcely worth while to allude to an indiscretion which might possibly have in- fluenced his determination and led to his withdrawal in any case. He was not often guilty of indiscretions, it costs so little to be discreet also "in France"; but he was only mortal, and down at Trouville, among the other recreations, they sometimes in- dulge in a lively, private game of baccarat; and #ancy baccarat with that ravishing crea- ture, to whom you have just been making heated love in an alcove, gracefully taking the bank and inviting you, with a smile that kills, to faire votrejeu I "By the sweet gods!" cried the gallant Somers afterwards, recounting certain ex- periences to Charley, "a man might have l9st the Bank of England under the cir- c~i instances. They had me in for a hun- dred pounds before I knew it, but - I had my sport, er que voulez-vous?" I say scarcely worth the while, because a note from Charley Wales saying that he should he in Paris by the 10th made it imperative for Somers to go up; questions of baccarat, pounds, shillings, and pence aside. For he had received the letter of instruc- tions from New York, and had a charge to, keep, debating the management of which' he awaited the coiner from Switzerland. Charley burst in at the quarters on the day named; tired, car-dusted, but. brown and handsome as the sun-god from the hills. Somers received him with high melodrama. "Do my eyes deceive me? Is it some cruel, deceptive dream? Speak! thou spirit of the Alps 1" "Rien qu'un mortel, mon ami, and a deuced hungry one at that!" responded Charley, with a laugh; there was a new fluency in his French, that made Somers smile inwardly. "You poor boy! I believe you well. Three' months of Gruybres cheese and mountain honey! I envy your appetite I Dieu nierci! Paris is desolate, but Paris still dines. I am awfully glad to see you, though; came by Lyons, I sup- pose." "No, Basle and Strasbourg, - strateget- ical lines, you know." "To be sure, but it did n't matter. You know, I presume - "0 yes! I know," said the young man, rather carelessly; "no escape for the wicked. I suppose they have had it pretty well out by this time, however, among themselves. I tell you what, I was never so near mur- during any one as those sneaking club- men; there 's a tail to that affair. Mais enjin, how about this dinner?" "I know no word so joyful; let us away! Why! do you know, your welcome face has rescued me at the brink, plucked me from the Slough of Despond? It's horrible here now; Paris is always horn. Y ble in September. One kind of everybody is out of town, and another kind is iii. that is to say, every one you wish to see is away, and every one you particularly desire not to see arrives. Shall it be Yoisin's? Bien! As 1 was saying, it is the heyday of tourists; the place is rammed and jammed with them, and my especial horror, the peripatetic parson, with blue spectacles and a red guide-book, runs you down in every corner; he is more numerous than the sergeants de ville, and quite as ubiquitous. And your own countrymen swell the throng; to joke weakly, they make it more swell,' without making it less disagree- able. Fact is, I suppose, they arc all mi- grating homewards at this time, and make a week in Paris a sort of crowning episode to their travels; they swarm by the cab- ful in the streets, crowd you into a corner at all the cafe's, and turn the whole place into a menagerie of the nations. I always dread the time, and generally manage to avoid it. I have only just come up from Trouville." "So I presumed. I fear I was the cause of tearing you from its delights." "Not entirely; I should have come up any way, though it was jolly, - too jolly, if anything; one forgets the rules in such an atmosphere." Later in the evening, when the gentle- men were enjoying a quiet hour of cigars and conversation in their quarters, Somers said, "I have n't ventured to ask if you have any plans; of course, you will not stay here through this epidemic of tourists for the next four weeks; going below, per- haps!' "No, I am conge' until - until the. Bar- onne comes to town," said Charley, awkward- ly; "I was going down to do the Baron the honor of shooting over his domains, but it was arranged differently. To tell the truth, I did not care to go; I have n't lived in France like you, you know, for twenty years. I suppose there 's Cognac ili-dedans," he added, going to the sideboard and drinking a liberal glass of the fine liquor. "Nina did not press it either, so I caine here at the last moment. By Jove! this brandy is elixir after that horrible eau de vie de raisin one gets in Switzerland!" "I believe you, and Madame will come up early, sans doute. You left her well?" "Charming! She said she should come by the end of October. By Jove! Ned - bahl No! I don't want to stay here; what can we do?" "Do? Fifty things! anything but re- main here. ~ou make me live again. I was afraid you would want to plant your- self in town, and live on sighs and palpita- tions until - Allons! what do you say to Brussels, - belle Bruxelles? I know it ivell, and it's nice; if there were no Paris, there would be only Brussels, Bois de la Cambre, and Waterloo. We can kill time there and thereabouts, and dodge the ex- cursionists, have a look at K~inig Wilhelm at Spa, and, if you fancy it, a run down among those fine old ancestral connections of you New-Yorkers, who go to the beaver in place of the bee." "Anything you like; you repudiate Tron- ville, 1 observe." "Ah! it would n't suit you now; chorus of mermaids at the tenth hour, recitations in sentiment till dinner, with slow music and mgne-cljose, intensified by wine, truffles, and gaslight up to any hour afterwards, -' all things common else' for you, old fel- low. Only the worn veteran like me, vois-tu, whose 'young dreams' have become middle post nightmares, may cheat himself with A transient flicker in the ashes when Aphrodite is chez-elle by her native element, and the accessories are pretty. I was re- juvenated at Trouville; you would be hor- ribly g~nc2' "'Most reverend Nestor! Let me em- brace thee, good old chronicle, that hast so long walked hand in hand with Time.' As you elect, however; Brussels be it!" "'Up men, and at 'em!' Shall we go over to-morrow?" "The sooner the better, I should say; you have made me really nervous about I exposing myself to the army of invasion hereabouts." "As well you may be; I shudder to think of your fate if you fell in with Brown and Jones -" "'Thompson' vous-voulez dire?" "Exactly; 'acquaintances from home,' and the course of whiskey, Avenue Mon- taigne, and apr~s quoi they would drag you through with all the national ardeur! Apropos, I bad a young Cock.ney consigned I to me early in the summer, a4 rare circum- stance, I am happy to say, - tourist in em- t bryo, but will be a marvel of his species if c he lives. I concentrated all Paris for him into two hours of cab, dinner at Bignon's, I and 'Bullier' in the evening, and packed a him off for Italy the next day. I thought the world might escape him, through the a happy instrumentality of the Maremma, - fancy Rome in July! - but he burst in on a me here four days ago, and delivered him- ti self of all Italy, from Vesuvius to the Sim- plon, in a solid hour of the Holborn ver- nacular. He was evidently under the impression that no one in modern times had ever 'swam in a gondola' but himself; but I put a wedge in his ~eonceit by assuring him that in having failed, as he acknowl- edged with confusion and regret, to look up Van Dyck's portrait of the Wandering ,Jew in the Uffizi, he had missed the finest thing in Italy. It poisoned all his souvenirs, and my revenge was delicious!" They went next day to Brussels, where a fortnight sped pleasantly. Then they looked in at Spa, and found it rather dry; so they came back and took the "run" down through the Low Countries, for the fat cattle and very fat good people of which Somers's enthusiasm knew no bounds. After this the excursion took a wider scope, and they found themselves drifting up the Rhine country, glorious in autumnal dress, and straying in at Homburg and Baden, where the summer season was in its last ao~onies. It was all so pleasant, and made to" cover such a deal of time, that Charley awoke one day with a start of surprise at the fact that the "end of Oct ber," which had seemed so far away, was close at hand, and he came back to Paris at top-speed and in some- thing, of a flutter. Nor was he more than prompt; on the same day the household in the Avenue de la Reine Hortense was called upon to receive ~ts mistress. Some days after his return Charley strolled in at his banker's, where his ap- pearance created an unmistakable sensation. He stopped, as one learns to do, by the reg- ister, and ran a swift, careless glance over the long lists of arrivals, going back over the weeks of his absence. An entry - he dl but missed seeing it - caught and fixed his eye - Mrs. Charles Jennings and family, New York, Hotel Westminster. Miss Emma Howland, New York, Hotel Westminster. He read the names twice, with a glad shrill at first, with a sinking of the heart at ~he last. Some one at his elbow asked, "Mr. IVales, is it not?" One of the principals was standing by iim with a letter in his extended hand. "It was privately enclosed, with instruc- ions to deliver to you personally. You are juite a stranger with us, Mr. Wales." "I have been out of town - thank you. s - are the party - I would say~Mrs. Jen- iings, still in the city?" "No; they remained a short time only, ,nd went South about the 20th, I think. ~sked several times after you, but, as you re aware, we could give them no informa- ion." "Yes - ah - you have their address?" "Nice, I believe; or no, Mentone. page: 86-87[View Page 86-87] 86 CHOISY. THE LAST STRAND. 87 Bi'iggs, what is the address of Mrs. Jennings and party of New York?" "Mentone, Alpes Maritimes, sir." "As I thought; there was a young lady with them in poor health, I believe. Beg pardon! What did you say?" "Nothing - that is - they left no mes- sage for me, I suppose?" "None beyond the expression of great regret at not finding you here, as they had evidently expected to do." Charley struggled to ask one more ques- tion: "You saw Miss Howland, I presume." "I did not have the pleasure, I regret to say. She did not call at the hank, and I was not able to see her when I paid my re- spects at the hotel. She was poorly on the voyage, I understood, and the journey South was pushed on her account." "Thank you," said Charley, turning to go. "When it is convenient, Mr. Wales, there are some rather important matters of busi- ness -" "I will see you to-morrow, sir." And with- out more words the young man, unable any longer to command his emotions, hurried into the street and to his apartments. He had glanced at the letter, and, recognizing his father's writing, had simply crushed it in his hand, as he made his way homeward. Once there he dropped in a seat. "Emma here! gone South, and ill, and not a word or a line to me!" Then he tore open the note hurriedly, in response to a sudden, crushing thought, and found his answer there. It was a brief one, but he read but half of it. What he read was this:- "Your conduct seems to indicate a per- sistent intention to alienate yourself utterly from your family and friends, and I have ceased to hope that my admonitions can in- fluence you. But I make a final request, that you will so far respect the feelings of your cousin, who is going abroad in broken health, as to conceal from her your disrepu- table connections, of which she, at present, knows nothing. You would best do so by avoiding a meeting with her. I have only to add that the property descending to you from your mother and grandlhther has beeii p laced at your disposal, through the Messrs. Tompkins, and is put entirely beyond my control-" He stopped here, letting the crushed pa- per fill to the floor, and rose mechanically to his feet just as Somers came in at the door. The Bohemian was frightened by his face. "Hallo! I say - my dear boy, is it bad news'?" The presence of the man strengthened Chancy. "Bad is not the word," he said hoarsely, and, striding over to the cabinet, he drank off a great draught of brandy at a single swallow. Then he looked hard at Somers with unmeaning eyes, and added greatly to the alarm of that gentleman by laughing in a wild, discordant way. "Why, Charley!" cried Somers, gently, "what is it, old fellow? Can I help you?" "Listen, Somers," said Charley, in a tone that made the trained man of the world tremble for a moment where he stood, "I don't know much about you, but I suspect you would hardly go straight to Heaven for your good works, eh?" "Devil a bit, I fear; but Charley -" "Never mind, I have been hit hard. I used to be one of your good boys, I did, by G-d I But there was something undivine that shaped my end. Look here! there was one thing left in the world I cared about, - cared about more than I knew till just now. It would have kept me always from going too low, I think; but they have cut me out of that!" "But, my dear old boy - "Listen, let 's have a clear understanding and no mistakes. I like you wcll enough, and I don't want to be a nuisance to you; but I tell you, Ned, I am going the whole pace from this out. It 's the only thing left and I 'ye got the money." "All right, old fellow. It is not Ned Somers who will cry cover, be your game what you like." Somers spoke cheerily, but he was watching the young man closely, and whirled a chair under him just as he sank down, overcome by the combined et~ feet of liquor and excitement. Then he put his hand on Charley's shoulder, and spoke earnestly, "I am your man for any- thing you like, Charley; but it 's a mistake to take these things too bitterly to heart. You say you are hit hard. 1 don't know how, and it.'s none of my business, but I am sorry. I caught it pretty bad myself at your age. My God! what are you to do with the chances at twenty-five? I took it badly, too, though I am not so prone to do so as you, perhaps; but I had n't a friend in the world then, in my strait, - et voih~! I have pulled through pretty well, have n't I? My good fellow! these yelping curs that hound down a man for some slip in life run nine in ten 'guiltier than him they try.' Don't give them the chance to think you felt the cut; that's the true philosophy of it. Come, we must go and breakfast, and send something after that liquor, or it will play the deuce with your head. We '11 talk it out afterwards, and you will find Ned Somers with you, heart and hand, in anything you elect." He got the young man on his feet, and, subsequently, to the Helder, where he tempted him with an exquisite d(jeuner, and with ultimate success. In all his life Somers had never felt an impulse so thor- oughly unselfish and sympathetic as in that moment, when he read the old story of shipwreck which he knew so well in Char- ley's white, stricken face. He had had ex- cellent opportunities latterly to find out more fully "what the young fish was made of," and the result was an admiration and liking for Chancy such as he had never given to any other man, regarding, as he did, the whole sex as his natural enemies. And there was an unmistakable effort of conscience in his soul just now. He saw in Chancy's distress only Huntley's handi- work, and cursed that gentleman soundly in his heart for the same. He also felt his own connivance, and felt it sharply, though all in the dark as to its actual gravity and consequences, and he made a desperate re- solve. Half-way down a bottle of Margaux he asked Charley, guardedly, "Heard from Huntley lately?" "No; not in an age. I wonder at it, too, since - I suppose," added Charley, catching himself, "he is over head and ears in business." Tant micux for him, though I should think he might find time to write you, such friends as you seem to have been." "Good fellow is Dick," said Charley, carelessly, and drinking his wine rather freely. "But perhaps he has gone along I with the rest of them; does n't like my 'connections,' you know. BahI let us not visit the good people, even in our thoughts, lest we should incommode them! Order I another bottle, will you, please? By Jove! I believe I am engaged to ride with the Banonne at three. I had nearly forgotten ii it." I Somers had had it on his tongue's end to make a clean breast of the whole business, I so far as his connection with it went, and h show up Huntleyin his true colors to Char- t~ ley. The words had fairly trembled on his a lips; but it required no little resolution to speak them, and the momentary diversion si occasioned by the your~g man's words led b to hesitation, and the hesitation demoral- p ized him. The brave resolve faded, as it had arisen, in a moment. "It could scarcely have iltencd things h now," said he to himself, as he sauntered h upon the Boulevard, after parting from t( Charley. His predominant sensation was one of relief, and he recognized the inter- position of chance as a saving demonstra- el tion of some superior intelligence. "It cer- C tainly would not have helped my case. Eh ta 6ien, laisser aller!" hI And the probabilities involved in the fu- na ture pursuance of this maxim of life, touch- se ing himself and Charley Wales, formed the in subject of his afternoon meditations, as he t1~ bent his steps towards the club-rooms in the Rue Scribe. Arrived there, however, he did not enter, but, acting upon a sudden thought, walked on to the a esherbes, where he went up to the pretty parlor, and with some inconvenience fished out from under the massive sideboard a crumpled bit of paper. His quick eye had caught it when he had come in and found Charley so disturbed, and his equally quick foot kicked it, unperceived, out of sight. It was the letter with which the reader is familiar, and which he now spread out and read without scruple. He was mdmch perplexed by its contents, as was ver~~ evident from his countenance. "It 's the old gentleman, of course, though he does n't subscribe himself 'your loving father,' or any of that sort of thing. 'Cous- in,' eh? Whole party safe out of Paris, as I knew before we left Baden~ I suppose it is all here, but I can't make it out. Something between the girl and Charley, perhaps. I 'd have sworn to a woman somewkere, by his face this morniwr. But what can Dick Huntley possibly Lave to do in such a case? He might - no, he would n't dare!" He paced up and down ron some time in silent meditation. "Just is well I did n't peach," he continued, recentlyy. "He 's the Devil's own Jack it a turn, is Dick. 'Gad! 1 am frightened :o think how near it I was. No, no, Ed- rand, thou must look to thyself first, en out eas. I 'm sorry, though, for the boy - uch a boy as he is, too; ''t is ever thus )elow, the noblest and the bravest,' etc., ~ar example I" And with this bit of melancholy mcmi- nent he cut short his ruminations. He ~ut the letter where Charley would find' it. The business instructions must be noted. ~y Jove! the figures are handsome," was is commentary. And, catching a glimpse rough the persiennes, at that instant, of n inviting apparition in purple and velvet, rhich stirred a memory of Trouville, he nized his hat again, gave a twirl to the londe whiskers, and hurried down to the pleasant street of palaces. "Eh bien! laisser allen!" The words choed still in the bright, pretty room when e was gone. The man, his nature, and is life were pictured and embodied in the ~xt. Out in a shaded byway of the Bois the egant landau of Madame Ia Baronne hoisy crept lazily down the long line of 11, dark trees, whose turning leaves trem- Led and glistened far above in the latest ys of an October sun. A marvellous en- mble; an eq~uipage which typified lux- 'y; a collocation of animate and inanimate incrs, forming an intelligent and respon- page: 88-89[View Page 88-89] 88 CHOISY. THE "WHOLE PACE." * 89 sive whole, governed by the mistress-will. The granq, high-spirited bays, instinctively self-restrained and walking gravely, almost softly, under the trees; ihe two bolt-up- right figures on the box, which might be men or statues in their graven immobility; the soft-cushioned, soft-tinted interior, elo- quent, in itself, of the sweet myth called Ease. The two who sat within were silent, and wrapt in thought. Nina was leaning back, and gazing dreamily away over the tree- tops, not unhappily, it would seem, from the shadow of a smile that played about her mouth. Charley's eyes, wandering also with a certain feverish restlessness, came back and rested on the beautiful siren-face, until that strange magnetism of the human eye won an answering gaze from the Ba- ronne, whose smile deepened then into one soft, passionate, winning beyond words. He turned towards her, and gathered up the little hand which lay so softly in her lap~ She caught it away with the same silent smile, tore off the pretty glove with one swift wrench, and put it back in his own, bare, warm, and rosy. "Nina," he said, in a low tone, that made her look more closely and seriously in his eyes, "do you remember once in Switzer- land telling me that I must surrender all the world, everybody, everything, for you, and then being very cruel to me because I begged a reservation?" "Mais oui, monsieur I you were merchant; you broke my heart. I do not forget it!" "Pauvre pehie che'rie! ecoute-toi, to-day I surrender it, Nina; today and forever I am all your own!" She sprang forward with a great flash of joy in her face, and studied his an instant, as if to read the full truth there, while a last, lingering shadow stole out of her glad heart, a shadow which had stubbornly kept its place and poisoned her happiness. It was all gone now; she kept her swimming eyes on his, drew his hand to her heart, and her lips murmured softly, "Bdbe'!" And he leaned down and kissed her silently. The statues on the box gazed ever in the air, the big bays tramped onward with stately grace, and up above the yellow leaves flashed and quivered in the sunset. CHAPTER XV. THE "WHOLE PACE." THE winter that followed was one of un- diminished glory and popularity for the Saronne Choisy. Her empire remained undisputed, her court as numerous and as devoted as before. The splendor of her entertainments was the marvel and delight of Paris; her presence, the coveted guar- anty of success in all social enterprises; and her box at the thronged opera the very centre from which radiated that subtle, electric current which sets in motion the delicate machinery of society. The world in which she moved seemed at her feet, governed by her caprice, and flattered by her very breath; and in that French day of days, le Jour de l'An, she might have sat upon a throne and defied the simple fashion- leader of the Tuileries to match her over- flowing court. And yet there was a shad- owy transformation as, when the curtain rises upon a new act on our mimic stage, we see only the self-same mise en scene, the self-same players, but note at once a new disposal. Some of the outward circle have come within, some moved a little apart. The play goes on, and in the swift unrav- elling of the little plot the central figures come more full& before us in their individ- ual parts; we are stirred with new and startling chords, with wild, sweet melodies, that speak to all the emotions of the human heart, and blind us, in our enjoyment, to the shadow of the denouement; but over all lurks the saddening thought that the two or three copyists of life to whom, in the open- ing, we lent our ready sympathies, have copied only too well, and are dooming us to a destruction of our hopes. The world gazed with a single eye still on Nina Choisy, but not as before, and she saw and felt the change. She saw it among her own sex in the new-found confidence with which some drew nearer, in the careful del- icacy with which others fell away; and in the unenibarrassed abandonment of that thin mask of hesitating reserve among the men, she saw it still more plainly. A nameless tone that this society had once possessed for her it possessed no longer. Luxurious, reckless, even depraved as may have been the social circles of the Paris of thiit day, some good lingered in her gilded salons. There was respect invi- olate beneath tIme sneer at virtue, and a pang followed the cold laugh at truth; no man was altogether dead to its presence, no woman could be callous tmp.its loss, and where it moved it was known and felt, val- ued by most, feared by all. Nina had lived proudly in her conscious superiority, and found delight in keeping that wolfish world at bay. She could do so no longer in the same spirit, and she felt the change, but only as a change; in her heart regret and bitterness had no place. She had given her all, but she had re- ceived an all in return, and she was con- tent. And as we see her, she was still a queen in her world, and a qacen she would remain A to the end; there was in her nature no atom of that sensuous grossness which could ever reduce her below the level of the best of her class. Wise questions for men to argue, whIch they have argued since Sol- omon in the vain hope to prove the woman as bad as themselves. She was happy, - briefly, guiltily, but as completely as it is often allotted to a child of earth to be. Those three summer months in Switzerland had been one swift, golden dream iii which every hope of her life, the girl-visions of earlier days, had the fullest fruition. In Charley the old, romantic ideal was swallowed up in a far more splendid reality. Young, noble in nature, with warm strong passions like her own, and much of the same graceful refining sentiment which clothed her dreams; that fine, iinagina- tive faculty which, being unearthly, gives a better color to earthly things; he was all she had craved, more than she had ever dared to hope for. They lived through those days like nature's children, where na- ture had rolled a wilderness of grand old hills about them, shutting out the prying world beyond; and when, in the inevitable course of things, that world found them out, Nina, who reasoned while Chancy slept his guilty sleep, sighed a tearful farewell to the hour of Paradise, and nerved herself to hold fast the substance of her happiness whose first, brief glamour was gone. She came back to her place in the field with the strong woman's heart braced for the contest she now foresaw; and though there were moments when the sweet vision of lover's life, of long, beautiful years of unbroken in- tercourse with him alone in some unnoticed corner of earth, arose in her brain, she dis- missed them calmly, as became the woman of the world, to whom the fancy was no longer illusive. Readily, however, as she did this, she could, never contemplate the possibility of a change, of separation, of any pause, indeed, in this new life. Her world- ly prescience was all at fault, and she shrank from the thought of a future without him; it had been her one uneasy, haunting fear, that he retained other ties in life which might some day prove stronger than that which bound him to her. Her joy at his declaration in the Bois may then be im- agined; it was beyond all speech, and found expression only in the low-spoken pet-name and the offered lips. If, from this day, she found ~n alteration I in hima new, almost fierce intensity at times, coupled with reckless abandon, she con- strued it gladly as a new proof that he had I wholly embraced his sort. He threw him- self into the glittering life (for in all places and at all times he was the Baronne's rec- ognized and envied attendant) with careless ease, with a certain grace, indeed, that 12 won the admiration of the clever an4 criti- cal circles in which they moved, and gave him a new charm in Nina's fond eyes. The beau petit Puritain, at whom she had some- times made a laughing moue, had disap- peared, and given place to the homme (le eceur, sufficiently inflamed for even the Parisian taste. No wonder that men found a new charm in her, that in the glowing at- mosphere of the Hotel Choisy the wild, gay world revelled with an added e'tan and fbr- got to pine for 01(1 Versailles and naughty Regents. The tropic glories of the Second Empire centered there, and thence distribu- ted their intoxicating influence. Antony sat down again with Egypt, and the mad throng gathered to the feast. Paris gossiped bravely over ce jeune A mericain, who drove his grand trotters in the Avenue do l'Imnperatrice with such re- sistless dash, and who infused a rare anima- tion into a certain coterie of distinguished sportsmen by unprecedented figures at the card-tables of the club. " On dit," said one, levelling his lorgnette at the Baronne's box, between the acts at the Italien, "that he lost a hundred thou- sand to Count Brie." "Voyons! a hundred and fifty. Somers told me so himself." "Sapristi! mais comment cela? it is then the American Crwsus!" "Sais pas; his horses shame the stables at St. Cloud, and they say a petit soupe~' he gave at the Maison Dor~e after the last Opera Ball was made to cost twenty thou- sand." "[neroyable! Mais oul; they were at the ball together, I was told, - he and the Baronne." "Yes; and Somers sur le plancher in Roman dress~iIe was superb; all the party were in costume save Madame and the American.~~ "Joli cela! and you saw them?" "I saw Somers, he was magnificent; and Brid and old Goujon lz la Grand Ture and Marie Velours. Diable / it was an adven- ture! Me, I was struggling to reach an outlet, when I received a tremendous thrust in my side from the elbow -of a robust gen- tleman in splendid evening dress. You should have seen him, - the lace shirt-front and diamonds, satin-faced waistcoat, and Kiemel's best coat quilted with glace' silk! I turned in a rage, and met that round laughing face with the thick blond curls parted to the side like a boy's. It was Ma~ lame Marie, and I had only to kiss the floor, while Somers, en service, was near lying with laughter!" "I fancy you, and the Baronne -" "In a box with Monsieur and some others. [did not see her." "Studying for the masque, sans doute, page: 90-91[View Page 90-91] 90 which was celebrated at the Hotel Choisy a week later." "You were there?" "No, Bni6 told me something of it; but it beggared description. The American was Antinous in the scanty garb of Egypt, clothed in a brown dye, Bni6 said; and the Baronne an antique Helidniste, white toga or something, shell cameos and tiara and san- dals, with bare arms and bare ankles bound in broad gold bands." "Ciel! que j'eusse bu!" The noble Somers was in clover in these days, as may be imagined; the rejuvenating influence of merry Trouville was a trifle compared with the happy infusion of spirits which he experienced in his active partici- pation in Chancy's dashing career, for he was still our hero's faithful companion in arms. He was afflicted by no more twinges of conscience, since never after that ineinor- able day had he detected the faintest indica- tion of a wound or bitterness in Chanley's manner or words. If he reasoned upon the matter at all, it was not with a view to dis- cover if the young man's course of life was prompted by any secret trouble. On the contrary, it was to arrive invariably at the satisfactory conclusion that "the boy" had iIamensely improved his condition in life and escaped that premature repression of the mercurial tendencies which in his eyes was the greatest misfortune of existence. "'Gad I this is the sort of thing!" would be his unspoken thought, as he sat by Char- Icy and was whirled out the Neuilly way behind the trottens, admired of all beholders. "Fancy him tied to an apron-string, and walking the dull, domestic beat; and he might have been, and known no better. A trifle too much of the spur, perhaps," he would further reflect, in the quietude of their chambers; "but he rides well, and nothing shakes him. It will all come right, nothing more certain. We shall have him duly installed in the seigniorial dig- nities one of these days, and everybody will live happy ever afterwards. Why does n't the 'stomach' die now? Mais enfin! It can't be long, and what a revolution we will work then in the ine'naqe down below! I thrill at the thoucrht, - boar-steaks and the Burgundy of unto~id ages! Compi~gne shall hide its diminished head. En attendant, pas trop vite!" 'Let us give Somers due credit, too, for a certain unperceived, but really judicious guidance of Chancy's course. It was due to him that the experiments at dearte' were less frequent than they otherwise would have been, and far less costly than he, in a mo- ment of mischievous exaegenation, had led the oracle of the opera.st~il to believe; and in many other ways did he shrewdly thwart Chancy's occasional tendency to excess. The youtmg man's career was in all general respects sufficiently electrical to warrant, perhaps, the sententious commentary of the wise men that he was "going there by the early train"; but it was many shades less meteoric than it might have been but for the influence of the easy-going yet philo- sophical Englishman. Somers was not pro- cisely a saving agent, but he was still alive to the propriety of observing limitation in all things. The winter months sped in their giddy pace, with no respite or pause for Chancy, atom as he was in the dizzy whirl of Paris life. If graver thoughts and memories sometimes struggled for a hearing in his heart, he was amply supplied with means for their repression, and too thoroughly un- der the spell as yet to hesitate in availing himself of these means. His devotion to Nina was all she could demand. The air brought her more than one whisper of a rival, but her unerring instinct proved the whisper false, and kept her secure in her content, and in the assurance of his pro- tecting constancy. I use the word protecting, because she had seen nothing so quickly, felt nothing so keenly, in her changed state, as the presence in the smooth world about her of more than one watchful soul ready at the instant of her lover's disgrace to rush to the siecre where the citadel frowned down on thea no longer. It needed no dramatic episode to attest the entire fealty and the chivalrous nature of her chosen knight; nothing was needed, indeed, to add to the passionate gratification of the hour or feed the brief delirium in which she lived. She thought little of the future; or, if she did, it was as a far end to the glowing present, and that end was death. Among the habitues of the Hotel Choisy, and promi~ient in her circle, moved an ltal- ian nobleman, tolerated by reason of his po- sition, feared in a measure, perhaps, by rea- son of his high diplomatic connections, but universally detested for himself. He was, in fact, an embodiment of the least amiable characteristics of his nation, combining a Machiavelian cynisme with that haughty air of superiority which is almost a nation- al characteristic of Italians. Profoundly indifferent as Chancy was to the mass of fashionable he encountered in Nina's sa- ions, he had conceived an instinctive dislike for this man from the first, avoiding him when it was possible, and when brought into contact with him displaying a marked con- tempt for his dignity. His antao~onism was not diminished by a pettish declaration of Nina's that she "could not endure the crea- ture - mon Dieu! comme ii est noir!" And from that time his contempt speedily har- dened into animosity. Herein, however, he was at a vast disadvantage. In the delicate 91 war of words of a French salon, the victories paused to exchange some words with two were ever with the cunning Neapolitan, who or three groups, as he moved down the par- hid his passion beneath the smooth exterior lors, but in ten minutes he was gone. of the diplomat, while he revenged himself Nina was terrified, but brave. without mercy on the a~o'ressor. Charley "I feared it, mon and; something you grew desperate over the grievance. "I said at the club has reached him, and he wish the wretch would give me a chance!" was furious." he said to Somers, savagely, ~over their "And insulted you therefore! It was a absinthe at the Malesherbes, - for Char- brave thing to do ! Icy had learned long since to ignore the "A bold thing, be'be', with you standing "poisonous" qualities of that beverage; by," she said in a low tone to calm him, "deuce take him! He 's as smooth as oil, smiling the while, though her heart was and as round-cornered as your pipe-bowl, cold with fear. with~l1 his gall.1amatalosshowtoin~ Remadenoreply,~shewasnotsureh~ suit him!" heard her, - but looked at her a moment, Somers earnestly deprecated this warlike and then turned to go. She caught his arm; tendency, and had watched it nervously, it was horrible to have that chattering, "Pshaw 1 I wonder you can notice such moving throng abut them then. small game," he said, rather sharply; "let "You will come hack? to-night? soon?" him have his corner and snarl, he hurts "Yes." nobody, and every one detests him. Cynna He was gone the next instant, and she is not a success in Paris. was left to mask the terror at her heart he- "But he is positively disagreeable to fore all those eyes. It was a bitter task; Nina." and though the altercation had escaped no- Somers looked vexed and serious. "Well, tice, it was universally felt that a cloud had you have made the maa hold; I could tisilen on the entertainment, which broke have told you as much; but he will not up an hour earlier than usual. Chancy's dare pass the mark if you will let him alone, disappearance, too, was noticed, and people I don't suppose you will; but Charley -" wondered and suspected and suggested for The speaker paused at the name. three whole days, after which they said in "Well?" asked the latter, impatiently. unison, "I thought as much." "In any case, keep your head; don't, for At the Malesherbes there was a council God's sake, give him choice of weapons!" of war. Chancy drank brandy and was Perhaps, in his wisdom, Somers bad furious; Somers smoked and was cool. hoped to startle Chancy into discretion. "By Jove! I don't mind telling you I His lack of success may be inferred from expected it, and I was overjoyed to hear the fact that the very contingency he hinted only this morning that the man was going at arrived the same evening, to another post at Vienna in a week, - a It was a crowded soiree at the Baronne's, week too late, of course. Why don't you and Charley, entering late, felt an angry sit down?" flush rise to his face as he caught sight of "I can't. I won't rest till I meet him." the Baronne herself undergoing an evident "Bah! you must wait his message. I infliction of acerbity at Martini's hands. won't have it otherwise; that 's flat. Let He crossed over quickly, aad was first per- me manage it. Why, he 'd have you cross- ceived by the I a ian, whose venom for once ing blades, and I suppose you are about as overflowed, either by accident or intention, familiar with them as with boomerangs!" "Ah, voil&! the happy man! c'est Paris qui "Just about; I should not care, - the arrive!" doe?" Chancy turned scarlet, and Nina flashed ~ Pas demotion I You can shoot?" into momentary passion. "Mais! c'est une "Yes." bfitise!" "Of course; let us hope~you are a Natty The Italian paled slightly, but met Char- Bumpo. No disposition to an arrange- icy's blazing eyes with his invariable, cyni- ment?" cal smile and a low bow. "Madame is se- "What?" vere: virtue is ever severe; her words "Questions of apologies, etc." admit of no reply." "You are mootiug impossibilities, Ned." Chanley found his voice at last, though "Well, well, it requires no more discus. his teeth ground as he spoke, and it was in sion. Leave the rest to me, and don't his native tongue. "You dog! if I find make a mountain of it, you know; you you here in ten minutes, I will hurl you will stop here to-night?" from the window!" "No." The words were perfectly understood, "Place aux - But you must n't worry and Martini bowed again with the same set your nerves. Come around early." Som- smile, consulted his watch with perfect non- ens' looked grave after Chancy left him; chalawe, and sauntered easily away. He graver than he had before. "I don't like CHOISY. THE "WHOLE PACE." CHOIST- page: 92-93[View Page 92-93] 92 CHOISY. THE "WHOLE PACE." 93 it any the better for having foreseen it; and if the Italian should wait for our mes- sage! That would be checkmate out and out." But the Italian did not wait; he sum- moned Monsieur Wales promptly to the field, and Somers felt something' like relief when his messenger arrived. fietween the latter, a gallant veteran of Montebello, with a head well seasoned to Somers's cog- nac and a delightful enthusiasm for his of- fice, and the genial "Hercules," matters were quickly arranged; while Charley, es- caping from Nina, was struggling to master, an intelligent thought in his own room. Somers, looking in, saw him writing at his table, and withdrew at once. He allowed him only a brief space, however, and en- tered again in half an hour's time in a busi- nesslike way. The notes were finished and sealed, and Chancy sat in his chair gazing absently at the window, with traces of re- cent tears in his eyes. "Done, I see. Boa! I am to take these, I suppose?" said Somers, brusquely, gathering up the notes. He noticed cu- riously but quickly the same name upon one of them that h~id graced the letter which he found in the secretary in the sum- mer and forwarded to Huntley. Hunt- Icy would never get this one, he thought. "Come! breakfast and a turn on the road afterwards is the order of the day. Chancy got up mechanically, but shook off his dmil ness by an effort as they emerged into the street. "it 's all arranged, I suppose?" he asked. "All; Vincennes at sunrise in the ap- proved style; pistols at thirty paces, and, as I trust, rognons sautds and Cbs Vougeot at the fielder afterwards." Somers spoke lightly, but watched the effect; apparently he was satisfied, as he rattled off at once on other things, as they proceeded to Voisins. He gave Charley little rest during the day; they called a moment at Vasour's, and drove a long two hours in the cold afterwards, coming home to the Malesherbes in the early winter twi.. light. "You will dine with me, of course," Somers said. "I must go to the Hotel," Charley re- plied. Somers looked worried. "Excuse mc, Charley, but I don't like that. I must go with you." "If you like," was the answer in rather indifferent tones; indeed, since the morn- ing, the young man had remained rather impassive, and Somers did not quite like it. "By the way, here are my pistols." Charley looked at them with a momen- tary spasm of interest. "They are beauties," he said. "A nice pair; I had them of an old In- dian friend who had faced the cat of the jungle with them after his rifle went wide; you can trust them." Before they left for the Baronne's, Char- ley said suddenly to Somers, "About those notes, Ned; if there is no occasion to send them, just burn them, please; don't give them back to ~ "As you like." Somers's heart was relieved of a misgiv- ing when, on their arrival at the Hotel Choisy, Nina met them with a matchless assumption of gayety, and in the brightest of dresses. He read and felt what an ef- fort it cost the poor woman, and fairly rev- erenced her for it. But he permitted no relaxation of the r6le, and with his persis- tent and indomitable bonhomie made the hour one of lively, almost careless causerie, and at its end arose abruptly. "Allons! we must hunt a dinner, Mon- sieur Wales. I lead no empty warrior to the field, moi. Fais tes adieux!" Nina sprang up and came across to him. "Let me go with you; I will be good!" He would have been a man of much sterner stuff than friend Somers, who could resist the look and tone of the supplant siren. Still he begaa dubiously, "Mais, ma chere Baronne, vo~is savez "Oui, je sais bien, you will have no fault to find with me; I will go!" And she ran away to arrange her toilet, while Somers shrugged his massive shoul- ders and sighed an immense sigh. "0 these women! They do what they like with us. En passant, I see, Chancy, that Suwaroff has made a famous haul chez Monsieur Blanc, where the mountains look down upon Monaco and Monaco looks on the sea, - half a million, they say, in a week's playing. You remember her at Baden, she is the born queen of diamond~; to remodel the adage, I should say she was born under a lucky card. Singular people, these trente- et-quarante professionals; I have always thought some of them had acquired the trick of beating the table. I knew a half-pay captain who has made it furnish him a first- class living at Baden for fifteen years, to my certain knowledge. I think I pointed him out, to you. I asked him once over the third bottle how the thing was done. 'l~oyez, mon ami,' says he, 'I play all the days five hundred francs. If 1 lose, I stop; if I win, I stop also.' I did n't see it very clearly, but I followed the rule for three days. I lost a thousand in the two first; on the third I won ten thousand, lost them again and five more in desperation. I suppose I did n't know where to 'stop.' Ah! voilii ma- dame!" Nina entered in charming street dress, and laughing gayly at Somers's las words. "Fancy Hercules'in desperation'! Wha a colossal emotion! Was it an aft aire dm ewur, par e.remple, in which you did 'no know where to stop'? Fi donc!" "Ah, madame, where I have loved, crue fate has ever stopped me short of m~ hope!" "Pauvre 'petit'!" cried the Baronn with a little laugh. The next instant bein~ for a moment in the shadow of the vestibule she caught Charley's hand with a convul sive clasp and carried it to her lips. "You are not sorry to have me go witla you, be'be'?" 'she asked. The reply was not in words, but she shud- dered to find it restrained, almost cold. Their dinner, in the luxurious privacy of a cabinet at Laurent's, was a rare feast, which approached a frolic, as the watchful Somers had determined it should. Beneath his irreliressible gayety, re-enforced by rich ~vines and tempting dishes, there remained no tenable ground for sober thoughts, and the single serious episode which marked the occasion was a momentary affectation of melancholy on his own part when h~ re- verted to his forlorn state as the" unmated third"; and this was so far from serious that Nina laughed till the tears ran down her cheeks at his grotesque face. "How desolate he looks! therchons une Omphale pour notre A icide!" " Une?" cried Charley, joining in the feverish merriment. " Voyons! nothing short of a demi-douzaine of the nymphs of Trouville would suffice his expansive heart, ~pax moms!" "Or all the Muses for variety! I believe well the brave man has found them all in Paris ! "C'h~re madame! a single face, a single memory, is enshrined in the sanctuary of my heart -" "Mon Dieu! what a waste of space! It is an untenanted cathedral; St. Peter's with a solitary vestal at the fount!" "' Ich habe gelebt und geliebt,' and I re- main the embodiment of constancy, as I am the model of virtue. I am going to turn monk; the maroon of th~ Franciscans be- comes me wonderfully. Dites done, amia- ble gar~on, are we to feast with empty bottles?" "Behold the model of virtue who calls without ceasing for more wine! When you shall be a monk, all Trouville will go to a nunnery sans doute. Fancy the mermaid sisters! and in convents mirrors are de'- fendu I" "And baccarat unknown," cried Charley, mischievously; "wilt thou still be a monk, 0 man of the burdened heart?" "Ay, will I so, if for nothing but to t shrive and chasten sinful youth. Irrever- ent souls! Delaunay shall paint me in the t act, and I will go down to posterity in my s holy robes, while you -" t "Heavens! what a wilderness of bro*n woollens it would be! you were better as 1 the noble Roman, mon ami." "Smiling like the great Cmsar on Marie Velours! Tiens! do thefr monkships make love to actresses?" "Alas! you undo me quite; is she not glorious, though?" "Magn~ftque! It was thrilling to see you, - an encounter of Collossi! Did she, in- deed, sing to you 'Dites-lui'?" "Ah! did she? I hear her yet!" £~Vivat! the mysterious one is found! In the amplitude of the goddess we are con- soled for the vastness of the temple !" "IIelasV' said Somers, smiling wickedly in his wine, "what would you have? It is not good to be alone, and it is sometimes very desolate at the Malesherbes now. Mais en/In! time trots to-night. ,1~aro as!" They came back to leave the B.u onne, and Somers guarded his charge so closely that the parting was hut a brief, stolen clasp, a clinging of the hand, and a whisper from Nina's lips, "A Dien! mon ame, situ incurs je te suiverais!" Charley resented Somers's attempt to take him to their quarters, however, with half- angry impatience, and they spent two rest- less hours on the Boulevard, until fatigue drove him home despite himself. He dread- ed the silence of his room and the unavoid- able company of his thoughts, and over their parlor firethicy sat late, amid he drank more deeply of Somers's incomparable pumich than that worthy willingly permitted. There was no moving him, and Somers, stealing a few hours' sleep upon a eanape', after a vain injunction to him to do the same, closed his eyes with a last waking recollection of the young man still sitting by the fire and gazing moodily at the coals. It had come to him at last, as it comes to all, the shock of arrest; the pause in the wild, mad whirl, when thought and memory step like twin giants in the path and bar the headlong course. Wine and light and the feverish cheer of the evening, even the still powerful spell of passion, were power- less to stay the flood of thoughts that seethed in his brain, as the hours of this night, his last, perhaps, on earth, rolled away. And down among the glowing coals he saw forms and faces rise and smile, and weep and fade away, - forms and faces of those days which seemed so far away, so hope- lessly gone, but which rolled backward now in a tide to the man, who, with all his seven- and-twenty years of life, was still the gentle- hearted, motherless boy to whom the better memories of the past were the only treas- page: 94-95[View Page 94-95] ON THE MOUNTAIN-SIDE. 95 94 cIJOISY. ures he had not squandered. Solemn, sor- rowful images, viewed with regretful, hope- less eyes. "Had life meant only this for him? Was it, indeed, all gone, so soon? and it hail been so empty and so weary! It mattered little. Who would remember him? The outcast, the self-destroyed! .... And she!" Then, as when a boy, long, long years be- fore, he wept silent, streaming tears blind- ing him to the images in the fire, until the weary brain grew numb ~nd cold to every sharper feeling, leaving him bowed and hopeless, but sleepless still. Somers, aroused by instinct while it was still barely light, stared despondently at the unchanged figure before the dead fire. A suspicion even flashed through his mind at the first glimpse of the bent form, with the head looked in the hands; but he dis- missed it on the instant, and got up briskly to his feet. "Nearly seven! We 'ye no time to lose. It remains to be seen if Fritz has obeyed orders about the coffee. I ought to scold you for sitting there like another Tony all nicrht. Slept any?" ~' No, I think not." Somers started at the tone, and looked at him again rather s~iarply. The coffee came in at the moment, and he burnt the cups over with Cognac. Charley took his listlessly, and failed to respond, by any change of manner, to Somers's efforts to arouse him, until the latter was fairly bro- ken down by discouragement, not unmixed with a certain dread. "I say, old fellow," he cried, putting his hand on Charley's shoulder, "you 're not going to the ground in this sort of mood, are you? You know me and my way, Char Icy; if you don't ~'? He hesitated now, as the young man's eyes met his with a look in them he had never seen before, one that he was power- less to decipher. Then Chanley got up steadily enough, though he sighed as he did so. "Let us go now," he said. The long ride was a silent one. Somers was nonplussed, but no longer troubled with the discomforting thought that had arisen over their coffee. Whatever his companion's manner might cover, it was something in which hesitation or weakness had ~ro part; he saw that very quickly, and said no more. As their eoupd turned from~ the Boulevards into the Place du Trone, another, which had evidently stood in wait- ing in the angle of Rue de Faubourg Saint Antoine, followed in rapid pursuit, but at a certain distance, and drew up discreetly in an unnoticed byway of the Bois, as the gentlemen in advance left their convey- ance. Its occupants were the l3aronne, worn and pale with sleepless suffering, and the faithful Henriette. They found the other party on the ground, and also Vasour, who had arrived by a third cab. Martini, cold and smiling, bowed pro- foundly to the new-corners, and shrugging his shoulders impatiently, with a curse at the rawness of the air, suc9c~ested despatch. Chancy lost none of his 'l~'stlessness in the brief interim of pacing the ground, and re- ceived his weapon in silence from Somers. "Cool is the word, old fellow," s~dd the latter, a little nervous at the last. The fall of Somers's handkerchief and the reports were simultaneous; and though Chancy's was only too evidently a careless delivery, the Italian staggered wildly, and the pistol fell from his hand; the ball had sunk deep in his shoulder. Charley was unhurt. All the fury of his nature surged into the Neapolitan's face under the sharp agony of his wound, and he called frantically for another weapon. The protestations of both seconds, as well as of Vasoun, who declared the injury to be serious and to require in- stant attention, were vain. He was de- moniacal in his violence, and, snatching a second pistol from the officer's grasp with his remaining hand, yelled to Charley to taj~e his place. Somers covered him with a loaded weapon in a flash, and hurled a tremendous oath at him, with an injunction that fell on deaf ears. "Give me your pistol," said Charley, quietly. "But - it's hellish! I won't have you murdered!" cried Somers, in whom the sleepy lion was fully aroused. "He will faint before he can fire," said Vasour, in a loud whisper. "En garde!" screamed the Italian again, livid with rage and pain. Chancy stepped to the mark and levelled his weapon, while Somers reluctantly drew his handkerchief. He had barely got it out when Martini fired in advance of the signal. Somers gave a great cry as Char- ley started slightly; but the young man recovered himself in an instant, and low- ered his arm without firing, as his opponent reeled to the ground in a swoon. "My God! are you hit?" cried Som- ers, coming up, and shaking like a leaf. "A scratch, I think, - here," replied Charley, putting his hand to his head, Nothing more, by the grace of Heaven; the merest graze of the temple, and a little groove among the thick, short curls; a shade deeper, and the letters in Somers's pocket must have gone to their destinations. There was a big lump in that worthy's throat and a mist in his blue eyes, as he wiped the few drops of blood from Charley's forehead. CI;IoISY. I 94 95 "Thank God!" he said, hoarsely. Then ing. "To have known you, belle Baronne, he flamed up. "The -! Twill make Eu- to have lived within the radiance-" rope too hot to hold him for that trick!" "Ak! liZ 1~! grace aux discours! Et, When they joined the others, Vasour par example, what have you been saying to was attending the insensible man, while the my Henriette?" Colonel stood by with folded arms and "That there were but two women in the scowling face. world, ddesse, and that she was one of them. "Do not remain, gentlemen," said Va- Give me pardon! In the fullness of my sour. "I will get him off the ground, if heart I had wished to embrace her, but she you will send my servant, who is with my embraces only Pierre. Happy Pierre! to coupe' yonder. I suppose it is my duty. be so embraced and possess the secrets of No, I beg you to go, Monsieur Wales; we such a salmi as this. If he were Narcissus, shall only have more violence if you he would perish in his own saucepan! Mais stop." we must make some plans; it behooves cet The officer approached them as they infant to vary the scene with joyous travel turned to go. at this juncture." "Monsieur Wales, your friend knows who "Laissez-mci I" said Nina, quickly, "must I am. On my honor as a Frenchman and he go at once?" a soldier, I supposed this animal a gentle- "It would be best; in fact, safest." man, or I would not have acted for him. "Ek bien / I have thought of that, too." Nom de Dieu! if he were whole, I should She had, in truth, speculated latterly on shoot him myself to-morrow!" escaping the feverish circle as soon as the "Colonel Saucy, we only regret the un- Lenten recess should arrive, and formed a pleasantness of the affair for your sake. I little private scheme for a Southern tour. can speak for Monsieur Wales in that." The event of the morning hastened it but "I shall forget all hut your goodness, slightly. Chancy stole some rest during monsieur," added Charley. the day, and went in the evening to Fon- The grizzled veteran grumbled his ac- tainebleau, whither Somers accompanied knowledgments, and turned back with a him, and made the evening a pleasant one sour face, while the two betook themselves with punch and old-time reminiscences of to their coupe'. They found another stand- the Aigle Noir, beneath whose hospitable ing beside it, from the ope~ied window of roof they tarried. A message from Vasour which looked forth the tearful but speech- said briefly that the Italian would have a less Nina. Chancy started at the sight, hard month of it, but was quite safe to come and for a moment stood motionless, with an around. All, indeed, looked well in the de'- almost weary look in his face. Then he nouement, but Somers was uncomfortably entered with her, while Somers took the conscious of an alteration in Charley. He smiling but equally tearful Henriette under met the same indefinable look occasionally, his protection; and in that long ride city- that evening, which had puzzled him in the ward, with the Banonne crying and laughing morning, and strove courageously but vainly by turns over the blood-stained handker- to dispel the undeniable shadow which had chief; with his aching head pillowed on fallen about Charley's demeanor. He went her heart, and the trembling' lips pressed back to Paris, next day, with misgivings, upon that bullet-seam, as to kiss away and was led by them to urge dispatch at ~ the crimsofl and the pain with a million the Baronne's. Three days after she joined kisses, he found brief oblivion again for all Chancy, and they left for Italy together; the accusing shadows of the night agone. while Paris was ringing with the news of A matchless breakfast awaited them at the rencontre. the Hotel, far better in its kind and in its accessories than the rognons of the smoky Helder; and Nina, coming in after a swift CHAPTER XVI. visit to her toilet-chamber, tm rosy now and ON TflE MOUNTAIN-SIDE. as childishly happy as on the first morning Charley had seen her, cried out, with great A LOVELY day in a lovely land; the blue, glee, "Voila! que j'~taispre'voyante/ Did soft sky of Italy; the blue, trembling cx- I not know there would be two famishinft pause of the Mediterranean; and a rabble of knights returned from the wars, and did '~i mountains running downwards from regions not send word to Pierre that his salvation of snow, until, clothed with gray olive-trees depended on this very breakfast?" and groves of emerald citron, they plunge "Ah, madame, in all things you are the into the sea. In the background seared Geniuc of the Perfect!" cried Somers in rocks and white-capped peaks and winter. return, entering without ceremony into the In middle distance verdant valleys, breath- merits of the menu, and becoming exalted ing of the orange-flower and fragrant heath in his great content with that particular, as gay with blossoms, and chirping birds, and well as with the general results of the morn- warm with summer heat; while full before page: 96-97[View Page 96-97] ON THE MOIYNTAIN-SIDE. it the azure ocean shimmers in the sunlight, like a vast wave of velvet edged with gold. A world of nature framed in one dazzling scene, where all climes and seasons blend together; where the cold rocks look down on blooming vales, and the stately palm- tree on the shore waves a languid salute to the rugged pine above; where the worn' man, broken in the struggle in some sunless land, sits down in the shadow of the fig-tree and draws fresh life from the salted air, while far away he may catch a cold glimpse of winter, and his thoughts fly homeward to the ungracious but ever-dear corner of the world from whence he comes; where old, odd forms of life linger in curious preser- vation, and unwritten history teems with strange traditions and the dim legends of three thousand years; where the sea-going Greek, the stern Prietorian, the half-naked Goth, and the dark-eyed Saracen succes- sively have trod, and left in turn their im- press on the dweller and the land. Centuries of patient toil have ribbed the steep hills with terrace walls, until every mountain is like some giant's flight of steps, bordered and girt with wonderful old ranges of olive-trees whose ages may not be told. And fiu~ up, where only the eagle flies and broken masses of stone scorch in the sun, - in hidden crevices of the hills, where the few trees are shrunken things, and the vine grows short and thick and knotted in the cloud damps, - are little fairy villages reached only by hours of patient climbing. One sees there the antique type of the Latin in the strong-limbed men and hardy, gray-eyed women, whose forgotten ances- tors fled the shores, and from their secret nooks aloft looked down with watchful gaze upon the turbaned rover in his fleet ship. How they have lived on those wild peaks through all the cheerless winters of eight hundred years, how increased and thrive and preserved the stern integrity of the Li- gurian blood, constitutes a weird chapter of the past which no pen has added to written history. But like the eagles, who are their mates, no charm can tempt them from their airy heigbts and the bright picture on which they look down. The air in this land is full of beauty and mystery and silence, the land itself a worn and many-lettered page whose ancient char- acters we puzzle over but cannot read. We stand in the old beaten path of changing races who crept aroundd the sea-girt Alps, age after age, in the ever restless spirit of conquest, and marked it in their several fashions. With the roadside dweller on the shore, Gaul and Ligurian, Greek, Roman, and Moor, and the blond barbarian of the North, were in turn the victorious guests; and in the crabbed dialect of to-day, which defies all but a native tongue, we may still find traces of them all. Tradition fades with the Saracen; but hewn stone and crumbling monuments tell of the Augustan legions, and a dim but fixed antiquity points to the bold navigator of the Pira~us long before them. Here the wounded of the nations gather, and in the infinite charm which hangs about the historic hills find a rare auxiliary to the health-giving climate, which relieves the weary probation of the invalid in the long winter months. For Emma Howlana the study possessed a pleasure that was simply intense; and for her also there was a balm in the air which promised well to restore the rose to her cheeks. Once estab- lished ia their pretty villa by the sea, ("for all the worl~1 like a cottage of terra-cotta," wrote Miss Clare to an envious friend, "with suck a sweet name - they are all named, you know, - fancy, 'Villa Sperhn- za'! ") and the quiet routine of Mentone life fairly begun, the days and weeks sped swiftly in a sunny dream; and even to those of the party in full health, for whom the new life was in such marked contrast to their gay winters at home, the change was fraught with a delh~ious, restful enjoyment that left no room for regret. Clare was ex- ultant, and entered into the business of ~x- cursions with a keen zest. There was no pause in her enthusiastic career until the summits of the Aiguille and Grandmondo had been duly scaled, the eerie hamlet of Sar~ta Agnesa visited, and the general topography of the five inland valleys learned by heart. She had ridden every donkey in the place, and knew their several names and natures, and shouted "Esa! "in broad patois to those that behaved ill, and "13u- ono!" to those that behaved well, quite as vociferously as old Mariana, the "donkey- woman," and much more musically. She had long since ceased to regard a scramble of the docile beasts around some dizzy turn, where a misstep was death, as anything more than a mild exhilaration, and had once ventured a gallop down a steep incline to the abject terror of the beholders, na- tive and ~foreign. Having run through the list of possible ex- cursions, she lapsed rather indolently under the growing warmth of the last winter month into the quieter employment that engrossed Emma's attention, and became her lazy companion in the ever-delightful foot ram- bles and expeditions of a botanical and artistic nature, the fruits of which accu- mulated in fern-albums and sketch-books. The winter had quite broken, and the days were growing rapidly longer and brighter, if possible, when Huntley, with- out warning, made his smiling appearance at the villa. He was received with a burst of joyous welcome, such' as only those who have met on foreign soil can fully "Mamma Jennings" found it so often understand. Emma alone seemed to be enough, but she believed in herself, and was under constraint. She was glad to see firm of purpose, and so at last Emma was him, but only glad in a certain sense of forced to decide that it would be sheer folly association, and in a greater degree she to dream any longer. 11cr days of wild, was sorry. She -was a changed woman rebellious thoughts were over; she only since he had bade her God-speed on the viewed the broken, hope a last time quietly steamer deck, six months before. After and te~irfully, with an unspoken prayer for her severe illness a~ sea, she first began to the happiness of him with whom it had understand the real truth as to her own linked her. health; and in that resigned and peaceful After this it may be imagined that she feeling which in women of her tempera- dreaded to meet Richard Huntley. S~ie meat accompanies the anticipation of~ an put him aside with the things of the past, early death, mere e'irthly interests lost their and his reappearance disturbed the tran- value, and her mind turned to the con- quillity of her new life. temphation of another life. It was a hitter His instincts warned him of a change, disappointment not to see Charley at Paris, though its precise nature he could not but that too hid been accepted in the fathom; but lie was cheered by the gleam self-ignoring spirit of the invalid, of sympathy shown him by Mrs. Jennings, At the right time also, Mrs. Jennings, and, with a half-desperate resolve, threw who had set herself to the task with a himself unreservedly upon her mercy. holy zeal, began to put in operation her "I do not ask you to influence her, or to own plans for the benefit of the young girl. abet my cause," he said, with great earnest- She did not fail while at Paris to inform ness, after a carefully worded but very herself fully oP Charley's actual position, feeling confession of his hopes; "all I dare and to reflect seriously thereupon. She ask, all I can ask, is that you will judge my looked through charitable eye~, moreover, case as kindly as you can, and, if it seems as a woman of the world, and as one who right to you, leave me free to win her in knew the young man well and had loved my own way, with the patient endeavor that him well. She was sorry, too, and owned becomes a love like mine." it to herself. "But here is the poor girl "You know the point beyond which I growing old with this shadow in her cannot go, Mr. Huntley," she said, kindly. heart; (lying, for aught we may know, "I know Emma likes you; whether she under its weight. I hope he does not know could ever love or marry you I may not this and act as he does; no, I do not think it. even venture to guess; influence her, of If I could only have seen him! And after course, I could not. She has loved her all, I could have done nothing, probably, for cousin very deeply and tenderly, and that him. For her I must do, as I promised her affection will ever remain with her a senti- poor niotimer. Ah me! if these men were ment that must be stu(lied and respected. only a little more like women! I wonder Knowing her character as you do, I need what siw is like!" scarcely tell you that. For my own part. Resolved at last, the good woman worked all I may say I do siy frankly, 1 should be diligently. It was no difficult task for her very happy in your success." to draw from Emma the whole truth, to "There are no words to thank ~'on for elicit it by delicate, unsuspected stratagems, that; there, might well be a ~vorthiier suitor, and bit by bit: that th~re had never existed but there could be none with a profounder any expressed understanding between her reverence, a truer love, I may say, for Miss and her cousin; that there had never been Ilowland, tban I feel. If I win her, I shall any (leelaration beyond the tacit acknowl- esteem it the crowning glory of my life, edgment of a lifelong tie which was deeper au'l as God helps me shall strive to grow than declarations. Mrs. Jennings justly more deserving of her every day I live." estimated the strength of ;such love~ but And so guardedly did lie approach her huilt, like a true formalist, on the omitted again, with such matchless finc~e did he rite. How, gradually, with all the craft of strive to recover his old ground and gain tenderness, she drew stone after stone away new, that the first reluctant feeling in Em- from the poor foundation of Emma's dream, ma's heart wore quickly away, giving place until the trembling structure was a ruin, to the wonte(l influence of his presence. need not be told. He was in no way She was growing stronger too, and exhila- bound; he had, beyond her sisterly affec- ratpd by that rare, sweet consciousness of tion, no attraction at home; he might form returning health which gladdens all sur- andb other scenes new and strong ties, rounding and makes the life that was so lose all desire to retmirn; he might even weary yesterday strangely bright and full marry and settle abroad, since he was inde- of promise. pendent of his father, and their relations Emma Howland, smiling in conscious were so unfortunate. It was cruel work; gladness, smiled also on Richard Huntley; '3 96 CHOISY. 97 page: 98-99[View Page 98-99] ON THE MOUNTAIN-SIDE. he caught at that happy token and no lop'rer feared failure. he was a famous accession to their circle, this wonderful man of the world. He in- fused new life into their slightly tedious routine, and brought his rare cleverness and versatility to bear effectively on all its details, from the more serious questions of a sanitary nature down to the simple process of drying a fern-leaf. He demol- ished the proud structure of Miss Clare's conceit at one fell blow, by discovering no less than three new specimens of ferns among the hills, long after she had sighed like Alexander over the exhausted field; and he was the especial admiration of that young lady, when, in knickerbockers and Tyrol blouse, he scrambled up the roughest precipices and ravaged impracticable crevi- ces f6r the early primroses and anemones. Then he introduced a new and delightful feature into their amusements by hunting up the least cumbersome of the fishing- craft, overhauling it neatly, and rigging it 'with a pretty lateen sail; in this they made the merriest little voyages to the Bordighera Point and Monaco, and even Villefranche harbor, t~nd got as brown as the "lemon- girls" on the sunny sea. And in the eyen- ings, after the "sunset chill" was gone, it was simply blissful to sit in the little bal- cony over the beach, with the fisher-folk, men and women, pulling forever at the far- away nets, and chanting forever that self- same song:- "Mariannina comme chuagne ca s' ~ rotta la lancella! come fa la puverella Quanno 1' eequa a da tir~! Quanno 1' acquft a da tira! Quanno 1' acqua a ~Ia mira! Mariani sciasciona mia! Lassa a chub e piglia a me!" with the moonlight turning all the sea to silver, and Mr. Huntley, gathering inspira- tion from the scene, feeding his hungry lis- teners with a thousand curious reminiscences of that sea itself, and the far lands beyond. In advance, indeed, of their eagerly an- ticipated Italian tour, he wellnigh familiar- ized them with the marvels of that storied land, as well as of those which they &ould not hope to visit. There was n6ne he had not visited, studied, it would seem; and he knew well how to invest his recollections of them with that charm of description which has led many an innocent -traveller to grievous disappointment, and to which the vieux router listens with a smile and is not deceived. The appreciative Clare quite lost her heart to the charmer, and rhapsodized fer- vidly over his surpassing fascinations. "Is n't he splendid?" she said to Emma a score of times, adding once, with a little teasing laugh, "I am half in lbve with him myself. I should be quite if- if he were not 'spoke for' I" Whereupon Emmablushed painfully, but laughed also, or tried to do so, as she bent low over her sketch-book. "You darling goose I Do you know," continued the impulsive girl, on whose un- flagging elasticity the soft, semi-tropical cli- mate had proved almost powerless, "you are becoming awfully handsome? You are, indeed; you never looked so well in your life, and it 's my only consolation that the sun has made you almost as black as I am!" Huntley would have used, a better word than "handsome," when, one afternoon sonic days later, they stood together on the high shoulder of the Corniche Road, beyond the Pont Saint Louis, waiting for the others, who were climbing up from the Red Rocks below with much unnecessary clamor. Emma had mounted upon a block of stone and was looking sown at the stragglers, laughing merrily at their laborious advance, and especiallyat Clare and her sister, who were "racing" fiir the top, and whose pro- gress was marked by a desperate disregard of life and limb, as ludicrous as it was excit- ing. Emma had taken off her hat as she stood there, and the smart sea-breeze, waft- ing aside her splendid hair (which Clare that morning had decided was "too beauti- ful" to be "done up," and which fell in golden luxuriance to her waist), showed the cheek, once more full and rounded, man- tling with rich color, an(l dimpled with merriment; and Huntley's soul was in his eyes as he gazed covertly upon the lovely face. A travelling vetlura was toiling up the as- cent, its four stout horses puffing in the hot sun, and the driver in front emulating the noisy dog upon the mountain of luggage be- hind by maintaining a steady volley of mu- sical "Ye-oups!" and an ear-piercing snap- ping of his whip. Of its two occupants one, a lady, was indolently conning a book; the other, a gentleman, as indolently blinking at the dimpled sea far down below. He had just caught sight of the gay party of climbers, and seemed about to call the at- tention of his companion to them, when the two figures on the hill-top met his eye, and he paused in the movement, while the smile died suddenly from his face. Even at that distance a thrill of recognition shocked him, and he shrank back in his corner with coin- pressed lips; but he never withdrew his gaze from the two who stood by the road- side, and whom the travellers wem slowly approaching. Once, indeed, he looked about quickly, as if thinking of escape, and his eye lingered a moment upon the unused sunshade on the seat before him; but he only clenched his hands after it, and settled 98 99 CHlOISY. himself' with an air of desperation in his place, while a stri4en, suffering look over- spread his features. It was all in an instant; the carriage passed just behind the strollers, but south- ward-bound travellers were too common on that one great road to Rome to excite much curiosity, and Iluntley, who had glanced at it when it was still distant, had become suddenly interested in a just visible sail, and was scanning it through his glass. Emma alone turned as the carriage passed, an(l met the great brown eyes she knew so well; th~re were no others like them in the world. She started with a stifled cry, and her hand went to her heart; but the next minute the vehicle had gained the ridge and went thundering down the Ventimiglia side at a gallop. She could have screamed then, and in the first bewildering impulse sped after it as after the last departing hope of her life; but that swift, strained glance which had recognized her cousin, pale, star- tled, strangely altered, she thought., and staring at her with hollow eyes, had taken in as well the handsome, unconscious wo- man, reclining indolently by his side. She was paralyzed for the instant; breath, sense, everything but sight, seemed gone; but I when the reaction came, the memory of that woman s face gave her strength to repress the cry that had sprung to her lips. While Huntley remained intent on the sail, she struggled to calm the tumult of her heart; luckily he did not observe or address her for some time, and a little later he went 1 down the hillside a few steps to give his hand to the panting Clare. Then Emma I ran breathlessly into the road, and, after a moment's search, gathered a little book from the dust, and hid it in her dress. She had I seen it fall, and marked the place, and was fortunate enough to gain it unseen. On the way home she was absent and constrained, and Huntley noticed it uneasi- ly, the more uneasily because she was also pale. "I fear you have walked too far, AMiss 1 Emma; will you let me go for a panier?" "0 no; it is nothing, just the least head- ache. Please excuse me if I am stupid." a He understood, and kept silence to the villa, but he was discumforted. Once there t and in her room, she examined the book I with eager, trembling hands and hungry i eyes. It was a pretty liUou copy of focelyn, t and on the fly-leaf was an inscription f wreathed in a delicate border of ivy-leaves, a the whole in pencil and by what artist-hand s she knew only too well: - b NINA CHOISY, Vallat, Switzerland, Au- ~ gust, 186-. The date was seven months old! She studied it long and silently, while the tears v gathered slowly in her eyes; then. she ~i kissed it where his hand had set its mark, - what was the name to her, since the char- acters were his? and hid i~ away. Theim she sat in her window-corner and wept quietly. Clare came in, and, after a quick glance of surprise, tumbled on her knees beside the silent girL "What is it, darling?" she asked, peering up into Emma's face with the black eyes which were always so sensitive to the influ- ence of tears, and never more so than now. "Nothing, dear; or only a little thing which I will tell you by and by. Don't tell the mamma, will you? It is the last, the very last time!" Clare's eyes overflowed at the melancholy cadence of the last words. "Tell me, dear, was it Mn Huntley -" "No, no! I will tell you, but not now. Don't ask me, please. There, I am going to be good again; promise that you won't speak of it, Clare, there 's a good girl, and go and dress for dinner." Two days later Emma found herself alone with Mr. Huntley,- under the pines of the Cap Martin; the others were career- ing wildly far ahead in pursuit of an un- happy butterfly, with much uproar and a mad flourish of gauze nets. "Mr. Huntley," she said, suddenly, "I irish to ask you a question." ile had marked her closely for these two lays, and noted a new and alarming preoc- ~upation in her manner. It alarmed him because he could not understand it or dis- ~ern it~ cause, and nothing so tried him as :he intangible. His heart sank at these ~v'ords, for no visible reason, - how he miled afterwards when he recalled it! - )ut he said quickly, "It is always a pleas-. ire, Miss Emma." "But this is a strange question, perhaps; lo you know who 'Nina Choisy' is?" "Nina Choisy I - do I? - yes - that s -" He was absolutely at fault. "I see you do. Don't fear to tell me, Mr. luntley. I know all." - you know all?" "Yes, only tell me, Mr.~Huntley, is he - ~re they married?" She asked the question with an effort, hough in all innocence. Evidently, thought luntley, who was struggling~ hard for bear- ugs, she did not "know alP." His hesita1- ion was marked, but she did not notice it, bough she hung on the answer. He said, t last, with a flash in his eyes she did not ce, "No, bat I believe they are going to e. Pardon me, Miss Emma; I thought, re all thought, that it would be painful, perhaps - Mrs. Jennings -" "You are all too good to me. I-I am ery glad of it, Mr. Huntley. I hope he nIl be very happy; do you not also? There page: 100-101[View Page 100-101] ON THE MOUNTAIN-SIDE. 101 100 CHOISY. I meant to be brave about it I am not very, am I ?" She was trying to smile gayly, but two telltale tears had broken bounds on her cheeks. "Miss Emma," said her companion, so- berly, and his voice seemed to tremble a little, "you are the noblest woman I have ever known; I cannot tell you how I honor you.~~ "Thank you, but I don't deserve that praise. Shall we turn back now? I see they have gone around. 1 will explain how I discovered this." She did so, while he listened, gravely, and winced a little when he learned she had seen her cousin. He was very guarded in any further mention of Charley, and hurried at once to communicate with Mrs. Jen- nings. "She asked me if they were married. It was terribly awkward, and I was absolutely at a loss. I said, after some hesitation, which must have seemed strange, that they were going to be." Mrs. Jennings did not like the deception, simply because it was a deception. As for Chancy, she had quite thrown him over, and thought Emma: now could bear the whole truth. But Huntley clung to the fraud. "It is scarcely a decep- tion," he said quickly, a little impatiently she thought;" I have the best authority for assuring you that it is a conclusion which may occur any day, and which is practically inevitable, soon or late." "Yon seem to be informed," said the lady, with some curiosity. "His intimate friend at r~fis is an old acquaintance of' my own, to whom I gave him letters, Through Somers I hear of him, and through him also I have made more than one effort to reach Chariey, as you may believe. He has resented them one and all." "It 's a pity his 'intimate' and your 'ac- quaintance' could not have exercised a little restraint over him," said Mrs. Jennings, with a slight elevation of the brows. "I have had to hide my 'Galignani' for a week past. You saw it, of course." "I read of a duel, - cela va dans l'addi- lion, - and it accounts for his flight through here. No one regrets his course more deep- ly than I do, and no one, perhaps, so well knows thd utter futility of attempting to ar- rest it. It must reach its goal, as it will, in marriage. Her husband lives only from day to day, cannot possibly live lono, and the future is clear to my mind, it would not be well, surely, to embitter Miss Emma's affectionate memories of her cousin at such a time, when to-morrow may amend his fault in the world's eyes, and put him precisely in the position where she now im- agines him. I cannot but think it would be unwise, if not cruel, to do it." Mrs. Jennings did not argue further was quite sure now as to the issue of ley's suit, and accepted it as inevitab any case. The deception - for, despi words, a deception she felt it to be repugnant to her; but in view of the which now seemed assured, she stifled t1~e~ small whisper of conscience, and held her peace. Baronne Nina, startled by the sudden in- crease of speed, as the vetturino lashed his horses into a run down the hill, had given a little nervous spring which sent the book in her hand unnoticed over the si(le, and caught Charley's arm.' "Mon Dieu! how the animal drives!" The next moment her eyes fell on the face of her companion, and noted the change there in alarm. "Qu'as-tu, che'rie?" she asked, quickly, catching his hand as she spoke. What lie "had" at that instant was a dull "wonder" if a leap over the dizzy precipice along which they were now whirling was not preferable to such a life as his had become. Fur the first time h'e drew his hand quickly away froni her with a half-recoil. that sent a chill to her heart. "Mais, qu'as-tu? you are ill, dear; we will go back to Mentone." "No ! no ! " he said, excitedly; but calm- ing himself quickly, he forced a laugh. "I had a bad (lream, pet; was it a dream? I wonder -" "What? what are you talking of?" " What? I don't know, I 'in sure. I was asleep, I think. Where do we stay to- night, did you say?" "Me! I did not say, I don't even know. Oneilly or something like; you are a little stupi(i, bbe'; you arrangetl it all your- self." "So I did, I remember now. How lovely it is!" And because it was so lovely, he leaned back wearily and closed his eyes. She watched him with a troubled face, and marked his contracted brow and twitching lips in genuine concern. Once she caught a muttered name. tie opened his eyes presently, and found her watching him. " Who is ' Iluntley '2" she asked, curtly. He stared at her an instant, and then smiled an u4leasant smile. "My cousin, pet, or going to be!" Strange that his words should be the same as those of the cunning tongue of Huntley himself two days later, "going to be"! Nina did not recover from her alarm that day or the next, or for many. A spirit of recklessness, of desperation even, seemed to have taken possession of Chancy, which she was powerless to control. He began by exhausting the little stock of Moat at the primitive albergo of Oneglia, and held bigh the night through with the amazed, most died myself; since when, I bide with lighted coicrie of' gentlemen of the Cataline. Paris it is! 'Gad! how I have ho tarried there, while the Baronne missed you there!" t a sleepless and agitated night in soli- The large circle of good people who were mourning the unlooked-for reldcke at the A. swift transit by Genoa and Civita Vee- Hotel Choisy, where in the Lent-time indul- ~Ii1a brought theni to Rome, where the gence had ever been the order of the hour, ~ world was gathering for the Passion Play, were thrown into a flutter of delight by the and here a climax was reached. Somers r9appearance of the Baronne from her got 't telegram fi'om Nina, and came over brief retirement, and too grateful lbr the Cenis in hot haste, filled with fears and boon to gossip about its cause. Lifh re- ma(l with sluggish Italian trains. He ar- sumed its course there as gay and brilliant rivcd to find Nina in an agony of distress, as before, and if possible with added aban- and the whole papal police engaged in a don, which some shrewd observers charged futile search for Chancy, who had been miss- to L'Arnericain, while they drew their van- in for three days. He was at last found ous conclusions. And, in truth, Charley drinking confusion to princes and potentates knew no longer any limit; and Somers, in the company of several suspected Gari- watchful and anxious, began to despair of baldians, at an obscure ristoratore without the young man who failed to harden un(ler the walls, and Somers had a very nervous his discipline of fire, and disproved all his night with him in struggling against the fine theories respecting hard riding and set- effects of a too prolonged indulgence in the tling to the ground. It was a clear case of abominations of Vermouth and Falerno Ros- bruisee," from the cry to the death. He so. The Bohemian was rather nonplussed by wondered much about the Italian ~fiasco, but the stats of affairs, but advised a return to ventured no questions. One night Charley Paris. "We can keep him in hand there, said abruptly, "You hear sometimes from at any rate," he said to Nina, in whose Huntley, I suppose?" gricf and bewilderment there was beginning "Yes; I should speak of it if you had not to be just a trifle of impatience. "Did he snubbed me once, as he always sends mes- get any letters or see anybody on the sages." road?" "Very good of him; he 's in Europe, I "I know of none, of nothing' plicable." It is inex- see." Somers opened his eyes, and said, "The Cimarley evinced no surprise at seeing deuce !" to himself; to Charley he said, Somers when he regained sanity. "It 's "Y9s; came out on some bond negotia- you, is it, Ned? I thought so. You see I tion, and was at Frankfort, I believe, the don't ;inprove. It 's hard on her, though last I heard or no! By Jo-" lIe checked she ought to drop me, ought n't she? I 'm the exclamation, and added, "He is down at going to do better, though; you '11 stay with Mentone with some friends." us, won't you ~" Curiously enough, he had not thought of Somers noted the pleading eyes with a that before; a light fell on him at once thrill hd had seen ~nen before who feared when he did so. to he left with themselves. "Of course, if "I know that, too," said Charley, who was yom~ like, old fellow; but I detest this coun- walking th9 room and smoking nervously. try. I wish I could persuade you to go "lie moves in a mysterious way, does our back to Paris." friend Dick; I should n't wonder if he was "Back to PariR! Why, I shall be de- going to be married." lighted if Nina -" "WHAT?" "She wishes it above all things. Every- "Going to be married, I fancy," repeated thing is right there. Martini got away to Charley carelessly, kicking a stool out of Austria, despite his wound, and all the his way as he spoke. "Why not? He is world stands ready to pat your back for rid- un honme comme ilfaut, he is; has no 'dis- ding them of him. As foi~ this graveyard reputable connections,' so far as is known, country, I can't abide it. I came down here and will be rich some day." ever so many years ago and had it out with Somers did not speak. He was strangely the classical shades, had the fever too, and agitated; and to mask his disturbance he fought the whole line, single-handed, in my got his pipe, filled it with fresh tobacco on delirium, royal and imperial, from Romulus half a bowlful of old ashes, and consumed tQ Vespasian. My man-nurse personated a whole box of allumeues in the vain effort the enemy, ~tnd I ended by pitching him to light it. out the window, and sending all the move- "Fascinating man, too, if he tries to be," able effects after him. I was more an an- continued Charley, in a cynical tone, and tique Goth than a simple Cockney, and I more to himself than to Somers. "The crirls thought I was pulling down the Capitol. at home raved about him. I never quite He was nearly killed, poor devil, and I al- believed him an angel in disguise, and I page: 102-103[View Page 102-103] FREEDOM- SHACKLES. 103 102 CHOISY. did n't think - Bah I what a fool I am! I say, Ned, who is this Dorion?" "Deuced fine fellow," said Somers, evi- dently relieved by the diversion; "old fam- ily friend of the Baronne, but has been in Algiers with his regiment sinee you came out. He was a sort of protdgd of the old Colonel, I believe, and has always been an intimate at the Baronne's. You will like him when you know him better." "I dare say," said Charley, yawning. "I guess I '11 go to cover; bona sera!" "Dream sweetly!" echoed Somers, with a wave of his hand; but the serenity faded from his face as the door closed, and for once the social soul was plainly glad to be alone. He readjusted the pipe and made a feeble effort to smoke, but it was a vain one; and when he withdrew, after a lengthy and troubled meditation, to his sleeping- room, the expression on his features was al-I most despairing. His thoughts, whatever they might be, were much too bitter to find the usual vent in soliloquy, though he did break out mournfully as he turned in to his bed, "What can I do? I wish he would go home!" CHAPTER XV1I. FREEDOM -SHACKLES. new-coiner at the Hotel Choisy, who had so far attracted the attention of our hero as to provoke the inquiry recorded in the last chapter, was, as Somers had said, an old family intimate of the D'Alencourts. The elder D orion had been a brother in arms with the Colonel, and, dying in Africa, had sent his orphaned boy to France some years after the Colonel's return, with a last message begging the good offices of the friend in his child's behalf. Though the boy had a home among his father's kindred at Lyons, he spent much of his early life at the chateau of the D'Alencourts, and there had been a firm and rather tender alliance between the little Nina and the dark-eyed Gustave. Through the Colonel's patronage the boy was sent to St. Maur at Paris when he was still in the season of sand-pies and pain de sucre, and Nina a demure and di- minutive little body of six years' growth. They met but seldom afterwards, though often enough to preserve the simple entente cordial of their childhood. He was away on service during the brief interval between Nina's withdrawal from the seminaire at Paris and her marriage, and did not appear to renew the ancient acquaintance until she was the established lady du monde of the Boulevard Monceaux. It might be said that no marked emotion was awakened in the bosom of the gallant spahi by the news of her marriage, which reached him in due course through the mess- gdssip, by Afric's sunny mountains. He smiled slightly when he recalled the well. remembered spectre of Chateau Choisy; but was apparently disposed to regard the match with a certain degree of approval, as his thoughts foreshadowed something very like the state of things which after- wards existed at the gay Ho a Paris. lie pledged the happy pair in a beaker of foaming Seltzer warmed with the cognac of Cette, and wjis glad to think that he might some day meet the blooming Nina at a certain advantage in the world. Nor was he disappointed in this regard, as whenever afterwards he enjoyed an opportunity of basking in the hospitable glow of the Ba- ronne's town-heuse, his heart had been cheered by manifestations of great friendli- ness on the part of the mistress, and his pride more than gratified by a marked rec- ognition of his personal merits. Truth to tell, Monsieur Gustave was a commendable specimen of his kind. In appearance he was the beau ideal of the French soldier, and had already won honorable mention in desert strife; and in his circle he ruled first favorite by virtue of rare good-natm'e and that insouciant dash which is the dis- tinguishing charm of the military scape- grace. Nina liked him immensely. He amused her, and sharing a perfect under- standing, which rendered mistakes impossi- ble, they had even beguiled themselves with some thoroughly amiable and thoroughly unmeaning flirtation. It was edifying be- yond words when the handsome soldier af- f~mcted a pale and sickly melancholy, and dwelt with sweet sadness on the cruel issue 'of their lives, so lovingly twined at the be- ginning, so ruthlessly torn apart, etc., etc. Nina could listen with sympathetic solem- nity, but would hint at the end that the whisper of the 'world led her to believe he had found much consolation in the usual sources; whereupon there would be smiles and "qac vualez-vou~'s?" and cigarrettes Laferme. He had resented the conquest of the "barbarian of the West," however, had the noble soldier, and swore a round oath in the seclusion of his quarters, when the amazing news reached him in due course of correspondence. It was a reflection on the national prestige~ on his own personal re- pute as a winsome knight, and a shattering blow to his amour propre; and though the fires of his wrath burned suiphurously for a time without disastrous consequences, he finally asked a leave and crossed the llIag- num in a belligerent state of mind. When he appeared on the scene, soon after the re- turn of the party from italy, it was with a chivalrous resolution to oppose the present state of affairs at any cost. He proved more a Deus ex macidna than in his simple or, if he did, it was only to feel a certain soul he had dreamt of being. pleasure in the addition to the habitue's at He had come at a critical moment, - at the Hotel Choisy of a person so evidently the moment when INina, under the haunting agreeable to Nina. influence of certain memories, and tortured lie first met Dorion at the Baronne's fa- by a dread she could not name even to her- miliar dejeuner, and found a tall, handsome self, was casting about for means to solve man, of~ apparently his own age, with a the doubts that grew and oppressed hcr bronzed face, long straggling mustache, and with every hour that passed. Of all pos- peculiarly bright and winning eyes. It was sible weapons, the desperate woman, in her a very prepossessing personnel, and he ac- day of suspense, invariably selects the knowledge the very profound salute of the worst and the most dangerous. ~Uo Nina, young soldier with a certain instinctive uk- with her Southern blood and the passion ing. He assisted afterwards at the break- that could so easily be excited to delirium, fast, participating slightly in the conversa- this weapon seemed the simple instrument tion, which ultimately was narrowed, however, of her need. She had thought of it, a lit- to a merry exchange of reminiscences be- tie fearfully, perhaps, at first, but more and tween the Baronne and Dorion, in whidi more as the fact became clear and terrible, he took no part. He noticed, perhaps, that her life-prize was slipping from her Nina's rather excited manner, and the cx- grasp slowly, but steadily and surely, even excellent understanding which evidently cx- as she watched it with her hungry eyes. isted between the two, but without even a How win it back? Alas! this is com- momentary feeling of curiosity. mon cry of half the women who have ever The progress of Nina's diversion need lived. not be dwelt upon. Chancy's unconscious Gustave Dorion came at that moment, indifference was only a confirmation strong and with a feverlrh eagerness she cast her from which she shrank shuddering, while lines and set her last hope on the chance. her part became so pronounced and reck- As for Chancy, it scarcely needs to be less that all Paris gossiped over it and told to what level his feelings had sunk. marvelled at his blindness or indifference. The love - if by that name we may dig- At last, when his own discovery of the situa- nif~ the brief; shameful passion that had tion could scarcely have been longer de- occupied his senses and aged his heart - was layed, the inevitable whisper of t~ie winds dead within him. Its very last spark had gone brought him enlightenment. out in that terrible instant of recognition on It would not be easy to describe the mm- the mountain road, - drowned in a flood of gled feelings which were stirred in him by unshed tears that flowed inward upon his the news. In the first moment there was heart, buried in a mountain mass of ai~ unquestionable sense of relief; but, be shame and regret. All that remained was th~ circumstances what they may, there is the man's remorseful consciousness of duty; ever a feeling of humiliation in such a case of his duty to her who had given her all for for the man, which, if it is not so deep or so him, anti to whom he should ever owe the trying as the woman's, is still sufficiently full allegiance of his actions until she strong to dominate all othet sentiments, and should set him free. So far, even in those to lead oftentimes to bitter, even danger- wild, reckless days, he was true and strong. ous results. Charley was very angry, very He set a stern watch upon himself, and Ia- savage indeed, and infinitely disgusted. bored hard to conceal from her the change He had no charity for the simple and delib- of his feelings. Alas, how vainly No er~ite sensualism which characterized, ani- mask may blind a woman's eyes to such i~ mated indeed, that heated Paris life, and sight; she, to whom he belonged, still might detested the myriad shades of grossibrete' in have understood perhaps, the noble chivalry which its votaries revelled. He had lived which governed him now, and even valued within it, to be surer but never imbibed it, it as rare among men; but that the old love and until now lie had believed the Ba- was dead, or dying, all the same, she knew, ronne as hostile to it as himself. He had or must infallible have known, only too sinned, not as men sin daily in thought soon. and deed, but as a man who falls unwarned In the reckless haste with which she be- into error, as into a pit, carrying with him gan her desperate task, in the sad mockery and retaining the hardly spotted garment of coquetry which she assumed at the very of his nature. He put the worst construc- moment of the Lieutenant's presentation, he tion on Nina's conduct with rather hasty would have seen - ah, how quickly ! - if he judgment, and the worst color as well to had still loved, something more than a his own position; and his state of mind pleasant friendliness, which in truth was all may be better imagined than described. he did see. Intent as he ever was now With a dim purpose of ending at. a blow upon maintaining the guard upon himself; the unendurable connection, he made his he noted nothing of the delicate prelude; appearance at the Hotel after some days of page: 104-105[View Page 104-105] 104 CHOISY. absence, - days of which it would have puz- zled him sorely to give account, - entering the salon at a late hour on a stormy March night. A few callers only had braved the tempest of the streets for the goal of warmth and luxury in those gilded parlors. Ma- dame Grandoic was seated at whist with a select t;rio of her own favorites, - elderly gentlemen of a studiously military poise, due mainly to latent whalebone, - and most of the others had made the game the centre of their revolutions. Chancy missed the Baronne, but as he passed into the inner salon he heard her short laugh from the conservatory beyond; it ran at right angles with the room, and at the same instant, in the large mirror which filled an opposite space, he caught the full reflection of an in- teresting tableau which caused him to pause sud(henlv in his advance. It is to be presumed that the gallant Lieu- tenant, in view of the fact that his short leave expired this vei'y night, felt himself justly entitled to some slight token of grati- tude for time part he lately sustained with, it must be owned, admirable art. Em- boldened by the consciousness of desert, he had seized the opportunity in the conserva- tory to speak plaintively of his forced flight on the morrow; and Nina looked soberly at him as he spoke, thimiking not of him, but of certain matters as yet unaccomplished and to the furtherance of which his assistance seemed essential. There was danger in the glance, however; Monsieur Dorion quite mistook its nature, which was the more nat- ural since lie was French and a large drinker of wine at dinner; he caught both her hands in his with a quick, strong grasp, amid, before she could make a niovement to resist him, drew her close and kissed her cheeks one after the other. This was the. picture Chancy saw; and seeing it he swung around on his heel with something like a smothered oath. An instant later the Baronne brushed past him with a flaming face, and apparent- I y without perceiving him; Dorion followed in her steps, and paused rather confusedly before our hero. Charley regarded him with a strange mixture of feelings, in which anger, however, bore no part. "Boa s~oir / Monsieur Wales," said the officer with an embarrassed bow, curiously unlike his usual easy manner. "Bin soir / Monsieur Dorion," returm~ed Charley, with a smile that added to the warrior's discomfiture; "you were going, n'est ce pas?" "Mais oni; I had - that is, it is my last night in the city, and I must look in at the club." "Will you share my coupe'? I was just about to take my leave, and shall be hon- ored." 'Kllferci; but you are just arrived!" re- turned Dorion, ~laneng timidly to~rards Nina, to whom the conversation was quite audible. She was leaning over the players, and the fire of her face was giving place slowly to a deathly pallor. "True," said Charley, with a clear, cold laugh; "it is like F~ydeau's two cooks, celui qui arrive - celui qui pars. No offence, my dear Dorion; we will say I had an en- gagement." Nina did not turn as they passed out, nor did they address her; but as the door closed on the two, and while every occupant of the room stood open-mouthed in wonder at the scene, she gave a low shuddering sob, and sank senseless on the floor. In that instant when Dorion's hot lips were on her fhce, she had caught sight of the tall figure in the mirror, and even at that distance felt the glitter of the b-own eyes. No mortal* voice could have 4ivm adequate expression to the cry which sprang to, but stopped unspoken, at her lips, "Je suis perdue!" 'fhe~e was wild confusion in the room. Madame Grandoic followed the example of her charge with commendable promptness, and the demoralization of the three vicux militaires was pitiful. The others, under Henriette's guidance, bore the unconscious Barroune to her chamber, where she was left to the care of the faithful maid, while the guests hurried away with eager feet to spread the marvellous tale. It was not too late for these industrious worthies, and in twenty Parisian salons it was known that night that the Baronne Choisy had had a "violent altercation" with" the American," and been left insensible on the floor of her parlor by that barbarian. It was fu ther learned, indeed, that same night, that he had knocked her down; and for days that fol- lowed no epithet was too severe for the man concerning whom Paris had quite ex- hausted its indolent curiosity, and from whom it was swift to withdraw its fickle favor. " Vale, 'Vales '- veillez veilleurs!" cried an alliterative wit at the club; and twoscore gentlemen, who might have been classed as the "watchers," drew a quick breath at the news, pricked up their fourscore ears like hounds on the scent, and cried, "Eu/In!" Charley and his companion, arriving at their destination, found the brilliant club- rooms thronged with a numerous company escaped from the stormy streets, and the play at high tide. They sat down mechani- cally at e'carte', neither being in a very col- lected state of mind, and glad of the* diversion; and a circle soon formed about them, attr&~ted by the c(lual skill of the players, as well as by a piquant interest which their known relations, aupr~s the I FREEDOM-- Baronne, lent to the game. No thing that is novel is ever lost in Lut~ce; and as it becamiie known through the salons that the compe'titeurs of the Hotel Clioisy were pitted in play, the encircling group rapidly as- sumed the appearance of a galerie, at least in point of numbers and enthusiasm. The side-betting was excited and extravagant, and the players seemed to catch the reck- less spirit as, while the fortunes of the table varie(l imiipartially, the stakes reached a fig- ure that was far beyond the "rules." Clinrlcy was drinking freely; in which iii- dulgence his opponent, qualified by an African expei-ience, vied with a good grace, but to an indiscreet excess. The soldier's skill, or good luck, deserted him finally, and the luck remained with Charley, until Dorio~ quite lost his head, and, at the con- clusomi of a game which cost him ten thou- sand francs, swore a big soldier oath, and cried a double. "If you will," laughed Charley; "we will prove the maxim of love and cards to be true or false to-night; eh, Dorion 2" " Comment?" "Nothing, double it is; your cards, 1 believe." The outsiders had repudiated the even stake ii la Vichy, and five to one was given on Charley. Dorion lost again and again, and was sufficiently sobered to decline fur- ther play, as he well might be. his losses would cripple him for a year to come. I Charley drew him aside, and tore the 1 IOU's into bits before his eyes. "Pardon me, Dorion, I cannot take your money, lie said to the amazed and of- feuded officer; "I am indebted to you for enabling me to forget inyseW for two hours. You g to Algiers in the morning?" "Yes; hut, Monsieur Wales -" "We shall not meet again, probably," continued Charley, ignoring the other's assumption of dignity; "my best wishes, Lieutenant; l)on soir et boa voyage!" Be- foro the bewildered officer could collect his ideas, the young man was gone. "Diable (les A mericains!" he muttered, s as he turned again to the tables; "it 's a case for Charenton; mais il a du c~w', l'en- r faid ! " a It was past midnight when~ Charley came a out into the street and the sturm; but the b mood of the elements soothed his heated r brain, and, ignoring the few shivering cab- o bies who k-pt watch at the corner, he e walked away towards the Malesherbes, led t more by instinct than reason. He had for- fi gotten his paletot, and met the beating gale f~ in thin evening dress; but of this he had no tI consciousness. A single thought surging a back upon him after the momentary dis- h traction of play occupied his mind swept h from it all others. 14 -SHACKLES. 105 He was free! and by no act of his; to bun emancipated, what were stormy skies Or whistling winds? The heavy bond of yesterday was broken, He had never fully realized the weary weight of that bond till now when it was broken; and the feeling of relief was almost intoxicating. lie reached his quarters, and hurried to his room; a fi~verish, sudden impulse had seized him by that time, - the impulse to fly, to put land and sea between him and this hated Paris, with its glitter and deceit; and he acted upon it with an eagerness that was almost cowardly. He tossed a few things into a portmanteau, anti changed his soaked (Iress for a trav- elling-suit. He felt chilled and uncomfort- able all the time, and drank frequently, and found it a difficult thing to do when he sat down to pen a brief note to ~Somers (who was not "at home" this night), ask- ing him to look after his things for the present. It was not yet daylight when lie rang up the sleepy porter and- dispatched him for a cab. The execution of this order was not conspicuously prompt, but a vehicle was brought at last, and a shining louis lent such sudden speed to Jean's lazy limhs, that the portmanteau was tossed up to its perch as soon as Charley himself had en- ~ered the cab and banged the door after him. With the imperturbable dignity of his class, cocker sat silent aloft while these reliminaries were accomplished, blinking with drowsy eyes at his horses. It was )nly when Charley was beginning to won- icr that they did not move off that the ~cnius of the box leaned tiown to the win- low, and said quietly, "Eh b'en! mon- neur; oii gallons nous?" Where, indeed! Chancy had not thought )f that. "Was there a train out of the city n any direction at that hour?" "There is one at six for the North, n'sieur; it is the express for Calais." As the cab rolled away upon the Boule- ard, the now thoroughly awakened porter thought himself of a sin of omission, and ushed wildly in pursuit, with a tiny note a his hand which had come at midnight for monsieur; but it was a vain chase, and the rave gar~on came back breathless with a neful face, the more rueful as the delivery f those pretty~ crest-bearing missives had var been t~ him a most momentous, impor- mt matter. And a soutid rating he got 'om Monsieur Somers, that day, for having tiled to repair his neglect. "To think," Liat desolated gentleman said to himself s he held the note before him, twelve ours later, "that it might have stopped Chancy dozed feverishly in the train up page: 106-107[View Page 106-107] 106 CHOISY. FREEDOM - SHACKLES. to Calais; he felt badly, but attributed his illness to loss of sleep, and fought; off the chill with his flask; and there was some- thing so inspiriting in the thought of getting back to grave, homelike old London, which loomed up in his fancy now as a great, secure refuge ahead, that it nerved him to resist the growing weakness. It was a bitter, drizzling day on the Channel, with a legion of storm-devils howling down from the North Sea; but he had turned hot by that time, and walked the deck careless of rain and cold. Only when he sat in the train en route to London did he begin to suspect he was really ill, and find his strength deserting him. He was barely able to drag himself to a cab at Ludo'ate Hill and order the driver to his 1Lote'~ in Saint Martin's le Grand. "The seasickest Frenchman you never saw!" cabbie informed divers of his con- frhres over the traditional "bucket of water and 'two' of gin," "what wanted to allay veet to the - 'Otel for bun pubwar!" Limited as was that worthy's acquaintance with the French tongue, it quite covered the significance of the last word, and he had whirled Charley around to Aldersgate as only a Jehu of the London streets may do. At the hotel Charley went to bed, and after some hours of increasing distress sent for a physician. It was not too soon; at midnight he was in a raging fever, which was only diverted from his head to take the equally serious form of acute inflammation of the lungs, -his old weak spot. He hung between life and death for days; but his attendant was a man of skill, who kept him in the sleepless care of an accomplished nurse, and he rallied at last, feebly indeed, but surely. His convalescence was slow, an(l the spring had worn away to its latest month before he was strong enough to get upon his feet. It was a memorable time; and among the last to fade from his recollection will be those long, thoughtful, regenerating days, when he lay so weak and helpless in the very heart of London, a shipwrecked waif upon that vast ocean of life. With all its myriad voices he grew familiar; in the long night-watches be learned the very tones of the time-bells; the solemn echo of St. Paul's, the historic ring of St. Saviour's, which for centuries had sling the death.song for the condemned of Old Bailey; the silver clamor of Bow Bells, and the clear but distant notes of St. Mary's le Strand~ These alone spoke in the brief pause of darkness; but with the hint of day the murmur of life began again, swelling with the dull light of early morning into a million-tongued roar, eloquent yet unintel- lio'ible. The laden omnibuses tearing down t~'the Bank, witl~ some merry trumpeter on the box, waking the echoes of the "highest ground" with a silver note; the sharper rattle of motley vehicles; the cry of fleet newsboys and lagging hucksters; the rag- man's bells; the tramp of parading volun- teers, or clatter0of little feet as charity-school children trudged by ; - all floated in at his window, conveying in one tremendous voice all the immeasurable life that dwells under the name of London. Well might one grow sober and humble at thought of all thbse millions of sorrow-burdened hearts, and turn to ponder anew upon the sorrows and the resources of his own. In these passive days he grew strong, morally as well as physically, and he rose from his bed a changed man. The day when he might be moved came round at last. "We must have you out of this," said Duncan, "and down among the green fields, or, what is better, by the sea. I have taken the liberty to arrange it all for you, though my part is in simply turning you over to a professional friend at Ventuor. He has found a place where you will have quiet, home care, and, if medical assistance should be needed, I can recommend him fully as my successor. But all you require now is air and discretion, and you will be yourself again in a short time. You have had a narrow escape, and I suspect there was not much excuse for your danger. Ah! you young men! If 1 had the ruling of it, none of you should go to Paris till you were as gray, at least, as I am!" So Charley went down to the Isle of Wight, and was lodged in a pretty cottage in the Undereliff. The May roses were already blooming about the door, while over the sand the familiar Atlantic stretched away before him in sunny glory. Here the days sped swiftly; but each brought a gain of health and strength. Down at that other cottage by the Med- iterranean, the early April days brought the date fixed for beginning the long-canvassed Italian tour. Richard Huntley still lingered with the party, but said he should only remain to see them safely over the border, and then take his way to the North. To the urgency of Clare and the frankly expressed wish of her mother that he would accompany them, he returned the same half-sad, half- smiling reply, and waited ever for the other voice. But Emma kept silence; the poor heart no longer knew itself. The farewell rambles came at lust; long, dreamy, and regretful, among the fragrant orange-trees, and along the terraces carpeted with scarlet anemones; and in one of them he said to her, "Once I asked you, Miss Emma, if I might go with you on a long voyage; may I ask again now?" 107 And she answered simply, as in a daze, "I am going with you to Italy!" he "If you will, Mr. Huntley," giving him her cried, gayly. hand as she spoke. "It 's not a compliment to my powers of She too had come to regard the gift as persuasion, monsieur," said the lady with a inevitable, and she thought of it, if without laugh, though there were tears in the eyes marked emotion, at least quietly and with- which looked at him over Emma's bent out dread. Now when he put her hand head; "just like all the men, you must be tenderly to his lips, and gravely and with- bought over at a high price out show of passion spoke his love, it made "And when you get us we prove sad her even a little glad and thankful. He bargains, -~eh?" He was like a child in his had been so good, so patient and devoted happiness. Mrs. Jennings looked at him to her, that sometimes she felt borne down maliciously, as if she were studying a pen- by a weight of obligation, and she was ance for him, but~he only beamed more happier now in the thought of making gayly. payment. She was not sure she loved him, "We will work you well, at any rate; and certainly she did not as she bad loved the you may begin, Sir Richard, at once, by en- other; but she had more than once a3ked aging our vedura, and a nice one, mind!" herself if this serious, grateful regard which "A triumphal car, madame; we will enter had grown to its full measure was not Rome as the conquerors did. Shall it be better than that wearing passion of the old the captive elephants of Hannibal or -" days. "Go along; from this promising begin- He knew her feeling, and made it his fling I presume we shall have a series of guide, as he drew her away to the shade of magnificent absurdities to the end of the a gray old olive, and spoke long and soberly chapter." in words that soothed the little tumult of "Trust me, dear Mrs. Jennings, I'll be her heart, awfully good," he said, laughing; but adding "As the years go, Emma, I am almost an with infinite tenderness, as he turned to go, old man beside you," he said, holding her "do you also take good care of my dar- hand softly, so softly that from time to time lin her eyes met his with a momentary courage, "You dear puss!" cried the lady, when lingering ever longer and less timidly; "and he had gone, kissing the still blushing face, it might be said of me, perhaps, that a varied "I am delighted, he is such a splendid and eventful life has aged inc beyond my man!" years; yet, without egotism, I would ques- "I am glad you are pleased," was the tion if what the world or many in it will low reply; "he has been so good to me, I call your sacrifice in marrying one so much hope I shall make him happy." your senior is really such. Little woi'thy of "Of course yorfwill! Why, the man is you as I am, I should have been far less so mad with joy, poor fellow! 1-lere is Clare, twenty years ago. I was no worse than the child must be put out of misery, she most young men of my class; but when I has been in a fever of suspense for a look at you as you are, and recall myself' at month!" twenty-five, I recoil from the comparison. Emma wished to be married at home, As a young man, I feel I should have failed and opposed any other proposition with un- utterly to understand or appreciate your yielding firmness; so it was determined beautiful character - ah, yes, it is more that after Italy and some weeks at Paris, beautiful and noble than you can know I - they should all go hpme together. Clare while, as a young man, I should have cx- vowed that nothing should prevent her as- acted that passionate sentiment which young sitting at the wedding, and Mrs. Jennings men so falsely estimate. How incompar- was not altogether sorry to change her ably superior is the affection you give me plans and~return to America. now. You cannot know how I value it; "We can come out again when we like; you shall only see how I -will strive to it 's a small affair when it has been once ac~ retail it, perhaps to make it grow. You complished; and, to tell the truth, I am have made me very happy, darling, anti homesick for dear New York!" men at my age do not hold that rare "0 yes, we can all come again next win- boon lightly. It shall be the leading pur- ter, and have our nice times all over again; pose of my future life to make you happy can't we, Mr. Huntley?" cried the joyous also. May (Iod judge me as I keep to that Clare. purpose!" "To be sure we can!" returned that It was late when the ramblers returned gentleman, to whom the present and future that night. Huntley led Emma to Mrs. were alike couleur de rose. Jennings by ~the hand with a proud smile; They were nearly two months in Italy, the blushing girl was only too glad of "the and, lingering a week in Switzerland after- mamma's" sheltering bosom when he re- wards, did not arrive at Paris until June, leased her. where their stay was made brief, in order page: 108-109[View Page 108-109] 108 CH( that th6y might avail themselves of the smooth Atlantic of early summer. Hunt- ley found unusual difficulty in securing their passage across. The Cunard steamers were taken up with full lists for weeks ahead, and he was eventually compelled to take staterooms on a steamer of another line. They made efforts at Paris to communicate with Charley, but could learn nothing what- ever of his whereabouts. Huntley informed himself fully through Somers of the young man's mysterious disappearance, but was discreetly silent even to Mrs. Jennings; the utter absence of any clew puzzled him, and gave him considerable uneasiness. The Baronne, he learned, had left the city, imme- diately after Charley's departure, for her chateau, to "assist," as the Parisian world said, at the demise of Baron Choisy, who was gathered to his ancestors soon after. Beyond this nothing was known; at the banker's no word whatever had been re- ceived from Mr. ~Vales, nor had any wan- dering soul succeeded in this instance in tracing him to a hiding-place. The gossips themselves, having exhausted their wits on the subject, finally compromised upon the hypothesis that a reconciliation had been effected between the young man and Nina, and that he was only awaiting in seclusion the passage of a saving interval, after which the monde expected nothing less than a mar- riage of veuve Chosy and "the Amcrican." Huntley was pleased finally to accept this view of the case as favorable to his ends; though Somers declared it was "all wrong," and so much of the story as related to the expected alliance he communicated to Mrs. Jennings, who in turn conveyed it carefully to Emma. If the latter was especially dis- appointed, she gave no visible evidence of it beyond saying very quietly, "I should have liked to see my cousin very much." Did she then misjudge herself? Per- haps; at any rate, Richard Huntley, who heard the words with a chill, said in his soul, "I am desperately glad you did not!" Matters followed their rapid course; and at noon precisely, on the 22d of June, they steame(l out of Liverpool harbor for home, and Huntley's heart was glad. CHAPTER XVIII. EEVELATiON. I HAVE said that the time sped pleas-' antly for Charley at his new home in "stately Wight"; but the words fail to express the quiet enjoyment of those days, in which the sweet sense of returning health gave a glad and grateful tone to sur- roundings 9f a thoroughly homelike char- acter, as rare as they were delightful to our )ISY. REVELATION-. hero. He was the guest of a widow lady, whose slender income received additions by the occasional contributions of one or more invalid lodgers like himself, coming to her, as he had done, at the advice of the princi- pal physician of the place. The household consisted of the mistress, her aged father, and two children, boys of twelve and four- teen. There was, besides, an invalid lady of a certain age, who seldom left her cham- ber, and held coldly aloof from "the Ameri- can" until that charitable young man quite won her over by deferential attentions and the grateful acceptance of a budget of Church publications. Chancy was espe- cially interested in his hostess, whose win- ning and motherly manner was marked by a settled melancholy that appealed power- fully to his sympathy. Her age was a puz- zle; but he was quite sure that the worn face, which had once been very lovely, and the silvered hair, were aged rather by suf- fering than by years. Had he required her care, he felt how gentle and tender a nurse she would have been; but that need was past. It was wonderful how he rallied in the bracing sea air, and felt the lost strength coming back with every breath; and it was only when he faced himself in the mirror, and looked curiously at the thin, white fea- tures, thrown into vivid relief by a thick, dark beard, that he realized the "facts" again; though even at these he only smiled now in the fullness of his spirits. He made himself a great favorite at the cottage in a little time, winning all hearts with his pleasant words, and demolishing the prejudices of the elders against his "Yankee" blood, with never-varying good- humor. With the old gentleman, who was a quaint relic of the smaller commercial class of London, he would sit up to any hour, over mild gin-and-water, and listen without weariness to ,endless reminiscences of Kent Road and the" City" of fifty years back; while with the boys, fine, manly fel- lows, whose dark, un-English faces always stirred some undefinable memory in his heart, he shook off ten heavy years, joining them in their boating, paddling for shrimps, and " larking" in a hundred ways, for days together. Not but that he had mnny sober hours, even sad ones, in which the life to come was studied bravely and hopefully, though not without some pain; but in this holiday-time and day of deliverance, as it sometimes seemed to be, there was much that was joyous, and of this he made the most. "You are getting strong so fast we shall lose you some fine day soon, I fear," said the widow, a little sadly, when June with its daily pilgrimage of city wanderers, in- tent on Canisbrook and Osborne House, had come. "Indeed, Mrs. Delafield, I had scarcely thought of it, it is so delightful here, an ~ ou have made it seem like home to m es, I must go soon~" "Shall you return to New York, Mi Wales?" she asked, thoughtfully. "Yes, I think so; not to remain there perhaps, but for a time, certainly." After a moment of silence the lady con tinned, flushing slightly as she spoke " Some day before you go, Mr. Wales, wil you allow me to inflict somncthing of my his tory upon you? If you knew it, you migh~ do me a service in America." "1 should be glad indeed of the oppor unity to dp that, to do anything in my power for you, Mrs. Delafield. I shall al~ ways owe you a debt, and Welcome any chance of paying you in part. I must think more of going now, too. I have been re- luctant to do it heretofore." Yes, he would go back to New York. There had been a nervous shrinking when he first approached that determination; no moment probably was more trying to the prodigal than that in which he mastered the stubborn heart and resolved to go back in hu- mility to his father's house, to face the gibes and sneers, and win back the difficult favor of the world; but he met it bravely, and grew strong in the resolve. If it were per- mitted him,, he would try to win forgiveness of his father. He would ask no further fa- vors, as he had still something of his own; and in some of the countless avenues, in some one of those marvellous growing Western cities perhaps, he could begin the new life, surround himself with new as- sociations, and grow to fill some useful place. They were brave pictures, and he found a deep gratification in drawing them, and sometimes a strong impulse to hasten away to their accomplishment; but this he checked. He would do nothing more hastily or blindly as long as he lived. He thought often of his cousin, too, with a sad humility that was void of bitterness. The scene on the Corniche was very vivid in his memory, and he imagined her now only as the wife of Richard Huntley, and bowed to the fate. "He will make her happy because he will appreciate her. how thingseome about!" he said to the sands. "I could not have borne the thought once. Heigho! here are the boys. Well, what is it? a row? I 'm with you; I have gqt quite strong with the oars again." "So you have, Mr. Charles, -- so you have!" tie lingered in the island for more than a fortnight after that brief conversation with the. widow; but he had set a day, mean- while, for his departure, and like all set days it came around very soon. it was only on the preceding afternoon that, lAying 109 y delicately reminded his hostess of her pro- ri posed commission, and repeated the assur- ance of the pleasure it would give him to serve her in any way, lie received from her lips the promised narrative. It was in the privacy of the little parlor, the scene of , many pleasant memories to Charley, who little dreamed of the great event which was - at hand to make it more than memorable. "You will not find my story a vci'y 1 happy one, Mr. Wales," she began, with a - sad smile, and evidently with some effort. There was a pitiful, appealing expressiomi in her face that won all his sympathy at the start, and instinctively he took the thin hand and held it while she spoke. "hf I - did not know your good heart, I should not burden you with my sorrows; but it has been my hope tbr years to meet with an American in whom I could confide, and you have seemed almost like an answering messenger to my prayer. You will think me weak and foolish, it may be, when you know 'dl, and the one hope in life I retain; but there are ties in life, Mr. Wales, from which no woman's heart can free itself. I am not a widow; I am only a deserted wife. I feel sure that my husband still lives, though I have heard no word fm'oiu him for twelve years. May God forgive me if I do him wrong! he may have died even in those days so long ago; but I cam~- not stifle the voice of my heart, which always tells me he is alive, and that I shall see him again." She paused a moment, and turned away to brush two stubborn tears from her eyes, while Charley silently pon- dered on this explanation of the stricken face. "It sounds strange to you," she con- tinued, "and scarcely less so to me, listening to my own words; in all these years it has seemed a bitter dream. I can never real- ize it, and am always thinking I shall wake again, and find him with inc. It has been hard, Mr. Wales. One day I was a young, happy wife -0, so happy! - and the next as you see me now, alone ii~~the world." "But have you never had a~my tidings, no clew---?" "Neve~but once, and then a mere straw. I had best tell you all the story. Fifteen years ago we lived on Clapliam Rise, you know it, - over on the Surrey si(lc. My mother was living then; but I was the only child left at home, all my brothers having married and scattered. We had a large house, and mother was one of those old- fashioned, busy women who live in a con- stant state of occupation; she had always had a great family to look after, and it made her miserable to be so~sohitary and have so little to do, especially as flither was absent a great deal of the time at Ports- mouth], assisting my eldest brother in busi- page: 110-111[View Page 110-111] 110 CHOISY. ness; so, though we did not need to do it, we took in gentlemen lodgers. Among them were two young men who engaged our best suite of rooms at a liberal price, making them partially their lodgings. They wer~ of about the same age, and both very handsome men; evidently wealthy and aris- tocratic, and very great friends. They led gay lives; sometimes large parties of fine gentlemen would call for them, and in the season a great many notes and invita- tions arrived fbr them by every post. We believed then that they were younger sons of noble families, who took the rooms for convenience, as many of that class do. Well, to come to my part, the gentlemen were always very gracious and polite to mc, and the elder - we always thought him the elder by a few years - grew atten- tive at last. I was a rather attractive girl, I suppose; and being the only daughter in a large family of brothers, I had been made much of. My poor father gave me every opportunity to become accomplished, and I had improved my advantages fairly; mother was very proud, I renieu~ber, of my music and drawing, and I must have been a little conscious; a little vain, perhaps, as the boys all called me 'The Duchess.' Mother was watchful, and did not like Mr. Delafield's attention to me; but I was head-' strong and followed the usual course of girls, giving him ample return, until we had a final acknowledgment of mutual' affection. Our courtship ended happily, however; he told father who lie was, very frankly, an(l asked my hand in marriage, only stipulating that the ceremony should be kept secret for a time from his family. lie belonged to the nobility, and had been an officer in India and a great deal abroad, on government service; but at that time and for some reason I never learned, he was on bad terms with his brother, who was the head of the family. We were married pri- vately, only two or three of his friends being present, and then ~vent down to a cottage he had rented at Richmond, where we lived very happily for more than a year, and where William was born. My husband was away from me a great deal in London, but continued always very loving and de- voted when at home, and I was perfectly content and happy. He never told me much of his life; he seemed always to be waiting for a reconciliation with his brother, and often said that we should go into the world some day, and meet his people; but I cared very little for that, and told him so; he was the world to me. And I think - I know, he loved me then. He was so good to me, and he could be very passionate and terrible to others, as I had opportunities of knowing. No, that doubt has never added to my sorrow; for even now, after years of thinking, I know my husband loved me. She paused a moment, and Charley felt the clasp of her fingers tightening, but un- conscious, on his own. "His friend visited us often at the cot- tage; except my parents, he was the only one who came, and I sometimes fancied that he and Robert were engaged together in some sort of business, though perhaps it was only horse-racing. I never asked my husband about such things. The gentleman was a very pleasant, merry man, and we used to have delightful evenings together when he was there. "Well, about eighteen months after our marriage, this man caine one day in great haste to the villa, and asked for Robert, who was not at home. He then hurried away, after telling me not to be alarmed if I did not see my husband that night, or even for several days. Then I got a note from Robert in the evening, saying that business would take him away, perhaps for a week. It was more than a week before I heard again, and then a letter came from him at Paris, saying he would soon return; but I was to leave the house at Richmond, and meet him at my father's. I began to he frightened by all this mystery, but did as he bade me, though it wrung my heart to leave the cottage; I had slept under its roof every might mince our marriage. He came back a few days afterwards, as he had said, and joined me at Clapham. He looked pale and worn, and seemed to have tried to disguise himself by shaving' 'his face clean. I was sure there was some trouble, and asked hint what it was. He said it was all along of 'poor Ned' and the 'Jews,' but he could n't tell me any more then, and I must n't worry, as it would all come right. He did not go out at all for two days; but one or two men came in the evenings, and he had long, private inter- views with them in the library. The second night he came up very late to our room. I was in bed, but lay awake awaiting him; but he said he must write some letters and I must go to sleep; I did so, while he was writing at tIme table. In the night I woke up with a start; he was standing over me, looking at me very strangely. X~ hen he saw I was awake, he bent down amid kissed me, and said, ' Go to sleep again, puss; I am not through yet'; and went back to the table. I did fall asleep again, Mr. Wales, I was such an unsuspecting, happy child! In the morning he was not there; he had gone out in the night, and I have never seen him since." It was a strange story, and Charlr'y sat silent and thoughtful at its close; while Mrs. Delafield dried her tears and choked down a soh or two which came at the last. REVELATION. 111 "I SU~~OS3 there had been some - some taken thirteen years ago, but it is wonder- trouble," she resumed, "and I know my fully preserved." father knew something which he never told She handed him a daguerreotype, as she me; but I believe my husband was incapa- spoke, turning at the same moment to the ble of crime, and I know he loved me. He door, where one of the boys was begging for need not have hesitated to tell me all; he admittance. The picture was that of a tall, must have known how gladly I would share handsome man with drooping mustache, any misfortune with him. I think now it slight, military side-whiskers, and large, was some trouble of his friends into which black eyes, far apart, but retaining much Robert had been dragged, but it makes no of their piercing expression on the faithful difference. For weeks and months I watched plate. lt was a face not to be forgotten or for his return with unfading hope, - yes, mistaken, and one upon which fifteen years for years. My other boy was born, and the between thirty and fifty could work little care of my babies, who were both sickly change. Charley recognized it at a glance. children, kept my thoughts occupied. At It was the face of the man he had known as last, however, I broke down completely. I Richard Huntley I "Great God!" was his was ill a long time, and this misfortune, I startled exclamation. think, killed my mother, who borrowed as "Did you speak?" asked the lady, re- deeply as myself. I should have followed turning from the door. her, but for the children; I came back to "iNo - that is -I was struck by this life for them. We gave up the house at face," he stammered, without raking his Clapham, and came down here to live; eyes from the portrait, which seemed to father had gone out of business and was dance and multiply itself under his gaze glad of the change, and it was a good thing "He was very handsome," she said, in a both for him and the boys. We have been low tone, "with wonderful dark eyes, and here now nearly eight years, and it has the clearest complexion 1 ever ~aw in a man. made men of them." There was just a little mark on his temple "Once, you said, you heard '?" that came in India; he used to be worried "Yes; I have yet to explain why I tell about it sometimes." you all this. It is only an uncertain hope, Charley started again; he remembered but it is a hope, the only one I have. One the mark. Out of the chaos of his thoughts of my brothers was in America and spent a strange one took shape. some time in New York. He knew my "And his friend, the one who lodged husband, and one day he saw a man in the with him, you knew his name?" street who resembled him very much, so "0 yes, we tried to find him, but without much that Tom will almost swear to-day success. lIe went abroad, we heard. Somers, that it was Robert. He tried to reach him, Edward Somers, was his name; we did n't but lost him in the crowd. Afterwards he know anything about his family." made efforts through the papers and police Charley longed to be alone. to gain the desired infbrmation, and found "You will let n~e take this a moment and a great many Delafields, but not the one he make a little sketch of it?" he asked. sought. He is very clever too, is Tom; but, "Of course. 0 Mr. Wales! there, I of course, he could not do so well as one at won't be foolish." And the poor woman home in the city might." turned her tear-stained face to the window "But," suggested Charley, "you could as he left her and hurried to his room, have seen his brother." blessing him in her heart for the hope he "We did. My father went to him,, but had made to spring up there. he is a hard, cold man; he listened to Once in his chamber he put down the father's story, and then said we had the portrait, and stood transfixed before it. advantage of him by several years in a What was to be done, or, rather, what was knowledge of his brother's whereabouts; to be done first? Tell her all? It would that they had been strang~mrs for a long require time, make painful complications, period, and he disclaimed the connection perhaps delay; and the vision of Emma, entirely. lie said other heartless things. she wbom he loved, going blindly to a I don't r~'member them. I wondered he frightful fate, rose before him at the thought, could be Robert's brother." and overshadowed all other considerations. Charley could not regard it as very won- Had it already overtaken her? He almost derful, all things considered; but he reflected crushed the pictured face before him as this in silence. possibility entered his mind. And all these "INow you see why I told you," Mrs. precious, fatal days he had been lingering Delafield said, finally, with some embar- there in ignorance I Action, swift and rassment, but with wistful eyes. "I thought instant, must be his watchword now. you might - 0 Mr. Wales, if you should He looked at his watch; there was a ever see him! I brought this to show you; train up to London in an hour. Luckily will you try and remember it? It was his preparations were all made; he had page: 112-113[View Page 112-113] 112 CHLOISY. arranged to go in the morning, and his trunks were packed. In spite of his trem- bling hand he managed to make a hurried croquis of that flice; he could have hit it almost as well from memory. Mrs. Dela- field marvelled at the likeness, but said quickly, "You have left out the whis- kers!" "Yes, they were not necessary, and I hurried over it. Your revelation has spurred my conscience, Mrs. Delafield, given me another incentive to hasten home; so I have determined to lose no more time, but go up to London to-night." "AhI but to-morrow will do as well; we shall be sorry to miss this last evening." "And so shall 1; but I have already delayed too long. 1 mean to catch Satur- day's steamei at Liverpool, and I must go over to Paris first; so you see there is a great deal of travelling to be done in a short time. I shall save a day by going up to-nioht." "~ou know best, of course; but you must not overdo yourself. You know you are not quite so strong yet as you were. Bidding her good by, Charley said to her in a low voice, "I shall find your husband; I know it, and promise it." She embraced him with uncontrollable joy, but could not speak. She ~v~nidered why he had shuddered when sbe ki' sod him. The old gentleman and the boys went with him to the station, which was close at hand. On the walk thither, while the boys were running ahead, the elder said, inter- rogatively, "My daughter has told you the sad story of her life, I think?" "Yes; I was deeply pained by it," an- swered Charley. After a moment Mr. Raygood continued: "I need hardly tell you that she was quite blind to the real character of her husband, and has always remained so. We thought it best that she should. He was a criminal, sir; influence and name alone saved him from penal service." Charley heard the womds with a dull pain. How he had been duped in this man! But what he had done seemed insignificant com- pared with what he might still do. "It was criminal to leave his wife as he did," h0 said, mechanically. "I cannot think any benefit would come to her through his return, even if that were possible," added the old man. fly this time they had reached the sta- tion; the boys had come up, and Charley made no reply. Five minutes later he was steaming away to Ryde. At Portsmouth he learned that he could take a steamer from Southampton to Havre that night; but a quick calculation showed the London route to be the shortest in time; so on to the city he went. He was at Water- be at six o'clock, and had time to snatch a meal at Ludgate Hill before the night ex- press for Dover. He had for a moment de- bated the question of stopping a day in London to see if anything could be learned there, but all his instincts moved him towards Paris. It seemed, also, as if Hunt- Icy would avoid London. At any rate, he determined to push on. Steam-speed seemed a foot-race to his impatience; but there was no delay. He dashed by St. Denis in the glow of sunrise, and was back at the great Station of the North when Paris was at its early coffee. He left his modest luggage at the gare, and feed a sleepy cocker munificently to drive him quickly to the Grand Caf~, which, of course, that immovable functionary in- sisted upon doing at the traditional trot. The bank doors in the Rue Scribe were not yet opened, and he went in to get some breakfast at the cafes where his not very elegant exterior was irreverently comment- ed upon by sundry gar~ons in spotless waist- coats and the whitest of neck-ties. They were far from recognizing l'enfant dc l'Amc'~. rique of six months before, whose appear- ance had been the signal fQr the fleetest of movements and the most graceful Que vcut-il prendre, monsieur? "You don't know me?" asked Charley, quietly, of the elegant gentleman who poured his coffee. "ZIIais non; pour le moment, snonsicur. Pardon! have I ever had the honor -?" " Tant micux!" said Charley, indiffer- ently. "Know you if Monsieur Somers is in Paris?" "At this moment Monsieur Somers is in Paris." "Merci! l'addition." The knight of the napkin brought the note in a daze, and remained in a daze when Charley tossed a louis on the plate, and went out. "Voilh un homme!" said the immaculate, with great dignity to his mates. "On no peut juger jamais le via par l'ctiquette. Parbleu! cinq francs de pourboire plus quatre-vingt centimes!" Charley went at once to the banker's, and walked directly into the inner office with a beating heart. A principal, seated at his desk, looked up in surprise. "I beg pardon," said Chancy with a tremulous voice, "can you tell me if Mrs. Jennings and party are still in Europe?" "Ab! they will tell you outside," was the curt reply. It had at least the good effect of quieting Charley's pulse like a dash of water. "Thank you. I. am Mr. Wales of New York. Do you happen to have any letters for me?" "Mr. Wales! is it possible? A thou- REVEl sand pardons. I did not recognize you. You are wonderfully changed. Letters? I will inquire ~ And Mrs. Jennings's address, if you please." "Ab, yes! they were going home soon, I think. Brooks, have Mrs. Jennings and party sailed for home yet?" "Sail in the - on the 22d, sir." "When!" cried Charley. "The 22d; to-morrow, sir," the clerk re- peated. "From Liverpool, of course. They were here a few days since only; the young lady invalid quite recovered, I understood. There was a gentleman with them who in- quired after you, - Mr. Hunt-" "Yes, I know; and Miss flowland was quite well?" "I was told so. There has been a great deal of inquiry for you, Mr. Wales. Ak! here are some letters." "Thank you. Can you tell me whether I could catch this steamer?" "To-morrow's steamer?" "Yes." "It 's a chance. There is a tidal train by the Boulogne and Folkstone route at one o'clock, I think. By that you might catch a night express on the Northwestern, and be in Liverpool by mornino-." "Thank you. Will y~eu have my account balanced? I will call for it. Good morn- ing. Going out Charley glanced at tl~e regis- ter, and felt a second thrill of satisfaction in seeing the name "Miss lowland" therein, even though it was written in the bold hand of [-luntley. But he must catch the steamer; and he grew hot amid cold by turns, thinking of the chances. Once he was tempted to telegraph something to Mrs. Jennings and secure a delay; but it was only a momentary impulse: that resort would remain, thanks to science and cables, even if he missed the ship. He went in at Bowles's, and posted himself fully about the trains, though the result of his inquiries only confirmed the banker's statement; there was nothing earlier than the Boulogne "tidal." This gave him some hours to re- main in the city, but they were unwelcome ones. There was nothing he eared for there, and he rejoiced in the natural dis- guise which concealed his identity so ef- fectually from more than one well-known eye. He read his letters, but they were all of ancient dates, and none, as he faintly hoped, from his father or cousin. Then he went to the Malesherbes, and met with a touching and iuelod~amatic reception from I the concierge. In the old quarters nothing was changed. Somers's room showed sio-ns 0~ of recent occupation, and his own was in perfect order and readiness. ~ATJON. 113 "He orders it so, monsieur; all the weeks he makes me to change the linen on the bed. He is desold because monsieur goes to come never again." Charley dismissed her and hung himself upon a sofa in the little salon-parlor, fwnoir, and consultation-room of those other days. How strano'e and unreal it all seemed! Only the windowss opened there with the same soft air of summer wafting in, as of a year before, with the shadows of the incipi- ent Haussmannic trees falling across the sills, and Madame's cherished family of canaries chirping away below, seemed curi- ously home-like and real. One's earliest memories of particular places are ever the most vivid; and here Charley's Paris life had begun only a year before! It seemed an age, with all the phantasmagoria of scenes and faces dancing in the glass of memory. For the first time since he had entered the gates, he thought of her with a dull sensation of pain, perhaps of pity. A step on the stairs put the thought to flight; it might be Somers. He eared not if it was or was not; that individual had small prominence in his present plans, though he would have chosen, perhaps, not to see him. It was Somers. He came in puffing with the noon heat, and stopped short as his eye fell on the recumbent figure. He had missed the concierge and was unwarned. WTClI ! " he cried with a short lauoh "here 's a go! By Jove! I admire mon: sicur's graceful abandon. May I inquire to whom-? Good God! is it you, Char- Icy?" "Why not?" was the cold response. "Why not, indeed? why not months ago? heavens, how altered you are! you (lon't look well. You are not refusing my han(l, arc you, old boy?" He had come up and extended his own, but Chancy lay quite .notionless, looking at him steadily but rather indolently. "It looks like it, does n't it? I am only wonOering now, Ned Somers, ~whether you too are a villain, or only a victim!" The Englishman flushed scarlet, and Charley, still watching him steadily, saw big drops gather on his forehead. "I don't know what you mean, Charley," he said, sadly. "I never did you an inten- tional wrong; and if I lent myself to such a purpose, it was in simple ignorance and be- cause I had no choice. I don't think I am ~juite a villain, as you put it; but I am a victim fast enough, God knows I Chancy was silent; Somers sat down, but instantly got up again and walked nervous- ly up and down the room. "I don't know what you may have dis- ~overed; I can't know, because the whole sifair in which you and Dick Iluntley have figured in some secret connection has been page: 114-115[View Page 114-115] 114 CHOISY. an inexplicable mystery to me from first to last. My only active part in it, if you care to know, was getting you away from Paris last September, and you will hardly accuse me of having forced you much on that occa- sion. I got occasional orders from Huntley; that was one of them; and there were pretty powerful reasons for my attending to them, though, had I known you then as I did later, I should have faced the risk and refused all share in what I suspected from the first was a scheme, against you, despite your own representations of the strong friendship which existed between you and him. What was the nature of that scheme, I know not; I never could form an idea of it. I am not the sort of a man to parade my affections, but I don't think you will doubt my subsequent friendship for you." Charley kept stubborn silence; he was thinking of whtt he might learn from this man, and whether it would repay the effort. Somers was at the end of his rope, sure of nothing and fearful of everything. "One morning you got some news or something that cut you up badly. We went to the Helder afterwards,.and I asked you whether Huntley kept up his 'friendly' correspondence with you; you remember, perhaps -" "Yes, I think I do." "Well, I had it on my lips then to tell you of my suspicions and warn you against him. I knew him - my God! I should think so! He ruined my life, and I expected nothing less than that he would ruin yours. Well, you remembered an engagement at the ]3aronne's, and left inc at the critical mo- ment, and I never had the courage to do it afterwards." "You would have saved much pain to several persons, if you had," said Chancy, quietly, looking at his watch as he spoke. Somers noted the movement, and sr~id with bitter dejection, "My position was a hard one, you could not know how hard." "No, I could only suspect," said Charley, rising; "something dating back to the nota- ble association of Somers and Delafield per- haps. There, never mind; it is quite out of my way, and it is only with him I have to deal. So far as you are concerned, I am willing to take you at your word as being a victim of that infernal scoundrel; it could hardly be a nice position, and I am sorry for you. I must go now; I am going over to London by the afternoon express. Y-ou can have my things packed up and sent to store at the bank at your convenience. It is not likely we shall ever meet again; so good by, old fellow." "But - Charley - a moment -" "I really have n't more time, Ned. I would n't miss the train for all Paris, and I don't think we need to talk any more. I bear you no ill-will; we are good quits, adieu 1" Poor Ned Somers! many a shattered dream had marked his earthly pilgrhnage, and many a disappointment darkened the day that followed a rosy morning, but few more bitter than this. Ever hopeful as he was, he had watched patiently all these days for Charley's return, and doubted not. And the cherished picture of the future, the " seigniorial dignities," the metamor- phosed chateau dearer than those of Spain, the "boar-steaks" and the red, red wines of matchless Chambertin, all glowed as brightly as ever in his prophetic soul, more brightly even, since the "stomach" was no more. It was a big hope that swelled the colossal heart, and it died hard. Voisin's menu was rubbish that day; and for the first time ir~ the memory of man, l'aimahle Anglais lost his temper over a paltry matter of francs at pcquet at the club. Some dayl later he went rather less joyously than usual down to the loved shades of Trouville- sur-mner. Let us hope that there was a balm in Calvados for the bruised heart; in these pages he appears no more. Charley found an unsatisfactory state of things at Boulogne. A gale was blowing up channel, and there was a doul)t about starting ~the boats; but some titled digni- tary, who ha1)pcned tc be en route, exercised the " divine right " w~th coi~shle'able spirit, and the potency of rank, if it could not quite still the sea, made the ship to go down thereon, much to, Chancy's satisfaction. The crossing was perilous, and occupied twice the ordinary time, so that he reached London full two hours late for the midnight train to the Northwest. There was an- other at an early hour, which he was told would catch the steamer, and he waited in sleepless excitement and at last went off, leaving his luggage behind. Arrived at Liverpool he sped to the steamer office; lie was only just in time, and no accommoda- tions were to be had but a steerage berth. He paid the modest charge for this without wasting a second of time in hesitation, and went aboard in the very last boat. The deck of the broad poop was thronged with cabin passengers, and from his position below he scanned the faces with a heating heart. He did not see those he sought, but he knew they she was there; he had seen the names on the list at the office; and now, as he made his way across the busy open deck to a quiet corner, they greeted his eyes again from the billets of a great multi- tude of portmanteaus. He got away by himself and leaned against the bulwark as the vessel slowly gathered her huge strength and swung around in the stream. His heart was full of gladness and unutterable con- I IN THE HOLLOW HAND. tent, and a thrill of ecstasy traversed his heart as they swung clear of the shipping and moved off with the bow to the west. No chance could part them now; he was there with herr once more with her, and in that strangely binding atmosphere of ship- life; there to see her, to breathe the air she breathed, and sleep within the sound of her voice, to watch and guard and save her. Above all the roar of voices and the deep thunder of those never-silent shafts and cyl- inders, above the rush of the winds and the sharp flapping of the unfurled sails, one sin- gle voice spoke and re-echoed in his heart: "She is here! She is with you I Lose her not again!" CHAPTER XIX. IN TIlE HOLLOW HAND. CITAnLEY lost no time in hunting up a functionary, and happened on the head- steward, to whom he stated his case, making it peculimrly attractive by the graceful transfer of a five~pound note. lIe was provided forth- with with an odd berth in the steward's cabin for the first night, with the promise of an arran(reinent which should secure him cabin accommodations on the morrow; to the table and poop free access at once was un(lcrstood; the steward would explain matters to the captain directly. Then Charley reflected: eventual recog- nition seemed inevitable if he became an inmate of the cabin, and recognition meant exposure on the instant for Iluntley. 'Would it be well? The temptation to go in there, where she moved and slept, was welinigh irresistible; yet did lie resist it, for he thought of the shame aad pain to which it midit subject Emma and Mrs. Jennings, and 17e felt the moral impossibility of taking a recognized place by Huntley's side among them and holding his peace. It were less difficult, though it was hard, to bear the brief; self-imposed banishment, even with the galling thought of that soulless villain standing in relations of intimacy with his cousin. What these were he did not know, and only half surmised; but he was begin- I ning to see through the dark mists of the past eighteen months pretty clearly; and ic all his righteous hatred for the man, he did not ignore his powers. They were not mar- ried: how God had been thanked for that! And never for a moment did the belief tor- meat him that she loved him. I He weighed his thoughts well, and then c arranged with the stewards to keep his berth among them, and also to dine with L their mess, giving up the cabin entirely, a and to this plan he accommodated himself s with great success. He also got a hat from t one of them to replace his thin, silk tray- s 115 elling-cap, - a wide, black Van Dyck, which was at once comfortable and picturesque, - and after sleeping the night through like a babe, he mounted the bridge-deck the fol- lowing morning at Qucenstown and tested the completeness of his disguise by passing before Huntley, who was smoking a medi- tative cigar thereon. The niomentary cx- citement in Charley's bosom, as he encoun- tered the careless eye of the broker, awakened no corresponding emotion in that gentleman; he noticed simply a rather tall, rather thin, and altogether "seedy" personage with a profusion of dark beard and an absurdly large slouched hat, and associated the figure instinctively with un- successful artistic or literary proclivities. Chancy was exultant and emboldened, while ime also felt more forcibly than before how impossible it would be for him to speak the smiling lies of hypocrisy to this white- faced demon. He extended his restless promenades to the main deck and the gang- way stairs, and persistently followed these lines for the next three days, though quite unrewarded for his pains. The sea was restless like himself, and the cabin people, after their unhappy fashion, nursed them- selves in the pent air of their staterooms. He had still some struggles with himself too, in these days, did Charley; it was agony to think of her just within there, suffering and ill, perhaps a little frightened by the sharp gusts that came chasing after them from the Kerry hills away out to sea, making the good ship plunge and shake her inane. He bribed a steward with a princely hi-ibe for secret reports, and was made fool- ishly happy by the news that she kept strict privacy, and was as invisible to Hunt- ley as himself. "You - you do not seeher?" he asked, with a rather ludicrous disregard of the propniethis. "Me? Why, no; the stewardess tells me, you know." "To be sure; not a word about me, you know, Burns." "I takes you, sir; not a haccenfl" Whereupon Burns improves the first op. 3ortunity to enlarge mysteriously on this sident case of the affections to the smiling tewardess, with whom he is desperately ~namored. "A gentleman all up his back; hould n't wonder if it wuz a real pelt- neller! Looks like a lay on the hotelier me, don't it? But he 's the real swell." lut the stewardess was wise, and the suspi- io~i went no further. Charhey saw Huntley constantly; but the atter, self-contained as usual, noticed him 0 more, nor indeed any one else, but moked endless cigars and walked the decks thoughtfully for hours together. Our hero, ecure in his disguise, watched the man page: 116-117[View Page 116-117] 116 CHOISY. IN THE HOLLOW HAND. with a strange interest, and marvelled at his nature, at once so evil and attractive, and it was in this study that his apprehen- sion of the past grew to a settled conviction. In his long reveries by the rail, with this miracle of craff and deceit pacing before his eyes, his mind ran hack over everylit- tie incident of their connection, resting painfully on that fatal night at Worthing- ton's, struggling to gather the truth from the chaos of its memories. And over that shameful subsequent life he passed, with a shuddering suspicion that in some deep, mysterious way this man's brain had guided it. lie was only human; and with this feeling in his soul, there came sometimes a mad desire to face the wretch in his ner- vous walk and hurl the accusation in his face. But he did better, saving his strength for the day of reckoning, and girding him- self with patience. He was at his jealous post on the bridge- deck, the fourth morning out, at an early hour. The sea had fallen in the night, and the bright, sunny morning had awakened bright, sunny hopes in his heart. Standing thus, and guarding the cabin gangway with hungry eyes, lie felt his heart leap suddenly to his throat with one upward plunge that sent the blood flashing through all hi~ veins, and, fairly dizzy, he leaned on the rail beside him, as two slight figures emerged and climbed awkwardly to the deck above, both marked by the pallor of illness, both ludicrously unsteady on their feet, but merry with laughter, and rejoicing in their escape from the cabin. Just as he had seen her last on the Italian hill, with the sea-wind tossing her hair, and an amused smile parting her lips, she stood with an arm laced in that of Clare, and looked out wonderingly on the waves, while her companion chattered like a free bird, and broke out into peals of ringing laughter at each little clumsy stagger. Poor Char- Icy! It was hard to stand there with strained eyes and beating heart, watching the dear, familiar faces, and crushing down the longing to fly across to them which filled his heart, and shook him like a tempest. A smothered exclamation near him caught his ear; and Huntley, tossing away his cigar, passed swiftly with an expression of mingled pleasure and vexation on his face. The sight braced him, and he sauntered across with well-affected carelessness and took up his regular promenade on the main deck, where he could glance up at the faces just above him, as he passed. He had twice traversed his little beat, when Emma's eyes, coming home from the sea, looked down and met his own just when he was nearest. She gave a little start and an exclamation, as he passed on; then he heard Huntley make some remark which brought a quick laugh from Clare, but none, as his l~eart told him, from the other. He paused by the bulwark to let the flush die out of his face, and then returned on his path and met the gaze of all three bravely. He rocked lift le of Huntley's or Clare's, but in EmmiVs he read something which thrilled him to the soul. What was it? Commiseration, curiosity, eagerness, all were there, and something else! The look unmanned him, frightened him, indeed, and he hurried forward to hide himself. Every day now they came on deck, and every day Chancy walked his beat, and was rewarded with that soft, puzzled glance from Emma. He had even seen her eyes fixed on him while he leaned over the side' in the pauses of his march, and, without daring to ask himself its mean- ing, he carried the memory of it warm his heart, and dreamed on it at night. They had smooth and delightful seas before coming on the Banks, and the evenings were lovely beyond description, the great ship careering landward beneath a moonlit sky and over a silver sea. Chancy strayed into the forecastle (where he had long since "paid his footing" with more thaa one largess of "Jamaica ") on one of these nights, while mirth and sailor-music filled the hour with the "watch below." They knew him there, and hailed his coming with a volley of rough welcomes, followed by loud calls for a song; and it would have warmed the hearts of those who know the hard truths of" foksul" life to have seen the silent enjoyment with which the poor fellows listened to Charley's ready songs, those familiar, plaintive home-ballads which are as dear to Jack's heart as double grog. Un- noticed by Charley, some of the passengers had come forward with an officer; Jiuntley was among them; and at the conclusion of a motley chorus, in which the seamen brought their weird minor notes into a strikingfinale to Charley's solo, Huntley pressed them to select a number of voices and come out to the main deck for the entertainment of the cabin. The men were only too glad of the chance, and only waited for the officer's permission, which was freely accorded. A group was then formed about the after hatchway, which boasted several very good untrained voices, with a surprising banjo- p~ ayer and a clever violinist by way of orchestra; and Charley having accepted the leadership, an impromptu concert was given, heartily enjoyed by the cabin-passengers, who swarmed out upon the poop above. There is a marvellous pathos in these cherished songs of below-decks, which are literally the sailors' hymns. Poor Foster is the saving genius of the forecastle, and his homely melodies wifl echo still on the seas when they are all but forgotten ashore. Their influence does more to soften the hard 117 lines of Jack's stormy life than all the and sought to soothe back to its brief slum- hollow exhortations of the unsympathetic ber the love that might sometimes sleep, but preacher. Such simple songs made up the could never die. Poor tender child! was programme, interspersed with several of the weary trial never to end? They will those extravagant sea-ballads which Jack smile among the sisterhood at the weak delivers with such exquisite unction that it woman I have chosen for a heroine. She is easy to see he more than half believes in was weak; strong in no sense but an infant's the amphibious felicity of the lucky lad who innocence; wise only as simple-hearted was "married to a mer-mi-ad at the bottom Miranda, fain to bear the burden for Ferdi- of the dark blue sea!" nand, and formed for nothing but the strong In order to add a crowning triumph to sheltering arm. their performance, the men, who were like The later days of the voyage were stormy, children in their unwanted enjoyment, sur- and the ladies were driven below to console rounded Charley, and insisted on his singing themselves as they could wi~JtAhe thought the air to a favorite ballad, while they for- that they were nearing home. Only once wished their own peculiar chorus for each after the night of the sono- did Charley see stanza. It was a worn thing, "Her Bright his cousin, and this time s~e seemed rather Smile Haunts me Still," and was sung to to evade his eye. He thought she looked death years ago in country parlors; but in unhappy, too, and was glad to think the end the esteem of the sailor, to whom "midnight would come soon. During these nights of on the sea" is something more than an idea, storm lie was constantly on deck. The it is the very first of English songs after grandeur of the angry sea and the brave "Sweet Home," which last is ever sweetest struggle of the vessel on her way filled him to those who know no home. with keen enjoyment. He extended his Chancy had a moment of hesitation; he rambles to the poop, now deserted, and won had seen Emma standing with Clare in the the hearts of the officers by sharino~ their front rank of the auditors, and the song was night-watches, and making many a long one which they had sung together scores of hour pleasant with merry talk. They called times in the old river-side home; it seemed him the "fifth officer of the watch," and to him that she could not fail to recognize hailed his coming with welcomes. his voice as he sang it. But he did sing it, They ran on soundings in a broken sun- and with a rare sweetness that silenced all set, and the wind died away as they bore other sounds, save the swash of the waves down along shore with only twelve hours' and the deep-down rumble of the unresting sail to port. On this last night Chancy screw. It was an hour of delight, a scene had strayed away by himself, and was lean- of peaceful beauty, with the nioon shining ing over the rail by the captain's hife.boat, down on the dark figures of the singers, watching the flashes of the moon through and the silent throng of the steerage folk, broken masses of cloud as they were mir- who had crept up timidly to see and listen; rored in the waves. He was busy with with the dimpled, splashing sea around thought. To-morrow they would be in port. them, beautiful but terrible in its solitude, To-morrow his work would begin. It was a and the brave, strong vessel gliding ever momentous reflection and it made him very onward with spirit-speed under the chan -serious, as he stood there in the gloorn~ A ging stars. On more than one heart in the little thing broke in on his study; some- noiseless circle of the upper deck the thing was whipping against the ship just spectacle left a deep and lasting impres- below him, and he peered curiously over to sion. discover what it might be. Nothing, of "Is n't it lovely?" said Clare, under her course; only a long loop of the line with breath, to Emma. She got no reply from which the cutter's bow was lashed to the the latter, who was listening with bent head rail. The sailor had done his work care- and beating heart. When they went below lessly, and an end of the line, becoming afterwards, she saw tears on Emma's cheeks, disengaged, hung down almost to the water- but did not wonder at them; she had been line and beat against the sides at every roll very near such weakness herself. of the ship, like a tiny whip upon the in- "It was so like poor, dear Chancy, - sensible bulk of an elephant. C harley had was n t it?" ceased to think of it, and was wandering If in the watches of that night, our hero again, when he suddenly became conscious could have looked in with spirit's yes upon of a presence. Some one had come up to his cousin, he would have found he~ in tears, him, and, turning in some surprise, he found and, reading her bitter thoughts, would have a tall figure at his elbow. The inevitable felt a great joy tempered with the conscious- cigar blazing before the pale face told him ness of her sufihiring. All those sleepless who it was. He wished to avoid this en- hours, with old Ocean beating dull echoes counter, and made a movement to go, but to her heart-throbs, as she lay by the ~hip's checked himself mechanically, as Huntley side, she struggled with her awakened soul, 1 addressed him. CHOISY. 116 page: 118-119[View Page 118-119] 118 CHOISY. "Not so bad to-night," said the broker in a friendly tone. "No," returned Charley, in a low anc indistinct voice. He would have giver worlds to get away. "We shall o'ct in in good time to-morron at this rate. ~he is walking a ong finely I' Chancy made no response. "I wished to see von before we left thc ship," continued Hs~mntley, drawing nearer "and thank you for your share of the enter. tainment the other evening, for the Indies as well as myself, it gave all of us great pleasure." "I am very glad," responded Charley, in the same low tone. "Excuse me, I did n't hear you - Huntley bent his head close to Charley's face as he spoke. "I said I was glad that they were pleased," shouted our hero. At the same instant the other gave a strong pull at his cigar which flashed a mo- mentary glare in Charley's face. After this there was a silence. "It 's no use, Charley," said Huntley, after the pause, in a tone intended to be kindly; "I have suspected you ever since the night you sang, and now I'm sure of you, though you are terribly altered. Why in the world did you not let us know? 'I fear you have been in distress on the voy- age. Surely you must have known me!" Charley was silent, stunned, and full of speechless wrath. "Come!" cried Huntley, "I am waiting to shake hands; you don't dream of trying the disguise any longer, do you? We '11 go below and have a toddy and a cigar, and talk over the hiatus. I 'm all eagerness to hear the story of your adventures!" Still no response, and Huntley said quietly, "I hope you have n't put me in your bad books, old fellow; I don't deserve that. Besides, I am going to be your cousin, Charley, and we must be friends -" "You d-d infernal scoundrel I" yelled Charley, his cool blood rising to fever heat; "what do you mean?" Huntley drew, back slightly, but spoke quickly. "I might rather ask what you mean; my meaning is simply that I am going to marry your cousin, and -" "Never! Huntley puffed his cigar coolly. Was it worth his time to waste words on this aban- doned boy, who, very likely, was half drunk at that moment, on the rtim of the fore- castle? "Why not?" he asked, shortly. "For a hundred reasons!" cried Char- ley, who was clenching his fists in the dark. "Because you are a villain, and, as I suspect, a convicted one, and because you have a wife living!" Huntley started violently, but recovered himself on the instant. "You have evidently acquired some ac- complishments in your gay career," he said with a cold sneer; "you were not so ready with a lie once." Charley gave way under this, and struck at the man with all his strength. Huntley reeled under the blow, but closed with him like a tiger and forced him sharply against the boats bow. "Will you have done, you fool ?" he cried, hoarsely. Charley tore an arm loose, and, seizing the other by the throat, held him back for an instant. All the demon in his nature was aroused. "I know you, Robert Delafleld alias " At the name, Huntley gathered himself in a spasm of strength and fell on Chancy with resistless force. Always powerful, he seemed to have redoubled might in his arms; and Chancy, weakened by long illness, was a mere child in his grasp. in an instant Huntleyhad wrenched the handfrom his neck mmd lifted the young man with one tremendous wrench from the deck. They were close at the rail; and without a spoken word the Englishman raised his victim and hurled him over. Charley clutched frantically at his opponent, and caught a momentary hold on his sleeve; shaken from this he clutched at the rail, but missed it, and went down the ship's side without a cry. The moon was entirely obscured and the steamer shrouded in darkness as Huntley bent over and strained eye and ear for a last sign of his victim. There was none; nothing but the inky darkness, the rush of the water through which the ship was ploughing at high speed, and the dun wake of white foam behind, along which he ran his gaze until it was lost in the blackness. lie drew a long, hard breath and wiped the moisture from his forehead, where a great lump had risen et unnoticed. "Not a sound!" he muttered; "the screw must have crushed him on the instant. He will not come back again this time!" He went away quickly from the spot. Even in his hardened heart the conscious- ness of his fearful deed began already to breed its nameless terrors, and he hurried from that vast and awful presence where an accusing voice seemed to arise in every wave. As he passed the officer at the bin- nacle, the latter said, " Good evening," and asked if "Mr. Thompson" was not "over there aft"? Huntley shivered, but replied calmly, "I think not:1 saw no one." "Ah!" was the dry rejoinde~. The sail- or's practiced eye rarely deceived him, dud he had seen the two figures by the cutter in a flash of moonlight just before. He waited I EXIT HUNTLEY. 119 till Huntley's head disappeared down the to rest on the skylight while Curtis called companion stairs, and, whistling shrilly to a quartermaster. "keep her on," moved aft to the boat's side. "Go down and tell the steward to bring His foot struck something, and he picked up up a glass of brandy: look sharp I" "Mr. Thompson's" large bat lying just by The liquor brought the young man the rail, and felt it still warm at the band. around. Uc gave a low whistle, this time with his "I think I will go below," he said. "I lips, and cast his eyes about sharply over will see you in the morning, Curtis. You the deck; then he stepped to the rail won't say anything, will you?" and peered over. Any one but an iron- "As you like; keep clear of the long shark, nerved sailor would have shrunk back you kno'w." appalled from the dark mass that met his Chancy stopped and thought. "How eyes clinging to the side of the ship, sting- much did you see, Curtis?" he asked. gling upwards. But he dropped instantly "I saw enough," was the sententious re- on the deck, and, throwing his right arm ply; "we '11 talk about it in the morning." around the pillar of the rail next the space Chancy went to his berth, but it was lono' occupied by the boat, he forced his shoul- before he slept. The events of the niga ders through the narrow gap and reached all seemed strangely unreal, except the downward with his wiry left arm. wild moment when he had hung between His hand encountered a coat-collar, into life and death: that was terribly real, and which his strong fingers twisted them- the memory of it came with every third selves, thought. And Huntley - He grew fair- "Courage, lad! hook an arm in mine!" ly cold, and his teeth closed hard, as he Charley obeyed convulsively, with a gasp- thought of him; at that moment he could ing "Thank God!" He was very nearly have seen him tossed without mercy into spent in the struggle. the same dark sea, and fiAt a grhn satisf'ac- The officer drew him up with one strong tion in his tombless burial. He fell into an pull to the level of the deck; and, raising uneasy sleep at last, broken with terrifying himself to his knees, which he braced, one dreams and painful awakenings, until ex- against the boat and the other upon the pil. haustion and deep slumber followed. lar, put out his other hand and dragged his When he woke it was with a dim con- burden easily, though a little roughly, sciousness that a long time had elapsed. through the opening to the deck. Charley The ship was motionless, and the unfamiliar rolled himself into a sitting posture~ and, "Yo-heave-ho!" of the stevedore's gangs, leaning back on the boat, panted for breath. the tramp of many feet, and the broken rattle The officer rose to his feet, and, wiping of the donkey-englue, fell on his glad ears. the perspiration from his face with a square Through the open port he caught a glimpse yard of bandanna, gave vent to a half-smoth- of a far-stretching forest of masts and a ered oath. patch of blue summer sky, - the sky of his Charley, not yet able to speak, grasped native land. his leg as if entreating him not to go. Though his watch told him it was noon, "All right, lad, I 'm not going. Get your he lingered still a little while in his berth, wind, get your wind! By the Apostles, it busy with his thronging thoughts. was a close squeak. I can't see what you caught." "It was the line," said Charley, between his short breaths; "there 's a stringer loose CHAPTER XX. there. It caught me, rather; I went over the roll, and it was flying well out. Luckily EXIT IIIJNTLEY. it was a loop; I got a little rest with my AT the time treated of in these chapters the foot in it, but I got som stiff bumps too. writer was a respectable resident of the cit It was close; it kept bumping my breath out. of New York. 1 may be permitted the qual- I should n't have got up without you; and I ifying word, I trust, which, while it sounds was just going to slide down again and rather well, means nothing whatever, and can raise an alarm. It 's Curtis, is n't it?" scarcely be regarded an expression of ego- "Yes, but, I say, how did it come about?" tism. Rented and occupied a modest suite of Chancy's wits came back with his" wind." offices - two, and a wash-cupboard - in an "Wait a minute. Ah! that 's my hat. aerial locality just within the saving atmos- Don't say anything about it, please, Curtis; phere of the City Hall, and was popularly at least, not just yet. How long do you lay supposed to be engaged in the practice of over at New York?" the legal profession. There was a certain "A week, -probably. Come over to the warrant for the supposition to be found in binnacle; I see they are letting her fall off, an unpretentious bit of tin in the mosaic of We can talk there." signs and symbols on the door-post~ below, Charley walked unsteadily, and was glad on which, "Ego, Attorney at Law," met the page: 120-121[View Page 120-121] EXIT HUNTLEY. 121 120 CHOISY. public eye in simple text, with the supple- mentary information that the said gentleman was not to be found on any floor inferior to the classic fourth. My "business hours" were from ten to three; my hours of business are quite another matter, of which it is not here necessary to speak. I was alone in my outer office on a certain day in July, 186-, the same on which at an earlier hour the steamer --, of the' Guion line, had come to moorings in the savory vi- cinage of Desbrosses Street. As the perusal of the shipping' list in ~o way entered into my habits at t~at time, I was probably un- aware of' this maritime fact; certainly I was far from suspecting that it possessed any pos- sible interest for me, being, as I distinctly remember, deeply engrossed at the moment in a case of small dimensions but sufficiently perplexing nature, wherein an irate landlady of a "quiet locality," and an obtuse neigh- bor of questionable character, were the par- ties litigant. I had, as I further remember, almost exhausted the field of expedients and my own temper in the study of the momentous problem, and felt a growing consciousness that lunch-time was fully arrived, when the door opened suddenly and there entered unto me a gentleman. The first glance at the stranger's ensemble was inspiring; I was refreshed, indeed, by his very foreign and really unique appear- ance. The exceptional is always attractive, and never more so, perhaps, than in a law- yer's office, where it is dimly suggestive of something out of the common in the way of causes and cases, fees and charges. I salamed the visitor, and placed a chair, which courtesies he gracefully ignored; he removed an avalanche of' hat, and, coming up to me, administered a vigorous slap on my back. "So you don't know me, either! Egad! 1 might~as well be Rip Van Winkle! How are you, Harry? My name "Is wonder! I 'd never have known you, Charley; but I 'm awfully glad to see you, all the same. From what heathen pos- session do you come?" "No worse thaim England. But how are you and everybody and the babies?" The young man's exuberance was trying, with the mercury at 850. "I am well; 'everybody(' is always well, I believe; as for the babie~, Charles I for what do you take me? Why am I thus -" "Sinner! I had hoped you were reformed; bachelorhood and its sinful indulgences still keep their hold on you. Speaking of indul- gences, have you lunched?" "I was just going; will you join me?" "You anticipate me; now that I think of it, 1 have fasted since last evening. I have a queer story to tell you, Harry, and work for you also, - work that must be done quickly. Can you give me a day or two of your time?" "Only too glad; but since you are fasting, let 's go across to Del's at once; the fatted calves will be all served before the tardy prodigal arrives. I need not have used the word; it slipped out in the usual way when one is trying to be "funny" I "Do you see my father, Harry? Is he well?" he asked just afterwards, as we were crossing the Park. "You have n't seen -? 0, he is as usual, I think; I saw him at the office a few days since." "A strange questions was n't it?" said Charley, smiling. "I 'ye enough that 's strange to tell you." As we went in at the familiar Chambers Street portal, he asked, "Do you remem- ber the last night I saw you at the May- flower, when I had just come up town with Dick Huntley, after dining here?" "Yes, very well; we were all very much cut up by your sudden taking off. By the way, where is iluntley? 1 suppose you met him abroad." My information respecting Charley was that of the gossips, and I hesitated to a~k several questions which arose in my mind. I thought this a safe one. "Lie is here in New York; we arrived by the same steamer, though by no fault of his, Dieu sait! Thereby hangs my tale." We were a long time over our luncheon; Quill, who is my office-boy, clerk, and copyist, and who awaits my return accord- ing to regulations before running down to Gould's for his frugal bowl of clam soup, evinced an amount of feeling I had never before observed in him when our return to the office relieved his watch. Chancy told me a part of' his story over our wine, and completed the narrative in my sanctum. I need not repeat any of' the details, which are already known to the reader; he stated them to me minutely; and more clearly than be, perhaps, I traced the guiding hand from the gambling-house to the very end. The deep game was worthy of Huntley, and murder in a terrible form its fitting cli- max. "Now," said Charley, at the close of the recital, lighting his fifth cigar with a certain satisfaction, "what is to be done? I leave it to you entirely; but let it be done spee& ily; ''t were well 't were done quickly I'" "'There would have been a time for such a word, to-morrow,'" I retorted; "we need not be driven; the fact that he believes you in the Atlantic will prevent him from push- ing matters." "But 1 dread every instant's delay! I can't bear to think he is here, free, and near my cousin. I smiled in secret at the soft emphasis on "cousin," but made no sign. "Well, if' I understand you, you don't wish to go at bun in legal form." "No, not if we can avoid it; anything but publicity." I reflected a moment, and not without a little pang of regret; to have sent him to Sing Sing for life, this villain of the premier ordre, in a blazing speech to the bench! "Do you want to see the man?" I asked Chancy. "No, indeed! that is, I am indifferent; as you elect." " We can warn him off' &"~ him our hand, and give him three, five, or 'seven days to leave the country, and se~ 2~at he does it, and all without seeing him." Charley pondered, and was evidently unsatisfied. "It 's letting him off with nothing; besides, I want in some way to be able to show up the facts to my father, and, if necessary, to - to the others." "Then it 's a confession signed and wit- nessed; not an easy thing to manage, if 1 know the man.~~ "We must try it. rut it squarely to him, - that or arraignment. He does n't know that Curtis saw the affair." "Or that you are alive, for that matter. I think we might cow him by a combination. Curtis will help us?" "The good fellow will do anything; he promised it, in the name of all the Apostles!" "Good! now the details." These were very simple; I wrote two notes, one to Curtis on the steamer, and another to a man of my choice at the Detective Agency. The afternoon was spent, and we went up town together to my quarters, which Chancy agreed to share for the present. 1.Ve dined later in an obscure corner at the hoffman, and in the evening I a~com- panied him in a walk up the Avenue, rea(lily divining, the impulse which led his steps in that direction. As we were pass- ing his father's house, a figure appeared in the doorway. Before I could breathe a caution, Chancy sprang up two steps and called in a low voice, "Stephen!" The old man stood mute ~ moment, and then caine down the steps like a boy of ten. "Mr. Charles!" "'Sh! It 's I, sure enough, bless your 01(1 heart! I shall be home again in a few days, and you must not speak of seeing me. has - has Mr. Huntley been here yet, Stephen?" "No, sir; he arrived in the steamer with the ladies, but did not come to the house. He is expected this evening, I think, sir." "Listen, Stephen; if he comes he must not be admitted. Tell him Miss Emma is 16 unwell; anything, but make some excuse and keep him out." "But, Mr. Charles-." "Never mind, I will take the entire re- sponsibility, and you need have no fear. You can trust me, can't you, Stephen?" "You know I would do that, Mr. Charles." "On no account admit him. I must go now; I shall conic home to stay very soon." "God bless you, sir, I hope so; we have grown old without you, Mi'. Charles." The faithful old fellow's voice was tremulous as he spoke. Charley paused at the words. "My father is well?" "About as usual, sir; he 's not so strong as he was. You are well, I hope, sir." "Quite; not a word, mind, and remember about --" "I won't fail, Mr. Charles." Charley was exultant as we walked on. "You can't think what a relief it is!" he said; "it was horrible to think of that wretch beino' admitted there again. Old Stephen is ~s good as gold; Huntley ivihl not get in there to-night, you may be sure." "Nor to-morrow," 1 responded, sharing something of his feeling. "0 that 'to-porrow'! I ache for it!" It would come soon enough, as all to-mor- rows do, despite the maxims; and I confessed to a rather disagreeable foretaste' of its task in my mind, though I gave the feeling no words in the long evening of pleasant talk which we enjoyed amid the chaste sur- roundings of Coelebs' chambers. So much tobacco-smoke and such unconscionable hours, I may honestly aver, were strictly exceptional under my modest roof-tree. Huntley was not a little nonplussed, when he arrived at the house on the Avenue1 to he informed by Stephen, with much nervous and rather extravagant politeness, that Miss Howland was" much fatigued, and begged to be excused," and that Mr. Wales had "just stepped out on unavoidable business, and left, his regrets." He went away in a bail humor, asking himself angrily if it was usual for young ladies to "excuse" them- selves to their fiance's, or for sober bankers to appoint evening interviews, as Mr. Wales had done that day, at the office, and be absent on "business" when the hour ar- rived. In other days he would have in- sisted upon the absurdity of such anomalies, and poor old Stephen's little fraud would have fhhlen through, it is to be feared; but the broker had no heart this night to assert his opinions or his rights. He had borne himself bravely all the day, had seen the ladies ashore and in their carriage, with a smiling promise to call in the evening, and covered with a witticism the bruise on his temple that the "boom" had given him. Then in a round of business calls, reports page: 122-123[View Page 122-123] 122 CHOISY. of his successful transactions abroad to divers financial potentates, and a rapid running over of the books in his own office, he so carried himself as to win the com- mendation of all with whom he came in contact. But with the shadows of night arose the demon of' unrest. Thrown back upon him- self; with all his thoughts massed in one horrible memory, the struggle for control became an unequal combat, an agony. He had even feared to make the visit at the Wales mansion, called himself a fool after- wards, and,, braced by a deep draught of brandy, started boldly for the house. "It will wear off," he muttered. Coming down the steps after hearing Stephen's messages, he glanced across the way, and noted signs of life and gayety in Mrs. Jennings's lighted parlors. He felt tempted to enter there, but some counter- impulse prevailed, and he kept on down the street. His uneasy feet wandered to Worthington's, but he found the house empty of people, with only a few lazy ser- vants about, who vexed him with curious looks and fawning attentions; the master himself was out of town, with the world. He stretched himself in the private room above and drank furiously; but the solitude maddened him, and he went out soon again into the streets. Then he strayed in at Wal- lack's; the play was "The Colleen Bawn," and he came into the lobby at the moment of the drowning scene, which he watched with fascinated eyes. Some acquaintances found him out and drove him wild with questions. One noticed the contusion on his forehead. "It 's the mark of Cain," he said, with a bitter laugh, and went out. "By Jove! one might almost believe it!" said the questioner, recalling the man's face. He wandered for hours with aimless but vigorous steps, drinking recklessly and ig- norant of his whereabouts, until some con- genial instinct led him into the glittering haunts of vice of the West side. Here, as the central figure of wild and horrible rev- els, invoked by his open purse, he experi- rieneed a momentary distractionn. Long after midnight he found himself at a far corner of Broadway, overcome with weariness, but with the same awful unrest in his brain; it had worn out the body and raged still with unabated force. He took a hack to his lodgings. "I must sleep," he said; "but how?" He got out at Union Square, and under the light of a lamp on a blank page torn from a letter wrote a prescription in tech- nical terms, signing it with illegible initials. The sleepy clerk at Hegeman's did not recognize the writing or letters, but the appearance of the applicant was satisfactory, and the mixture only a powerful sedative. "I wish it immediately; the patient is in great pain," said Huntley. It was prepared and given to him, and he rode to his rooms~ Here he lighted a blaze of gas, and, taking the opiate at a swallow, threw himself half dressed on his bed. The effect of the potion was like that of a gas, - it spent itself in thirty minutes, leaving him worse than before. He bounded out of bed. "Fool! never to have thought of it!" He went to his secretary and from a drawer produced a bi~ou medicine-chest. Out of this he chose a small vial, and a tiny in- jector with a tube like a needle, and wfth these returning to his bed he sat down upon the edge. Then he bared his left arm, - even in his semi-delirium his hand was steady as steel, - and filling the miniature instrument from the bottle he drove the point through a prominent vein, and forced the fluid into the wound. Quickly placing the things on his bed-stand, he rolled over upon the couch, and in a moment was sunk in slumber, deep and dreamless as death itself. I sent a note to Mr. Huntley at the office of Huntley & Co. the following morning, begging that he would call at my office at three o'clock that day, "on a matter of the first importance to himself, R. S. V. P." He had not yet come down town when it was delivered, but at noon I received a line from him, saying that he would come at the hour appointed, or as soon afterwards as possible. He came very promptly, and greeted me with his customary easy grace, a slight club- acquaintance having subsisted between us; but I was struck by the alteration in his face, which had lost something of its iron rigidity, and its usual pallor had become lividness. "Ah! how are you?" he said. "I am prompt, am I not? although I come in fear and trembling, as becomes one who enters into the august presence of Justice. What is it, Meegs? I half suspect, you know. Some of my clerks in my absence -?" There was a vague uneasiness, almost a dread, expressed. in his face and tone that gave me a chill. I had never before met murder face to face, and I shrank a little at the contact. "Sit down, Mr. Huntley,"I said, giving him a seat somewhat in the rear of my large writing-table; "it is a suffi- ciently serious affair." He sat down silently, and at the same moment I gave a short cough. The door of the inner room opened at the sound, and the officer Curtis came in, followed by Char- hey in the same dress he had worn on the steamer. Can a man be frightened to death? EXIT HUNTLEY. 123 They find unwounded corpses on battle- "That is absurd!" fields, I have read; and I believe this man's I read on without heeding the words: terror, intensified as it was by the reaction- "Secondly, that, having a wife and two ary effect of oj~ium, held him for an instant children living in England, as we are abun- at death's door. dantly able to prove, you have sought, un- He rose up, overturning his chair, and der an assumed name and character, to con- reeled against the wall, upon which lie tract a marriage with Mr. Wales's cousin." seemed to flatten himself, and at which his I paused here, but he remained silent, spread fingers clutched on either side. His and I read the last count. "Thirdly and jaw fell, and the protruding eyes were fixed lastly, that on the night of July 1, being like those of a maniac. I could not see at sea on the steamer -" that he breathed. It ivas horrible! "I was attacked by the said Mr. Wales, Curtis broke the spell with a smothered and in the struggle which ensued he fell' exclamation, and I readjusted the chair. overboard, or something like, is it not?" - "Sit down, Mr. Huntley," I sai(l, with The burst was startling. There was only such sanyfroid as I could assume; "as the one way to deal with him, and I saw Char- interview is not likely to he a pleasant one, ley had fired up at the man's bravado. it is the desire of Mr. Wales to make it as "It is useless to waste words, Mi'. Hunt- brief as possible." I used the name in or- ley. Understand our position; either you der to impress him with the reality of the must sign this paper in presence of wit- situation, and the words called the man nesses, which means here and now, or go back to life. He sank into the seat with a from this office to prison, to await trial for shuddering groan, and put his hand me- attempted murder." chanically to his head. I could well imna- A flush stole over his face at the words, gine that the first definable feeling which but he did not immediately answer. succeeded the shock was one of immeasura- "This is the sole condition ?" he asked. ble relief, and I feared the strength he "I have omitted to add that you must might gather from it. I hastened to secure leave the country at once, though it is rather the benefit of the moment. "I need a consequence than a condition." scarcely enter into any explanation of the He was revolving every possible chance, circumstances which have led to this meet- I could see, and asking questions to gain ing, Mr. Huntley. They have been fully time. discussed by Mr. Wales and myself, and he "Men are not commonly ~asked to sign a has chosen to offer you conditions which self-convicting paper in your courts, - are reach the limits of leniency." they, Mr. Meegs?" I pause(l and fumbled diplomatically in "We are not in the courts, Mr. Huntley, my folio. lie did not speak immediately; fortunately for you. Men in your position, he had leaned on the table and got a small you may say, rather, are rarely offered such paper-cutter in his hands, which he turned an opportunity to escape the just punish- and twisted with his fingers. His face was meat of their crimes." settling down again into something of its "Why do you let him go?" asked Curtis, wanted firmness; but his forehead was dank, abruptly, and to my great surprise. I found and the dark hair seemed to cling upon it no words for immediate reply, and made as he bent his head without meeting our none, as I saw at once t~hat the diversion gaze. Charley, I saw, avoided looking at had its effect on Huntley. He glanced at him; but Curtis watched him closely with the sailor, and winced under the man's his gray eyes in sober curiosity, steady eyes. "What do you want of me?" he asked "If I sign this," he said, hurriedly, "I at last, huskily. presume I am free to follow the final eon- "Mr. Wales offers you liberty and free- edition in my own i~y and time." dom from prosecution, demanding simply "Not entirely. To-day is Wednesday; that you shall sign this paper,~and then - tilere will be a steamer on Saturday, and it But will you read it?" I held it out is expected, I may say required, that you to hin, but he looked at it without tak- will take passage in it. In that event it is ing it. agreed that no use will be made of this "What does it say?" he asked in a tone document outside of Mr. Wales's family. In of confidence that rather startled me. the mean time, I may add, you will be sub- "It is a brief statement cQvering three ject to a certain surveillance which will not principal charges: first, that on a certain in any way interfere with your ordinary evening, eighteen months ago, you influ- pursuit of business." eneed Mr. Wales to go with you to a gain- "Precisely!" he said with a sneer; "it '5 bling-house in this city, where you were a d-d fine programme!" accessory to the unlawful use of a draft Curtis moved uneasily in his chair, and I which you knew him to have in his posses- hastened to speak. sion" "There is an end Vo patience; accept or page: 124-125[View Page 124-125] 124 CHOISY. A ROSE IS CRUSHED. 125 refuse. We are wasting time and grace on you. I called Quill, and he ushered in a second patient gentleman, who bowed, but re- niaine(1 aloof by the door. Huntley noted him with a quick glance. He hesitated still a moment, with a simply reckless impulse to fight to the last; but some other thought decided him, and, seizing a pen, he signed the confession boldly. "Accepted under protest, gentlemen, and not so much because I fear your ability to prove the pretty lies, as because of the law's delays, which I know you are so capable of employing." He even laughed while Curtis and myself signed the paper as witnesses. "It is to be hoped you ~vill severally en- joy the recompense of your kindly offices. Egad! it 's like the 'butcher, the baker, and candlestick-maker'! Working thus in a trio, you will allow me to say you make a 'whole team'! I suppose 1 may go?" "Of course - only -Mr. Fergusen, Mr. Huntley. Mr. Fergusen will in no way in- convenience you; probably you will not come into contact at all, but it is well you should know him, perhaps, to avoid mis- takes." "Your considerateness overwhelms me. In the language of the journals, Mr. Meegs, you are an ornament to your profession. Gentlemen, I have the honor - Charley stepped up to him at the last moment "Richard Huntley, or Robert Delafield, is it possible that anything I might say could move your heart for the poor woman and children who belong to you?" The Englishman glared at the speaker for an instant with such an expression of hate as I have never seen equalled in a hu- man face. Then he spoke five words, - the reader may thank inc for not printing them here, - and, turning on his heel, went out, followed by the detective. Curtis wiped his head with the bandanna, while Charley brought out some cigars. "Nice lad, that," said the officer; "he 'minds me of a Spanish captain we caught on the slave-coast, when I was a boy in the navy. I did n't quite understand your trade, but I hope you are quits with him." There was a rare good dinner served "for three" at Delmonico's presently, dur- ing which the sturdy old sailor warmed into a flow of reminiscences and good-nature. We saw him aboard, later; and when he sailed again that day week he was richer in worldly goods by a handsome chronometer timepiece from Tiffany's, with his own and the donor's name in honorable association graven therein. As long as his precarious life is siiared, Charley Wales has a brave friend in John Curtis. Charley left me at my rooms in the even- ing. "I must try to see my father to-night: I can't wait." "As you th~nk best, though I don't think you need fear anything more from iluntley in that quart~r. I fancy the Avenue will not see him again." Nor did it. On some business 1)lea cov- ering designs best known to himself he left town the next day, and I received a dispatch from Fergusen in the evening from Newark, in which salubrious city the broker had sought seclusion. Saturday arrived, and I looked anxiously for the detective during the afternoon. He came in at last, and took the offered chair like a tired man. "The bird is gone, eb?" II asked, quickly. "Off, sure enough, and seemed glad to go. You don't think he '11 be much missed down there in Wall Street?" The tone was inquiring. 4' I fancy not, he has been out of general business almost entirely for some time." "Perhaps you 're right. I did n't know; he was wonderful shy the last morning in the street. Thank you; it 's liberal. My respects to Mr. Wales. Good day, sir." Did they "miss" him? It was not known, and Wall Street keeps its secrets well. The world wondered for a day or two; somebody seized the books, too, when it was known that the man was gone for good and all; but there were no "devel- opments," and in that mart of gold what is man that he should be remembered? CHAPTER XXI. A ROSE IS CRUSHED. WITH the connivance of Stephen, Char- Icy made his way unobserved in the even- ing to the library of the house in the Avenue, where his father sat alone over the night's journals. The old servitor had said that Mr. Wales was not so strong as he had been; but it was not yet known to Chancy that some months before the banker had been prostrated with severe and danger- ous illness. I had omitted to speag of it to him, supposing, indeed, that he must have known it; but, as the reader is aware, he did not, and was consequently unprepared for the great change in his father's appear- ance. Time and incessant toil had broken the man of iron at last; it was the first actual sickness of his life, and brought with it the first realizing sense that Nature, tried and disdained, l)rooks no plea of" business" nor yields to any force of will in the execution of her laws and the infliction of her punish- ments. She had been kind, cruelly kind, to him, and borne the long subordination ivell; hut wheii the avenging stroke fell it was merciless an(l terrible, and he rallied fi-om it only to find weakiWss and weariness in the place of his former strength, -a strong shackle on hip and limb never again to be loosened. He was compelled to modify his habits, but he resented savagely the advice of his physician to retire from active busi- ness. lie would cling to the last to some mimicry of the 01(1 life, and in his bitterness struggle to the very end against the convic- tion of powers impaired and duties defied. It is an every-day picture of the working- day world, this soulless slavery of age, this cnin~ino bondaoe of the to the graybeard idols of his prime. His all is this little concomitant of existence "stamped in gold." Life has no other meaning for him: what to him must be the meaning of death? It may be that other and different feelings came to the banker with the sense of weak- ness and the dread realization of physical decay, awakening the cravings of age and rendering the old chosen isolation oppres- sive. Certain it is that he welcomed the return of his niece with marked plefisure, an~l Emma's pain in finding him so broken was mitigated by gratification at his unusual display of feeling. Charley was shocked and saddened by the striking change that had come upon his f~- thor. lIe advanced with a faltering heart, as Stephen withdrew, closing the door soft- ly behind him; and Mr. Wales's face assumed a puzzled and rather dissatisfiedd expression as the young man paused by his chair with his hat in his hand. The father failed to recognize his son. "You do not know me, father: it is Chancy," said the loor boy; and it re- quired a strong effort to nerve the trem- bling lips even for those few words. He had studied, too, what he was to say, but now when the time for utterance had come the words failed hiiAt The banker started, and seemed about to rise, but he did not do so, nor did he give his hand to his son. After one sharp, rec- ognizing look at Chancy's face, he withdrew his eyes and fixed them on Macancy; he was evidently trying to mould his features into the old rigid lines. It was not alto- gether a surprise; he had reasoned, as he thought, infallible, that just such an event would occur sooner or later, just such a re- turn of the prodigal when the last resource had been exhausted, and the wayward spir- it humbled with suffering and want. He had made the contingency a study at times, more frequently of late, and, crushing some faint impulses which stirred his heart, had resolved to be just in his actions above all questions of affection; and leniency had no conspicuous place in Mr. Wales's ideas of justice. He intended so to act now, though for an instant he had been stas-tled into softer feelings by Chancy's appearance; he had not reckoned on so early a denouement. He remained quite silent, collecting huis thoughts, and Charley got a little self-possession in the pause. "I am sorry, father, if my presence is un- welcome to you. I did not come on my- own account, - at least not entirely; I had no longer any right to do that, as 1 am fully aware. I cannot explain things in any way so well as this paper will do it, and you would rather read it than hear my words, perhaps; will you look at it, please?" Charley produced and extcnde'l to his father the confession of Richard Huntley. The hanker had looked up rather curiously, and received it mechanically from his hands. He was not pleased with this feature of the interview; he believed it to be some small piece of charlatanry, and it was very bitter for him to think his son had descended to ~such a method of gaining favor. Without opening the paper, he asked, coldly, "What is this?" "It is the witnessed acknowledgment of a villain who has deceived and injured all of mms, father. I hope it will not pain you too greatly: the man is Richard Huntley." It was a little strange that conviction of their truth went straight to the banker's heart with these words; he had never formed any defined suspicion of Iluntley, but his earliest judgment of the man had never changed, and it had never been wholly favorable to him. In his business connections with Wales, Burton, & Co., Mr. Huntley never found himself in a position of entirely unguarded trust; he had noted the fact often enough, but ascribed it read- ily to the well-known cautious policy of the house. Mr. Wales accepted human nature en masse with reservations; lie accepted Huntley with an additional allowance, for which ~there is no ready word of description. There was not a shadow of feeling in the banker's face, however, as he proceeded de- liberately to open the document. He said simply, "I trust you do not make such an extraordinary statement unadvisedly." Charley remained standing, and watched his father with a beating heart, as he read down the sheet. Mr. Wales first glanced at the signatures, and then passed slowly and carefully over the first allegation, read- ing it twice, but with a still implacable face. He looked up after it, however, and said quietly, "Won't you sit down?" The young man murmured," Thank you," and sat down humbly enough. After the second clause the banker wrinkled his brows, and Charley, watching him covertly, was glad to see some evidence of feeling. page: 126-127[View Page 126-127] 126 CIIOISY. "You know this to he true?" he asked sharply; he did not specify the charge, but Charley had followed his eyes down the page, and knew which he meant. "I lived more than a month in his wife's house in England," he replied. "You might have been deceived." "You forget, father: he confesses the charge~ Even if he had not, it could be proved beyond question." Mr. Wales moved uneasily in his chair and looked up quickly as he read the last charge. "He tried to take your life?" "It was partly my fault. I labored hard to avoi(l him on the ship, but he recognized me finally. We had some words and I - I struck him; he threw me over the ship's side, and I was saved by the merest chance." The banker drew a long, painful breath, and remained silent and thoughtful for some moments. "What have you done?" he asked. "There seemed to be only one thing to do and avoid publicity. We got him to sign the paper, and he is to leave the coun- try immediately." Afterwards, at his fa- ther's request, Charley described more mi- nutely the struggle on the ship and the in- terview at my office; at the end he said, "This will be very painful for my cousin; would it not be best to engage Mrs. Jen- nings to tell her?~' "Yes; I think so," replied Mr. Wales. There was silence after this, and some- thing like perplexity in the banker's mind, occasioned by the unexpected developments. Gentler impulses were struggling for pre- dominance, but the old man's stubborn preju. dice died hard. "Where are you staying?" he asked at last, and rather abruptly. "With Mr. Meegs at his rooms for the present." "Have you any plans?" Charley could not determine whether the tone was kindly or not, but he bore up bravely. "I have no settled plans," he said; "this matter has completely absorbed my thoughts. I had an idea, however, of going West and finding something to do. I have still some- thing left," he added with a flushed face, "and I might make my way there in some business." "It is not a bad project," said his father, more kindly; "the best, perhaps. Mean- time you had better come home." Charley's heart was in his throat at the words. Before he could speak Mr. Wales asked, "You will see Mrs. Jennings?" "Yes, at once; to-night, if I am not too late." " It would be as well, certainly." Charley got u~ to go, and his father rose at the same time, but in an absent way. Chanley was obliged to ask hhn for the pa- per, which he retained in his hand. "I ought to show it to Mrs. Jennings, or, at least, be provide with it, that I may do so, if necessary. I shall not see you again sir, to-night. You said- you think I should come home?" "Of course; there will be time enough to arrange your plans afterwards." "Then I will come to-morrow and be very happy to do so. I thank you for the privilege, father. Good night!" He put out his hand tiiaidly; but Mr. Wales took it and held it a moment, while he looked at the young man fully for the first time and noted his thin face. "Good night, my son," he said soberly, yet kindly; "you have found experience a hard teacher, have you not?" "I have indeed, sir; I hope the lesson will be a useful one." "I trust it may. Good night. I shall not mention to your cousin that you are here." Charley went out as he had come in, see- ing no one but Stephen; but a light hand was running softly and rather sadly over the piano keys, as he passed the parlor doors, and his heart bounded at the sounds. "You are coming back, Mr. Charles?" asked the servant anxiously at the door. "To-morrow, Stephen, to-morrow, you good old soul!" His heart was in the skies as he ran across the street. There was a blaze of light and a rattle of merry voices in the drawing-rooms, hut he hardly noticed them particularly. "Will you tell Mrs. Jennings that an old friend wishes to see her in private for five minutes?" he said to a bewildered domes- tic, who subsequently declared that "his voice struck her all of a heap, ~t did, but she 'd never 'a' known it was Mr. Charles." Mrs. Jennings, coming lato the library, was unspeakably astonished and a little dis- mayed to see the singer of the ship standing therein, and could not restrain a momentary impulse to call back the servant. Charley's quick words checked her, "Don't be alarmed, Mamma Jennings; it 's only poor me, - Charley Wales!" "Bless my soul! you poor boy!" lit was all she could say. Tears were in her eyes and in her throat, and only a woman's over- flowing pity in her heart sweeping away all other thoughts. She ivent up to him and took the bearded face into her two hands to see it better, and the smiling eyes reassured her. She kissed him lightly on the brow, and then gave way to a little burst of tears that prevented all speech for the moment. Charley made her sit down. "1 bring you a very painful revelation, but it must be made without delay. We A ROSE IS CRUSHED. 127 have all been terribly deceived, mam- ma!" Mrs. Jennings's emotions on hearing of Huutley's duplicity (for Chancy told her but half) all touk the form of sympathy for Emma. "The poor child! what an escape for her! It will be very bitter for her, though I'm not sure- lain glad you are hereglad you are the deliverer. You have been a great scamp, Mr. Charles! Of course you have seen your father." "He was very good to me; I am going back home to-morrow." ~' You haven't seen Emma, then?" "No, I must not; I do not want to see her until she knows all." "To be sure, Mr. Wisdom! And that was you all the time on the steamer? How strange it is! The wretch is going; we shall not have to see him again?" "Never, I trust." "I can't realize it! It 'sjust like a dream, and I sha' n't sleep a wink after it. Poor Em! she must know it at once!" 1 "You will tell her gently; do you think she - she will find it very hard?" The wise woman smiled wickedly at him, despite her perplexity. "I can't tell, I hope not; only, you must - There! let me think about it." "I leave it all to you; only I must go home to-morrow, and I want to see my cousin," said he, plaintively. "So he shall," laughed the lady, "though he does n't half deserve it. I ought not to say that, however, since you have saved her a from what I can't bear to think of. You I are lucky to have so well atoned, sir! - There, I 'm talking nonsense. I 'II see Em- a ma in the morning;* I must think about it." a "You won't say anything about the ship c singer?" said Charley, rising, and with ill- diso-ulsed anxiety. d '~'1t does n't seem necessary; but she d must know you are here." U "I think not; father will not tell her yet, h and Stephen is bound with oaths. Don't tell e her, please." "Ah, I see! Well, I won't, though I V may tell her who found the villain out." c "If you like; it won't m~tter. I shall e see her in the afternoon. I will go now. Good night." U Half-way to the door he turned to her u again and fixed a hungry, beseeching look ~i on her face. n "Mamma Jennings, you know! Will you tell me something?" "That depends, young man!" V "Does Emma - Has she love much?." dkimvery n The temptation to punish him was strong, n~ but there was n~ resisting the appeal of h that young face! - "Emma never loved any one but a naughty fellow who did n't deserve The sentence did not reach a conclusion. The two lithe arms went around the mam- ma's neck, and a profusion of whiskers obstructed speech and vision for a moment; and in the next the gentleman-passenger of the steerage went out with flying coat-tails at the door. "How happy they will be!" said the good woman, exultantly; "and to think of that wretch! He did send the paper, after all! You are only a blind old woman, Susan Jennings!" The "mamma" went unannounced, next morning, to Emma's own room, and caught that young woman dreaming over some written papers that she hid hastily as her visitor entered. Mrs. Jennings did not fail to notice the troubled face, upon which something of the old look of suffering had come back; but it gave her no great pain or uneasiness now. She felt tolerably sure of the case; her quick perception told her that the old love had struggled into power again among the old associations, and she guessedd shrewdly at the condition of feeling [n which Emma had fallen; hut she guessed niy half of the truth. "I came to look after you, you truant!" die cried, gayly; "here are two evenings lone, and we have not had a glimpse of you. ~ll the world has been calling, or 1 should mve come sooner." "I know," said Emma, embarrassed. "I vas expecting Mr. Huntley all the time, md could not go out. He has not been here at all since we arrived. I don't know - I suppose we ought to send and inquire ~bout him; had we not? I asked uncle last might, but he did not seem to think it ne- essary. Yet he may be ill." "Your nncle is generally right, dear; Lon't fret about it. Come here and sit [own by me; there, like that. It's a long ~me, ls n't it, since you and the old lady ave had a good, old-fashioned chat togeth- Emma had come rather wearily yet gladly o the old place by the mamma's knee, and crouched there silently, not meeting her yes. Her faoe was hidden from Mrs. innings; but could that lady have seen it, lie look of mingled fear and expectation pon it might have surprised her. As it ins, she wound her arm about the bent eck and spoke tenderly. "I am going to ask you a strange ques- on, puss. You must n't he frio'htened. Vould you care very, so very much if you ever saw Mr. Huntley ao'ain?" Emma looked up quickly, faint with mo- mentary terror; but the smiling eyes checked er first dreadful thought and left her in painful bewilderment. page: 128-129[View Page 128-129] 128 CHOISY. "0 mamma! what a question! I can't and now my occupation 's gone. We shall think what you mean!" all be very happy now, and must never Was it worth while to delay the blow think again of our escape. There, go cool which Mrs. Jennings in her soul felt sure those burning cheeks. We shall look for was no blow at all? She thought not. you over this evening." "I mean simply that it is so; nothing in She got aWay with that, and left Emma the least dreadful has happened t6 Mr. alone with her thoughts. They were happy Huntley, but you never will see him again." but tumultuous thoughts, for which there Startled and bewildered as she was, seemed to be no intelligible expression in Emma could only comprehend the one great her restless movements through the morning. fact conveyed in the sober and convincing Sometirn~s she sat down determinedly and words; could only feel a great burden lifted tried to soothe them into rest, smiling and from her, anti a flood of exquisite feeling shuddering, and smiling again; hut it would conquering all other thoughts, filling her all end with a quick brushing away of obsti- heart and surging to her eyes. In these, nate, unbidden tears, and a precipitate raised a single instant to her own, Mrs. abandonment of her seat. Then she tried Jennings read nothing but gladness; and to busy herself with a thousand little use- though the girl drooped against her shiv- less things, and went off in an absent dream ersag and sobbing hysterically, the lady had over every one. Twenty times she went no disturbing fear. to her door, and listened intently; and When Emma grew calmer her friend told twenty times she came up to "Sultan" in her careftdly and tenderly the whole story, his gilded cage, and watched him with un- all that she herself knew; how this man, responsive eyes as he heat his wings against having a living wife and children, deserted the bars in a wild desire to reach the ripe, in another land, had meditated such a cruel red lips. "Will be come to-day?" she wrong to her, and would have succeeded whispered to the bird; and just as plainly but for a watchful eye and a brave heart that as ever bird spoke, he chirped back, "Yes, came in good time to save her. he will come!" Emma listened in sad, tearful silence to At last when the lunch-bell rang, she the end. went to her glass, and put a rose in her "How dreadful it all is!" she said in a dress, a creamy June rose, tinged with the low tone, adding, with sudden fear, "I shall faintest pink, plucked from the bouquet on not see him again, - shall I?" the mantel. It was only a pretext, after "Never, darling. Do you know, I feel all, for looking at herself, and in no way as if I ought to come in for a little blame, could excuse the long thoughtful survey. ton -" Yes, she was very lovely. IFXw the first "0 no, no; not you, mamma. You were time in her life, perhaps, she allowed her- always good, and never so good as now! self to accept, even dwell on, the truth; But it is terrible!" hut now it made her glad. Then she went After that there was silence, but Emma down stairs, and crossed the threshold of was very calm; so much so that the good the breakfast-room bravely. lady was rather nonplussed. She said at He was there, the tall, dark-bearded last, unable to check the womanly impulse, singer of the ship. There was no surprise "And your deliverer, child; you do not in her face, nothing hut great joy and timid, even a~k -" voiceless interrogation; but she stopped The bright fact raised so quickly to hers, and trembled, and put out her hand to a crimson with happy and half~guilty blushes, chair. and full of joy, stopped her eager tongue. lie was at her side in an instant, and "I know!" was the low-spoken answer; stood there irresolute, trembling like her- and then the burning face was hid in the self, but with all his soul in the great brown kindly bosom. But presently she lifted eyes. He did not touch her, but he spoke: her head, and, drawing down the loved "Emma, my darling!" face, kissed it with rapid and breathless And then she fell on his breast and cir- kisses. cled his neck with her quivering arms, "Bless me!" cried the mamma as soon hiding her face on his heart. as she recovered breath, "what a go- "0 Charley I" and her eyes met his between I am! There, you odd thing! then, closer than ever before; "how I have save them for some one else; they '11 be longed for you!" claimed soon enough, I dare say! And "My poor darling! yet I have been near you are mussing me dreadfully. I shall you -" run away; i've got forty thomlsand things "Yes, I knew it." to do!" "You knew it?" He was startled. "But, mamma __ " She looked in his eyes with the warm, "Tut! let me go! I won't answer any trusting look of a woman who gives all snore questions. I have done my errand, without the words. WON Al "Did you think I would not know you? I did, from the very first moment on the ship." "And you gave no sign!" "Did I not? I was so unhappy! 0 Charley! I can't bear to think of it; but I trusted you!" He gathered her closer with hi~ strong arms. "And loved me a little?" he asked. "I have always loved you, when you did not know it; ever since I can remember!" There could be but one answer to that, and he gave it; hut one way to repeat the avowal without words, and that she adopted. Then they sat down like two people in a dream; and old Stephen, who, after a peep at them, had kept the gate like Horatius of old all this time against a discouraged domestic bearing a huge tray of steaming dishes, now let that functionary pass, and walked away to the vestibule, where he blew his nose excitedly, with much ditl'usion of bandanna, and made a haIfa dozen absurd and unnecessary rearrangements of the door-mat. How beautiful she was to Charley's hungry eyes, as she busied herself at the little ta- ble, and made a parade of ministering to his wants who wanted nothing! How lovely the old-new face, now timid and blushing under his relentless eyes, now bold with love's boldness, and meeting his gaze with the conscious joy that comes but once in life! How noble and wonderful he was! No one was ever half so good, so heroic, so tender, so brave, so admirable as he! And what a love was theirs! Surely no two had ever so loved before. The poor, crushed rose! she took it ten- deny from her dress and gave it to him, when he begged for it, and seemed to want as well the hand that gave it; but it had 1 come between their hearts, and been pressed - out of all semblance of a rose~ sweet, strong odor made it beautiful still, I and in its martyrdom it had been sanctified. Happy the paths of those who have found I a crushed rose somewhere ~n the weary way! CHAPTER XXII. WON AND LOST. S CHARLEY did not "go out West." Those s far-away, industrious votnmunities, whose s names seem the synonyms of enterprise and success, will never rejoice in the accession to their population of that reconstructed t and thoroughly estimable young man. For s him the problem of the future was resolved 'J in a glow of love's sunshine and by love's n spirit hands in that morning hour whose c 17 ~D LOST. 129 events we have just described. Not that he, as my impulsive reader, being also young in heart, if not in years, may have imagined, not that he and his true "ladye-love" were forthwith launched in a painted boat upon a painted sea, and amid the dazzling and sulphuric surroundings of a modern "trans- formation scene" wafted by scented breezes to some swbet, secluded, and mysterious hourne, following in the wake of Monte Cristo and the princess to slow music and an invisible chorus. The advantages of a scenic denouement of that kind are unde- niably very great, and to none more patent than the writer, - than to writers in gen- eral, I fancy, who must ever endure the pain of having the fbw last moments of their little comedies made chaotic by a rising audience and a shuffle of impa- tient feet towards the door. There is, indeed~ something enlivening in the smoky ending of a romance that sends the two happy ones away under full canvas to find and people Avalon; the process perpetuates theis felicity, and they escape the rude after-touch of the vulgar practical by disap- pearing at once and forever from our eyes; beside such an attractive and inspiring con- clusion the trite old addendum that "they were married and lived happily ever after- wards" becomes positively coarse~, and retains no quality to recommend it beyond great convenience to the scribe. I confess a leaning to the poetical climax. 1 like the somewhat hackneyed, but ever-alluring idea of seclusion from the world, and the shared solitude of Byron's dream. I toss my hat to About's gallant Marquis, and his exquisite picture of a far island in a military sea, "upon that isle a single palm- tree with you (Ia liien aime'c) at its foot, and at your feet myself!" But it is .ju~t pos4ble that to our Charley the simple earthlyy - nay, vulgar, if you will - culmination was so entirely satisfactory as ;o leave no room for an unspoken desire. His irst step was to make Emma promise to narry him in three months' time, a compact :o which she subscribed with commendable resignation . Then he did what all the doctors had not been able to do, he got his ather away from Wall Street, and forth- rith transported the household down to a luiet corner of the New England beach, vhere they were joined by Mrs. Jennings md her family, and where the summer days ped to such joyous measures that even the low blood of the worn-out banker warmed uto neal~ life. I was permitted the happiness of joining he circle, and shared, for a brief season, something of the gladness that animated it. throughh my life I shall carry the pleasant memory of that time, - of Charley and his constant kindness; of Miss lowland, whom / page: 130-131[View Page 130-131] 130 'CHOISY. to know was to worship with almost re- ligious reverence ; of Clare, whose untamed soul had caught a serious, perhaps a wistful, shade from the spectacle of Emma's crowned life ; and of Mrs. Jennings, who had lost a little of her absolutism, and was the embodi- ment of motherly sweetness to the happy trio, to all of whom she was the loved " mamma." Before they came back to town I had gone to other skies. I had promised to " stand up " with Charley ; but before the day came round fate and a doctor had in- tervened, and the ocean rolled between us. The years go on, and more than one has dropped to the rear since .that day of mar- riage bells. Messages come to me in far- away corners, and grow .old in the transit ; but they tell me all is well with Charley in the new life. His father, I hear, has practi- cally withdrawn from the street, and the young man gives a certain guidance to the affairs of the great office in his place ; but I have been informed that the old name will soon disappear altogether from its ancient niche, and be known no more in the active mart. Meantime a river-side nest has sprung up among the cedars, where, years ago, three laughing children chased butterflies and filled the shady hollows with the echoes of their simple nursery songs. It is hal- lowed ground now. Of those young voices some are silent, and will sing no more on earth ; but the memory is sweet to Charley Wales and his beautiful wife, who are dwell- ing there among the treasured scenes, hav- ing realized the hope of their lives after many perils and grievous pains. I was standing alone, only the other day, at a corner of the grand Promenade at Nice. A few people moved lazily along the walk, and a thin line of vehicles clattered by me in the roadway. The wonderful trottoir of other days, which for animation and display in the winter time was without a rival in Europe, was now a desolate shad- ow of itself, and shrouded in a gloom which needed not the presence of maimed men in uniform and sad-faced women begging aid in the name of the Geneva Cross to heighten its sombreness. From the long line of noble villas all signs of life had fled. The great Casino gates were closed and locked, and a subscription-box hung thereon with the ever-present appeal of Secours aux Blessed's staring at the passer-by. Standing thus and gazing idly down at the rock-strewn beach, where the low-voiced Mediterranean waves followed out each other in tranquil succession and broke without sound upon the stones, I had lost myself in a vague, dreamy meditation which drifted away into seaside fancies of a thou- sand things, -mostly sad they were. I had been wondering, indeed, if there might not be a thread of meaniing in that eternal and unending wave-song at my feet, if in the soft swash of those wonderful azure waters, over which fair Helen of old fled to luckless Troy, and on whose " sounding shore " blind Homer sang, there was not some un-. known measure. of words, which, if we could but interpret them, would tell us such tales of wonder of the ages dead and gone and the great souls who faded with them, as would shame the poor lives and the feeble deeds of to-day. And still as I stood and dreamed two shat- tered relics of my race came and sat on a bench near by: one, a soldier of the line, in soiled red pants and a tattered great-coat of blue ; the other, a Garibaldian, in a crimson shirt and cap and enormous jack- boots. " I lost my arm at Dijon, comrade," said the last; "and you -?" "I was shot down at Villejuif, under the walls of Paris." Paris ? The name had lost its meaning; from the soldier's lips it fell like that of a buried- thing whom yesterday we called man and friend, and who to-day is dust. There is no longer a Paris. A hideous, spectre decked in cheap tinsel, a painted* and bedizened thing, will flaunt itself to- morrow before the world, and borrow the old name to conceal the fraud. But no one will be deceived, and all will turn away weary and sick at heart to see the Moenad revel where ruled the queen. La reine est morte, and there is no succession. People are coming and going in the walk, and a murmur that flies swiftly among them reaches me and disturbs my fancies. I turn with indolent curiosity and follow the direc- tion of the general gaze. Down the broad avenue a pony-phaeton moves rapidly, driv- en by a lady who sits alone, - the groom in his perch behind can hardly be called a companion, - and I am able only to catch a glimpse of her face, as the fairy equipage flashes past. But its cold yet marvellous beauty thrills me:I with a strange feeling, while more than one voice in that outspoken throngr comes to my ear, "How lovely she is still'!" It is not strange to me, that clear mixed profile, with the smouldering gray eyes and the pallid but rounded cheeks. 1 saw it first amid the strange surroundings of the great rouge-et-noir table at Monaco, and had gazed with wonder at that magnificent but icy framework of a soul. She was playing, - playing with a listless, contemptuous hand that tossed thousands upon the cloth with an air of utter indifference, and a face that gave nio token, only that in its very immobility one might read the epitaph of feeling. While 1 watched it the cold, careless eyes fell upon me and lingered for an instant - with something like a flash in their clear depths. I felt myself flush and tremble under the scrutiny, and looked away in boy- ish confusion. When I turned again she was idly following the dealer's cards, and I saw her eyes no more. They told me, when I asked, that she was Nina Choisy, and at the C6rcle the brave gentlemen shrugged their shoulders at the name, and looked at me a little angrily I thought. More than the name they could tell me nothing. The woman moved in their world still, but moved apart. Not that she was unapproachable, but a certain indefinable renown had attached itself to her name. The few who had sought favor at her hands came back discomfited, and, warned by the ex- ample, men withdrew, and ventured no more WON AN~ T HE END. Cambridge: Electrotyped and Printed by Welch, Bigelow, & Co. ~D LOST. '131 the siege perilous. That the respected her was evident from the fact that they never spoke of her. And she ?- she had lived on after the wreck that left her stranded and desolate on the shore froni which she had hoped to escape. She lives still the passive, aimless life of a strong but unresisting soul which has been beaten to earth by the hand it loved, and cares to rise no more. Stone her, if you yill, ye righteous, and waken thus, as it seems your part to do, the evil that would fain sleep. Drive innocence mad by the cry of madness. Fan the spark which unnoticed would die, until you burn the world. Cry havoc, and tell us of our guilt. Torture us with anticipated punish- ment, until we shall forget the very name of goodness, and remember only evil.
